Hermione was not the kind of person who normally wore makeup-not that she had anything against makeup, she just was not very adept at it and applying it took her much too long to be practical-but that morning she was liberally applying concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Maybe Snape was actually trying to sabotage her and this was current attempt: sleep deprivation by way of interesting reading material. Slipping on her shoes and heading out the door, she reviewed her schedule for the eighteenth time-morning was English, followed by French in the afternoon. She supposed she was thankful for the busy schedule. Hermione feared if she stopped moving, she might fall asleep standing up.

Her first class was teaching sixth-years. These students would hopefully provide the most ideal start since they were relatively mature, but not as checked-out as the soon-to-be-leaving seventh-years. In any case, her plan for every class that morning was to have the students write about and then read to the rest of the class what they had done that summer. Sure, it was not the most inspired lesson, but it was probably best for everyone involved to start out with something simple.

As she had expected, the sixth-years' English was quite good-the class was an elective after their fifth year-and Hermione felt confident that they could move on from writing short paragraphs about vacation to essays on literature. She had had some ideas about what she wanted her students to read but also considered letting them to have some choice in the matter to increase their interest in the material.

Next were the fourth-years, followed by the second-years. And while their English proficiency decreased by year, she was nonetheless impressed by everyone's studiousness. She had hoped this trend would continue throughout the rest of the term, but Hermione also wondered if the students were just on their best behavior because it was the first day and she herself was an unknown quantity.

After the last second-year left her classroom, Hermione at last had the opportunity to breathe. Her growling stomach was telling her it was time for lunch. Hunger was a welcome sensation after yesterday's stress-induced appetite loss. She was also beginning to relax, feeling like there might possibly be a chance that she could teach somewhat competently. Competency would have to suffice for now.

"I told you you could do it," Sébastien said, sidling up beside her as she walked from her room.

"You said no such thing," Hermione said. "And even if you had, how do you know that I did?"

The two were walking side-by-side then, on their way to join the rest of the school in the ballroom.

"You look about half as nervous now as you did at breakfast." Sébastien paused, as if for dramatic effect. "And... I may have some informants."

"Really?" Hermione asked. "Tell me, who are these mysterious 'informants?'" She knew full well he could only mean the students, but had decided to play along.

"Some of the sixth-years had potions immediately following your class and I could not help but ask them how you did."

Hermione feigned disbelief. "You used my students to spy on me? How could you? Are you trying to get me fired?"

She enjoyed the back and forth they seemed to share, but was this flirting? Could it be that she was coming on too strong? Or could this just be harmless banter? Hermione had never been one for flirtation so it was extremely hard for her to tell. Perhaps she could read more about it at the library.

"Yes, exactly. How did you know?" Sébastien said, with a toothy.

"I am an excellent judge of character," Hermione said, giving Sébastien her best attempt at a wink.

Sébastien, predictably, laughed at her inability to do anything but blink, before showing her that he could wink with both eyes. Hermione hit him playfully in the shoulder to which he mimed crying out in pain.

"You know I'm still disappointed I missed that drink with you," Sébastien said, changing the subject.

Hermione felt her Sébastien stomach butterflies come back. She scolded them, reminding them that Sébastien was only interested in her as a colleague and a friend.

"Is that so? Because I quite enjoyed drinking in my room. Alone. Without you."

Oof. Did that sound too much like flirting? Hermione cursed her luck; she must have been petrified in the Hospital Wing or something when everyone else had learned how to flirt.

After a lunch in which she worked very hard to not say anything that could be misconstrued as flirting, Hermione did not return to her own classroom but rather the classroom she shared with Snape. There was still one more class period before the younger students returned-they were shadowing their mentors' lessons at this time-but Hermione wanted some time to review her notes and practice what she was going to say. She wanted all of her students to succeed but she especially for her youngest to; how much they learned in her class would determine how well they did in the following years.

Quietly mouthing the words to herself-Hermione wanted her pronunciation to be as close to perfect as possible-she was interrupted by someone clearing their throat. She looked up to see, who else but, Severus Snape.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione replied curtly.

"Do you have any questions?"

"Nope."

"Did you see the notes I left for you?"

Hermione looked around. A piece of parchment covered in neat, if not cramped writing had been placed under the quill stand.

"Yes."

Hermione continued scanning her own notes, but did not hear Snape leave.

"Can I help you with anything else?" Hermione asked. She immediately felt bad about her choice of words. They just had, after all, reached an uneasy agreement the previous night and she was doing a lousy job keeping the peace.

"You're holding up?"

"I've made it this far, haven't I?" Hermione answered, with perhaps a bit too much venom.

"Excuse me for trying to be polite, Miss Granger," Snape said, sounding only mildly annoyed.

Hermione snorted. "More like you don't trust me to do my job."

"Or you don't trust that I'm being genuine," he offered.

"Yeah, I'm not…" Hermione looked up; he was gone. "...stupid."

Hermione sighed, leaning her head into her right hand. All she had to do was be civil, but apparently she was now the one who was incapable of doing so. He had not even gotten mad at her, which made her only seem more like a petulant child. Hermione thought for a moment. If she kept behaving like this, she'd never get her occlumency lessons. There, that should be enough of an incentive for her to keep her mouth shut.

At ten of two the students began filtering into her class. When all the seats were filled, Hermione began her lesson on demonstratives. She had some volunteers stand up at the front of the class to demonstrate the difference between 'this' and 'that,' depending on who was speaking and how their location in relation to others changed. She was probably a bit too pleased at herself for coming up with the exercise, but the students also seemed to enjoy the ability to move around after a long day of sitting.

Before they knew it, it was time for dinner. And after dinner, bed. Hermione fell asleep that night in an instant, forgetting, at least for the moment, the troubles her past and present. Of course the next day would bring the even greater test: dance lessons.

Hermione arrived at the exercise room the following day, sneakers in hand. While she would be wearing heels at any official school function, she did not feel that she had to suffer in them now. Luckily she had beaten any students, giving her a chance to speak to Sébastien alone. As expected, he commented on her choice of footwear. Well, his comment was more non-verbal and came in the form of a lookover and a lingering glance at her feet.

"What?" Hermione asked, knowing exactly what 'what' was.

"I didn't say anything."

Sébastien, for his part, was wearing his a pair of his usual leather dress shoes. Hermione doubted he owned a pair of trainers.

"Maybe the students will be so drawn to my colorful shoes that they won't have time to notice how I flounder," Hermione said, giving a little kick, which she only realized after the fact how dumb she probably looked.

Sébastien tilted his head, looking unconvinced, but still smiled at her demonstration of "floundering."

"I guess I'll just have to live with it then," Hermione said with a shrug. "I've been made fun of my entire life, why stop it now?"

"That's certainly one philosophy to have."

"Sébastien, the sooner you learn that you can't control the way people perceive you, the happier you'll be," Hermione said, wishing she actually believed that herself.

"Yes, well, shouldn't I at least try to put my best foot forward, in a manner of speaking?"

Hermione gave him a look for the terrible pun, but there was no time left to banter, since the students had begun to trickle in. Shortly after the first arrival, Sébastien began the lesson. It was a bit weird at first for Hermione to hear Sébastien speaking French; he seemed to exclusively speak to her in English. Hermione looked around at their class. They were all young-ballroom dance was required learning-and some faces certainly wore the mandatory-ness plainly. She was not sure she blamed them. Hermione probably would not have wanted to waste her precious learning time on something so frivolous. Her parents had tried to get her to do ballet before her schooling had begun at Hogwarts and that had not gone over well. One would think her desire for approval would transfer to the dance floor but neither she nor her parents nor her instructors could bring herself to practice.

"My lovely assistant will help demonstrate."

Hermione snapped her focus back to the class at hand. Clearly Sébastien had said something amusing because some of the students were giggling. Looking at some of them, Hermione wondered if any had crushes on Sébastien, like her ridiculous crush on Lockhart. Sébastien was, in his own way, a bit like her old Defense teacher-full of interesting stories and maybe a little full of himself, not that Hermione faulted him for it. If she were Cambridge-educated and a Potions master, would she not also be a little pompous? No, instead she was but a nameless English teacher.

The two began their dance, though significantly slowed-down to show the steps. As Sébastien narrated to the class, they repeated, to the best of their abilities, in kind. Hermione and Sébastien, however, had previously only practiced in English, which proved a bit problematic. It took Hermione longer to parse what he was saying, especially since she was less familiar with dance-related vocabulary. Trying not to look at their audience, Hermione kept focus on Sébastien's nose, which she could tell had been broken at least once. Rather than marr his handsomeness, the feature only enhanced it, giving him a rather devil-may-care look. The realization that she liked his nose only added to her mounting discomfort.

Finally the demonstration part of the lesson was over and the students reluctantly partnered up. There were three more boys in the class than girls, so two had to pair off and one was handed over to Hermione. Sébastien told the mortified, paired boys that only the best dancers could dance both parts, but also reassured them that their partners would constantly be changing throughout the term. The boy assigned to Hermione, however, might have looked even more stricken. Hermione tried to ease the tangible awkwardness by explaining that she was a learner as well.

Sébastien was going around the room now, correcting the pairs' form and rhythm. He was also constantly moving hands. Hermione could understand why the pairs would have to rotate based on the familiarity some of them seemed to already share. Surely, her classmates had not been so bold, right? And had she always found the intimacy of adolescents so hard to bear?

"Thiago, don't be scared; she won't bite," Sébastien said as he approached Hermione and her much shorter partner.

Sébastien gently pushed the two closer. Hermione had not yet had the opportunity to teach this young man or any of his classmates, for that matter. She would, however, later that day. She hoped for Thiago's sake that he would not be made fun of too heavily for being forced to dance with a teacher.

Many sweaty palms and misplaced steps later, Sébastien was driving the class's focus back to him.

"You all should be thankful that you are attending Beauxbatons; at no other school would you receive such an education. My assistant is proof of that."

After another laugh at Hermione's expense, the students left. Sébastien gathered his speakers, draping a towel over his shoulders. Hermione watched him. He certainly did not look like he had sweated a single drop. Meanwhile she was furiously drying her hands on her pants. Whose sweat it was-hers or Thiago's-she had no idea.

"See? You did better than you thought. Don't know why you were doubting yourself so much," Sébastien said.

"It certainly doesn't help when you make fun of me in front of the students," Hermione said, realizing after the fact that she was only half-joking.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hermione crossed her arms and gave him a look.

"Did you not say that you've been made fun of your whole life, so why stop it now?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Okay," Sébastien said. "While I don't consider it 'making fun of you,' I'm sorry."

"I accept your apology," Hermione said, feeling a bit better that she said something. "You can continue to make fun of me in private and among friends, but it certainly doesn't help the students' opinion of me to do it in front of them."

"I'll try to remember that," Sébastien said, as Hermione was almost out the door. "But I think you should be thankful I even invited you."

Hermione leaned against the doorframe, turning back to look at him. "Is that so? You're saying that I should just be grateful and keep my mouth shut?"

Sébastien shrugged, a devilish grin on his face. "Most women would be honored."

"Most women? I take that... Rogue wasn't in the running to be your partner, then?" Hermione was not sure why Snape's was the first name to pop into her head, but did not dwell on it.

"He's certainly not as nice to look at, no," Sébastien said, moving a step closer.

Any brilliant repartee Hermione was about to deliver got stuck in her throat. Hermione looked at her watch, hands sweaty again.

"I have to go. I'll talk to you later."

Hermione was barely able to remember where she was going. All her brainpower seemed to be going towards trying to understand what Sébastien had meant, if anything at all. And if something was meant, what did that mean for her. At first she was flattered by the harmless flirtation, if it could even be called that. Now she was just tired of the uncertainty. Did she even feel anything back for him? He was handsome but was he even her type? She had not really dated enough men to know her type. Who was she kidding? Precisely because he was so handsome and she was so… unremarkable looking was reason enough to know he was not interested in her. What about his childhood friend? Was he still carrying a torch for her? And behind all this confusion there was also the ever-present guilt.

The guilt was entirely undeserved-Hermione was very aware of this fact. He had made it abundantly clear that there was no room left in his heart for her. Still, this fact did not stop the occasional pangs of sadness that seemed to coincide with the Sébastien butterflies. So, she kept the guilt with her, stuck with these feelings that she wished would just disappear. She had-very briefly-considered that something with Sébastien might ease the pain faster, but even Hermione Jean Granger was smarter than that. Such a relationship was bound to be short and as her friend, Sébastien deserved to more than just a rebound fling. No, it seemed to Hermione that time would be her only salve. That, and Sébastien did not feel that way about her.

Beyond the concern over Sébastien weighing heavily on her mind, the rest of the day could have been considered a success. The third-years she had had dancing lessons with did not seem to remember her. Perhaps they did not recognize her without the colorful sneakers. Or, maybe, like her, they were willfully forgetting what had transpired only hours ago. Thiago especially played up the fact that he did not know her. Instead opting to make as little eye contact as possible. Wishing to spare him, Hermione did not call on him the entire class. In the future, she would not let him get off so easily, but for that day, she made an exception.

Just as with her third-years, Hermione's plan for Sébastien was to treat him the same as normal, as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary to her, ever. She was going to play it cool, as it were. Joining her friends at their usual table, she watched them all with a bit more attention than normal. Perhaps Sébastien's behavior could be explained by culture-flirtation might be a way of life for them. As she dwelled on it, her theory was starting to make more and more sense. The French did kiss upon greeting and it was not be hard to be warmer than the notoriously frigid English.

Despite all this, Hermione was starting to relax. She had taught all of her classes and had found that it was not as bad as anticipated. She was even beginning to let herself hope that she could actually do this. And as a reward for surviving her first two days, Hermione decided to sneak off to the library following dinner. The term had just begun and there would likely be few students there, the perfect opportunity to find a book or two.

Among the stacks, Hermione was at home. The occlumency books Snape had lent her only whet her appetite. Scanning the spines for a title to attract her attention, she was thankful to have chosen to live in a new country. A new country meant new books that were not readily available in her homeland.

Giant stack in hand, she returned to the solitude of her own quarters. After a long day, however, her bed was looking so tempting, especially since there was a warm, soft friend already curled up there. But she reminded herself that she would likely not have much time to read this semester and that she had to utilize every opportunity she got. Just because her subject was not magical, did not mean she had to let her magical ability atrophy. Picking up a rather heavy tome on arithmancy and prime numbers, Hermione dove right in.

The rest of the week flew by. Hermione relished each ordinary, unremarkable day, a welcome change from her previous life. She spent her time being friendly to Sébastien, tolerating Snape, getting to know her students, and at night, she read, moving from arithmancy, to transfiguration, and finally to potions, interspersing occlumency throughout. Hermione realized that the amount of time she could spend reading each night was directly related to the amount of work she assigned. She did want them to learn, but she decided to be judicious about what and how much she assigned-for both their sake and her own. Her classes were mandatory for some, of course, but she also knew the students' other subjects took precedent and likely most of their time. If both of them could benefit from a little extra time, why bother filling their plates with rote work?

"Someone's not very social tonight," Béatrice said one night at dinner.

"I thought we had cured you of this, Jean," Phœbé added.

"What are you reading anyway? Looks too big to be Pride and Prejudice," Sébastien teased.

Hermione slipped her bookmark back into the book and triumphantly handed it over to Sébastien.

"Novel Catalysts and their Effects on Low-Temperature Brewing? Color me impressed. I didn't know you were interested in potions," Sébastien said as he turned the book over in his hands.

"I'm interested in everything," Hermione retorted.

"You are? Or are you just trying to impress me?" Sébastien asked.

"The day I do something to impress you, Bastien, will be a cold day in hell," Hermione said.

"It's good you didn't say 'when pigs fly,' because I would have had to tell you there are flying boars in France," Sébastien said, looking smug.

"I know. I've read about them."

Sébastien returned the book to her with a wicked grin. Hermione snatched it up and continued where she had left off. She had chatted with them at breakfast and lunch and just because she was not using her real name that did not mean she could not be herself sometimes. And thankfully, her friends did not seem to mind too much that she was a bit introverted.

Saturday morning Hermione woke early to grade quickly and then continue reading. She was not sure if her friends would be inviting her out to do things and after her reading at the table the previous evening, she could not, in good conscious, reject the offer. Pulling out her orange gel pen-orange, she felt was much friendlier than red-and set about correcting. After crossing out an errant 'the' in a student's essay, Hermione heard a shuffling noise coming from her door. It appeared that a letter had been shoved underneath. Figuring whoever left it was likely still outside, she simply opened her door instead of reading the note. Of course, had she known who was out there, she may have rethought her decision.

"S-Professor Rogue," she said, keeping her tone neutral and reminding herself to be civil. "Why don't you come inside?"

Hermione did not want him to actually do what she had just suggested, but she would rather the conversation continued in her warded room rather than in the hallway for everyone to hear.

"That won't be necessary."

"I insist," she said, with perhaps a bit too insistently to be considered civil.

"What did you want to talk about?" she asked once he was inside.

He looked around, taking stock of the room, but did not direct his attention to her. His wandering gaze made her wonder how he found her decorating-well, not that it mattered.

"Like I said, that won't be necessary," he said, his eyes finally landing on the note clutched in Hermione's hand.

Not this again, Hermione thought. Why does he seem to become reticent only after asking to talk to me?

"You walked all the way here to deliver a note but you don't want to talk about it?" Hermione asked, trying to hide her incredulity.

"A hand-delivered missive can't be intercepted," Snape said, as if it were obvious.

Hermione raised a brow.

"Are you that untrusting of your co-workers? Hang-on. Don't answer that. I already know the answer." Hermione did her best impression of him. "The real question is: aren't you, Miss Granger?"

Snape shrugged, as if to agree with her response.

"Why don't you just tell me? I'm... not in the mood for reading this morning," she joked, hoping that would coax him into speaking.

Snape sighed. "I went to the library last night looking for a book and when I couldn't find it, the librarian told me you had it."

"So... you wrote me a note to read faster, you insufferable know-it-all?" she said, mimicking his voice at the end.

"No," Snape said, only now starting to look annoyed. "I'm not finished, Miss Granger. If you're going to interrupt me, I'll leave you to read the note I had so painstakingly written."

Hermione rolled her eyes but acquiesced.

"Yes, I was disappointed that the book was currently in your possession, but you may continue to read it at your own pace. I just… I should have realized that you would be missing your magical studies."

Hermione snorted. "See, you really don't know me as well as you think you do."

"Miss Granger-" Snape said sharply, but he seemed to soften, "So if you're missing potion-making, if you wanted to… you can, uh, use-my-lab."

Snape had been speaking so fast during the last bit that Hermione was not sure she had heard correctly.

"Pardon me?" Hermione looked at him again. Whatever he was trying to say clearly pained him.

"If you want to continue experimenting and learning more about potions, you can use my lab. When I'm also there."

Hermione was surprised to say the least. What sort of ploy was this?

"You have a lab? You don't teach potions anymore."

"My own lab-that was my stipulation to the headmistress when I agreed to teach German."

Hermione nodded but felt a bit cheated herself. She did not know she could make such demands when she came to teach here. Then again, she did sort of beg.

"You don't have to do that. I'm almost done with the book," Hermione said.

Snape held up his hand.

"I've already offered. Don't try to convince me otherwise." Snape paused and when he continued his voice was quieter. "Trust me. I've thought about it for a long time. We can combine it with discussions on occlumency."

"Okay" was all Hermione could manage.

"Since you've heard all that I had written, Miss Granger, I think I will be going now, if that's permissible."

"Alright," Hermione said, still in shock.

When her old professor had gone and Hermione had regained her wits, she returned to her desk to continue grading. She had gotten through three more students' papers when she remembered the note; she still had not read it. But when she looked for it-it had just been in her hands, hadn't it?-Hermione could find no trace of the letter.