'So he gave you detention?' Harry asked that evening in the common room.

Hermione groaned and hung her head in her hands. This had to officially be the worst day ever in her time at Hogwarts. Basilisks and Umbridge included.

'Between us, I'm not surprised you haven't exploded sooner. That git had it coming really,' Ron said, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

'I did not explode!'

'No?' Ron eyed the angry red mark on her hand. 'What do you call that then?'

She slid down further into the sofa and folded her arms across her chest. 'Like you've never had a bad day before.'

'Bad day? Yes. Provoked Snape into giving us detention? Absolutely,' agreed Harry. 'Completely normal for us. But for you? This is the equivalent of…'

'Blowing up your aunt,' Ron supplied.

Harry grimaced. 'Er— right. Exactly.'

'It's just so infuriating. He asked a question. I answered it. Why does he have to be so… so…' Hermione waved her hand.

'Such an arsehole?'

'Language Ron!' She smacked his arm. 'I was going to say condescending. It's ridiculous, how can you be cross at someone for having the right answer?'

'Hermione…' Harry scratched at the back of his head. 'Have you ever considered that maybe it's not what you say but how you say it?'

She glared at him. 'And what is that supposed to mean?'

He pushed his glasses up his nose, his face red. 'It's just… you did answer out of turn. I know you mean well, it's only… sometimes you get a little enthusiastic, that's all.'

Hermione let out a huff and picked at her cuticles. Okay, so maybe she was a little overzealous with her responses. In her first year she had been determined to prove she was just as good as those who had grown up in Wizarding families. And now? Well… she supposed it was because half the time no one else bothered to put up their hand. Or if they did, their answer was weak or partially correct. On the flip side she had put in all the time and effort studying, practically memorising their textbooks. Why not just save everyone the trouble?

'That still doesn't give him the excuse to be a bully,' she conceded.

'I swear he gets off on it,' Ron agreed.

She rolled her eyes.

Harry pulled his battered copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his book bag and she zeroed in on it. 'I hope you're going to hand that back to Slughorn once your copy arrives.'

His eyebrows raised. 'Why would I? The Prince is a genius. You've seen it yourself, his instructions are loads better.'

Hermione leapt off the sofa in an instant, snatching the book off him.

'Hey, be gentle with that!'

She flipped it open, perusing the pages. As her fingers skimmed over the cramped, sharp handwriting she had a sudden wave of deja vu. Turning to the back she read the inscription:

This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.

It had been aggressively underlined multiple times, the letters scrawled in a hurried fashion.

'We still don't know who this book belonged to. What if it was someone evil? What if some of these notes are dangerous,' she protested

'Dangerous?' Harry said incredulously. 'This isn't 101 Dark Curses. It's a textbook that belonged to a student.'

She ground her teeth together. 'You mean a student like Tom Riddle?'

'Is that why you've been in such a snit today? It all makes sense now,' Ron teased. 'Give over Hermione, you're jealous because Harry's doing better than you for once.'

She blushed. 'No. I—'

Harry jerked the book from her hands. She turned around to see him scowling at her, clutching it to his chest.

'This isn't like Riddle's diary and you know it,' he muttered.

She opened her mouth to argue further, but caught the look in his eyes. There was something else. It was more than just a book to him. 'Please be careful.'

'Blimey, is that the time?' Ron asked loudly, feigning a yawn. 'I'm up early in the morning to get some practice in before Quidditch tryouts. Are you coming, Harry?'

Harry stared at her for a moment, his mouth in a grim line. 'Yeah, I'm coming.'

Hermione watched them ascend the dormitory stairs, her stomach twisting. There was something familiar about that book.

Seven o'clock on Friday evening, Hermione found herself standing outside the Potions Master's office. Or rather, what used to be the Potions Master's office but was now the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor's office.

She had been dreading this moment all day. She knew deep down she only had herself to blame for the whole ordeal. She had let frustration get the better of her and in turn had snapped at the worst possible person.

Hermione prided herself on being top of her class. It felt nice when a teacher praised her for doing a good job, for modelling the exemplary student. Most of her professors doted on her. They welcomed her intelligence. Everyone except Professor Snape. In her five years at Hogwarts thus far, he had never once shown her an inch of praise. No 'well done'. No 'good job'. Not even a small, acceptable nod of the head. He was an emotional brick wall.

Most students would be glad that Snape ignored them, but it infuriated her. She was entranced ever since his speech in first-year. Exhibit A: a highly intelligent man with seemingly endless bounds of knowledge in his area of expertise. Not just a professor of Potions but a Potions Master. Then, in her sixth-year meet Exhibit B: a follower of Voldemort turned spy who, according to Sirius, had studied the Dark Arts since his early teen years. How could she resist asking questions? But no, she was forever told to sit down and shut up. And stop waving that stupid hand around.

When he wasn't ignoring her, he was mean, and on occasion down right cruel. She would never forgive him for his comment about her teeth in her fourth year. It should be illegal for a grown man to make a fifteen year old cry.

Well, if her experience in the Department of Mysteries had taught her anything it was that she would never again lay down and take the abuse. Harry was right; she had fought against Death Eaters and survived, and that should bloody well count for something. Snape be damned.

Which was easier said than done of course, as she stood in front of his office door trying to summon the courage to knock. She shook her hands out in front of her, trying to maintain some sense of confidence and dispel the fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach.

This was silly. If Harry could face Voldemort in the graveyard and not lose his head, she could face an angry Snape. Her knock was a sharp staccato note in the quiet corridor. For one brief, tiny moment she almost considered making a run for it.

'Enter.'

She had only been to Snape's office on one other occasion: while attempting to steal from his personal stores in second year. To this day the thought still made her cringe.

The room was lit by a faint green light. It glinted off the dozens of jars of pickled items and other nasty potion ingredients. As much as the subject fascinated her she could never fully come to terms with the rather ghoulish side of it. What did it say about the man who preferred to be surrounded by such artefacts?

Hermione barely suppressed a shudder as she dragged her eyes off the shelves and onto Snape sitting behind his desk. She realised with a lurch that he had been observing her the same way she had been observing his personal space. Her mouth going dry, she quickly averted her gaze to the floor.

'You may sit,' he told her.

Were the dungeons always this cold? She pulled the sleeves of her robes over her knuckles and slid into one of the wooden chairs in front of his desk.

Even with the wide desk between them he still loomed over her. Her eyes darted towards the closed door. 'Miss Granger. Do you understand why you're here?'

Hermione swallowed against the thick lump in her throat. 'For talking out of turn, sir. And….' she drew a ragged breath, 'for what I said. It wasn't very mature and I'm sorry.'

He leant his elbows on the desk and she fought every instinct not to back up.

'You and your friends continually believe the rules do not apply to you,' he said cooly, his dark eyes glinting.

'That's not true,' she objected weakly. 'I do follow the rules.'

Snape held up a hand. 'You will not interrupt me. You follow the rules only when it suits you. You broke the Ministry's law on under-age magic, putting another student at risk. You attacked a teacher. Then you refused to obey simple instructions, disrupting the learning of other students. You seem to think your intelligence places you higher than your peers. While your other professors may tolerate your attitude, I will not accept it in my classroom.'

Hermione crumpled in on herself, her cheeks burning. He was right. The worst part was she knew he was right even before he said it. 'I'm sorry sir.'

The silence yawned between them before he rose to his feet.

'Up you get, Miss Granger. Since you were so persistent to cut me off in class, we will continue our lesson on Fiendfyre. Think of it as a… demonstration perhaps. I will cast the spell and you will block.'

She baulked.

'But sir, we only learned how to banish Fiendfyre when it's been used to set objects ablaze, not how to block it outright. You said we'd have to use a shield like Protego Maxima and we haven't covered that yet.'

He gave her a withering look. 'I was under the impression that you knew everything, Miss Granger. Surely you understand the concept?'

Her mind was racing. He couldn't be serious, could he?

He came around the desk in a few long strides and she stared up at him with wide eyes. Of course he was serious. This was Snape, after all.

Her palms slick with sweat she stood up and crossed to the other side of the room. Harry was always convinced Snape didn't care whether they lived or died. She argued against him, owing to the fact that Dumbledore trusted him. But for the first time she considered that maybe the boys were onto something. Taking in his wide legged stance and cocky smirk she wasn't entirely sure she would make it out of the dungeons alive.

'Please, take your time,' he sneered.

Hermione lifted her wand. She could do this. She was confident in her ability to shield, and she knew the theory behind the incantation, even if she'd never practised.

Snape struck, sharp as a snake. She barely had time to think before the golden flames came roaring towards her. 'Protego Maxima!'

Her blue shield flared as the heat exploded around her. It held for a moment, before she could see the cracks quickly forming, his magic dissolving hers. The flames caressed the tip of her wand and licked at her outstretched palm, causing her heart to thunder in her chest. The room tilted under her feet.

She was back in the Department of Mysteries, staring into the dark eyes of a Death Eater as he raised his wand at her. The tight feeling in her chest returned, causing the grip on her shield to slip. She couldn't breathe.

Oh god. He was going to burn her alive.

'Stop! Please!' Her voice was shrill, pleading. 'Professor, stop!'

The flames vanished and Hermione fell to her knees, trembling.

'Five years of school and you can't even master a simple block?' Snape taunted.

She closed her eyes and focused on slowing her breath. Her fingers felt numb where they splayed on the cold floor. 'That's a seventh-year spell, sir.'

'Oh so you don't know everything. How refreshing to finally hear you admit it.'

Her nostrils flared. Suddenly, Hermione forgave the boys for every foul name they called him over the years. Git. Giant, slimy-haired git. No, she didn't know everything but she knew a hell of a lot. Who successfully brewed Polyjuice Potion in their second year? Who figured out Rita Skeeter was an illegal Animagus? And who solved Snape's riddle protecting the Philosopher's Stone in their first year?

Standing up she pushed a lock of hair out her eyes and glared at him. 'I want another go.'

He narrowed his eyes. 'I didn't take you as a glutton for punishment. Very well.'

She gritted her teeth as she slid into a defensive position. She would show him – there was more than one way to block a spell. When his wand came up she expected the attack. 'Expelliarmus!'

She forgot how lethal Snape's reflexes were. His wand slashed through the air and she found herself thrown several feet across the room. She lay dazed on her back, white stars flashing in the corners of her vision.

His boots clicked across the stone floor before he stared down at her and snorted. 'I suppose you thought that was clever, Miss Granger?'

She raised herself to her elbows and gingerly touched the back of her head, feeling a lump already rising. Clever and stupid, apparently. She had the urge to kick his leg out from under him. See how he liked it, being sprawled out on the floor like an idiot.

'I'll reckon you'd want another crack at that, wouldn't you,' he said silkily.

She frowned. 'You mean to disarm you?

That bloody eyebrow again. 'You're not usually this daft.'

Pushing herself up, her brow furrowed in concentration. Fine. Fine. She would play his game. The stupid great bat. She needed an element of surprise though. She still hadn't quite mastered non-verbal spells, but it was better than nothing. Bringing her wand up, she flicked it again, putting all her mental force behind the incantation. His shield flashed before he struck back, quickly gaining the upper-hand. Her wand flew out her hand and Snape smirked as he caught it.

'I'm beginning to see why you only achieved an E on your O.W.L's,' he purred.

Bastard. 'It's not exactly a fair fight, is it sir. You're faster than I am,' she answered through gritted teeth.

'Indeed. Next time we'll ask the Dark Lord to slow down, shall we?' Snape tilted his head to the side. 'Speed has nothing to do with it, Miss Granger. You fail because you lack control. You and Potter have that in common.'

Hermione flinched, feeling hot all over. 'My control is just fine.'

'I beg to differ,' he snickered. 'There's more to duelling than pointing a wand and hoping for the best.'

'That's not—'

'Will you stop talking!' he barked, his eyes glittering. 'Miss Granger, what is your job?'

That was a silly question. She only had one job at Hogwarts.

'To learn.'

Snape crossed his arms, tapping their wands against his forearm. 'And what is my job?'

'To teach,' she replied on impulse.

'Then stop fighting me and for once in your life just listen, you ridiculous girl.'

Hermione clenched her fists, a retort on the tip of her tongue when the dissonance between his sharp tone and his counselling words made her pause. She was doing it again…dismissing everyone else's ideas with the singular opinion that she was right.

Her cheeks flushed. 'I'm listening, sir,' she murmured.

He sauntered towards her, his footsteps reverberating off the dungeon walls. Her stomach gave a funny twist as he towered over her.

'There's no place for emotions in a duel,' he said silkily. 'Your mind needs clarity and focus to hit a target with precision. Your opponent does not care who upset you that morning, they'll only see your weakness as an open door to destroy you.'

She licked her lips, her breath quickening.

He glowered down his nose at her, holding out her wand. 'Get out of your own head, or I will do it for you.'

Hermione crossed the room and took her stance again, shutting down her fears about failing and not being good enough. The steady drip of the dungeons fell quiet until there was nothing but her, Professor Snape and their wands.

It wasn't any easier this time: he was ruthless in his attack. She knew he was capable of more and the realisation he was holding back terrified her. He fought completely non-verbally and there was no way of working out which incantations he'd use or which direction he'd come in. But she met him in the middle each time, her shield unwavering. She gave herself over to the fight, ignoring her frustration when she couldn't quite gain a foothold.

Just as her muscles began their familiar ache, she spotted a small opening and aimed a Knockback jinx at him. He flew against his desk with a bang, surprise briefly crossing his face. Hermione lowered her wand, feeling triumphant.

Snape stood, tugging at his robes in an attempt to find some composure. The hairs on the back of her neck rose at his predatory gaze and the sight of his chest rising and falling from the exertion of their fight.

'Enough. I'd give you an Acceptable, at best Miss Granger. I hope Potter fights better than this, or Merlin save us, the Dark Lord will win before the boy knows what's coming,' he drawled.

Her chin jutted out. 'You can be assured he does, sir.'

She fought not to fidget as he studied her, his dark eyes inscrutable. Just when she thought she would explode he smirked, his hands folding into his robes. 'I was going to make you clean cauldrons tonight but I think after that disaster I can think of something more suitable.'

A shiver drew down her spine. 'Sir?'

'I have just the exercise to help you clear your mind of unwelcome thoughts.' He jerked his head toward his store room. 'There's two barrels of cat guts that need cleaning for Slughorn's lessons tomorrow. If you don't want to be here all night I suggest you get to it, Miss Granger.'

She blanched.

Hermione spent the next week feeling distracted. Her brain was all fuzzy, replaying her detention on a loop. Snape stated her control and her overwhelming need to be the best at everything were holding her back.

There was a truth to it, she realised. She couldn't deny that Ron and Harry were better than her when it came to Defence Against the Dark Arts. If Ron applied himself just a little more he could have easily attained an Outstanding. She spent her time pouring over her textbooks and had only scraped an Exceeds Expectations.

In all their practice duels over the summer, Ron relentlessly stuck to the basics. He bided his time on the defence before finding the perfect opportunity to strike when his opponent tired. It was a flawed strategy in the real world, but the concept worked for him. She also knew he was physically bigger and stronger, and therefore less likely to get winded.

Harry fought with instinct and emotions. Maybe it was because of his link with Voldemort or how the Dark Arts were attracted to him like a magnet, but no one could deny that he had a natural talent. He had proven it time and time again.

Where did that leave her? She knew the theories and she could practise spells in isolation. But a controlled environment and a battlefield were completely different. There was no way of knowing how her opponent was going to react. She couldn't predict the outcome, leaving her brain paralysed with fear. It was the same fear that caused her to panic at the Ministry. The same fear that made her freeze up when blocking the Fiendfyre.

It was worse than that. Snape's snide remarks had triggered something deep within her, a belief she had tried to smother during her first years at Hogwarts. She had spent so long denying it, but every report on Muggle attacks made her increasingly aware that her blood status put her at a distance disadvantage.

Logically she knew she was safe under Dumbledore's watchful eye. However, since the start of term Dumbledore's presence was felt increasingly less in the Great Hall. There was a creeping air of unease lingering in the corridors that reminded her of the heavy tension she felt at the Burrow. She had tried her best to ignore it, but something during her detention had flicked a switch.

While Harry and Ron lounged around the common room, having a laugh, she sat on the fringe with her nose in her book, reading the same sentences over again. What if the worst was yet to come? What if, god forbid, Hogwarts fell? It was unlikely but not impossible. Would she survive? Voldemort's mission was to root out Muggle-borns. Add in the common knowledge she was one of Harry's closest friends and there was the startling realisation that one day her life could very well be at risk.

Hermione mulled over the idea of her impending doom during Slughorn's dinner party, only half paying attention as Cormac McLaggen droned on about his father's connections. She was embarrassed in Transfiguration when she had to ask McGonagall to repeat the instructions after her mind wandered. Even Ron and Harry had teased her one morning when she had come down for breakfast without her robes. She had flushed and scampered back to the dormitories before a teacher could deduct any further points.

So she wasn't entirely sure she was in the right headspace when she found herself outside Snape's office after classes, bouncing on the balls of her feet. It was a stupid idea, but she had considered every possible solution in her head, tallying up the potential pros and cons. Snape was the only one who might actually be able to assist her.

Still, from his continued scathing remarks in class she knew he absolutely detested her. He was going to eat her alive for even suggesting the idea.

Her nerves were on fire as he barked her admittance. Snape looked up at her and scowled.

'Miss Granger. Despite the additional citations in your paper on dragon pox my grading still stands. I will hear no more of it,' he said dismissively.

Hermione licked her lips. It was now or never. 'Actually, sir, I have a request.'

His eyes narrowed. 'I see.'

'It's…' She fidgeted with a loose thread on her robes. 'I was hoping—'

'Out with it,' he hissed. She stepped forward and gripped the back of a chair to steady her hands. It was like facing off against a dragon. A sarcastic dragon who breathed insults instead of fire.

'I'd like some additional lessons in defence. Or rather, how to attack.'

Snape drummed his fingers on the desk. 'Why?'

Hermione's stomach churned as her fingers picked at the splintering wood of the chair. She took it back, this was a very bad idea. Snape would tear her limb from limb and Ron would forever use it as ammunition.

'Defence Against the Dark Arts isn't my forte. I can study it and revise it all I like but it's an instinctual practice I don't have. I'm not like Harry,' she admitted, her throat dry.

'How unfortunate. Your current grade does not warrant remedial lessons. Your ego will just have to suffer the E.' He waved his hand towards the door. 'Good day Miss Granger.'

Her eyes darted between the door and his face, her hands wringing together. Her brain was telling her to go, but her feet refused to cooperate.

Snape raised his eyebrows. 'Have you suddenly gone deaf?'

It took every effort to still her hands. 'Please, sir. I'm not asking for extra credit. I want to learn to fight. Properly. The war is coming and Harry's going to need all the help he can get.'

He snorted. 'Ah yes, our resident Chosen One. War is not a game, Miss Granger. If Potter hopes to survive he will leave the fighting to the adults.'

'And what if the adults aren't around to defend us?' She persisted. 'Can we not take our survival into our own hands?'

Snape leaned back, his fingers flexing over the arms of his chair as he gave her a calculating look. 'Are my usual classes not good enough? What is it exactly that you're asking me?'

Hermione sucked in a breath, her muscles tensing. 'Does You-Know-Who know I'm friends with Harry?'

'You think the Dark Lord cares about someone so insignificant such as yourself,' he taunted. She flinched.

'No, of course not. But does he?'

The silence was deafening in her ears before he spoke again, his voice low.

'Yes.'

Hermione shuddered. That confirmed her fears then — her life was in mortal danger. 'And,' she continued, her heart racing, 'I'm assuming he also knows I'm Muggle-born. I could be a target.' It was a statement, not a question. The thought had been playing through her mind, but saying it out loud gave it life. Her knees felt weak.

Snape's eyes blazed. 'Why me? There are several Aurors guarding the castle, some of them members of the Order. Why not one of them?'

'I did think about it. I know Tonks would help me, maybe even Kingsley. But they might tell Harry, and he's got enough to worry about.' She let out a quivering breath. 'It's not just that, sir. I'm afraid they'd go easy on me.'

Because who else could teach her to fight like a Death Eater than a former Death Eater himself? Snape had enough loathing for Harry, Ron and herself that he would fight like he meant it, no holding back.

Seconds ticked by and Hermione met his gaze, refusing to let him intimidate her.

He rubbed at his bottom lip. 'I shall consider your request, Miss Granger. Now get out of my sight,' he said firmly.

The corner of her mouth twitched in a tentative smile. It was a better answer than she had hoped for.

'Thank you, Professor,' she said quickly, bowing her head. 'That's all I ask.'

The next Monday Hermione took her seat in Defence class while Snape handed back their essays. Unrolling her parchment, she flicked through the usual tirade of comments crammed in the margins. At the bottom read Wednesday evening, 7 o'clock. My office.

Her heart gave a funny beat as she fought the urge to grin like an idiot. Instead, she dropped the scroll into her bag, daring not to glance at Snape's forbidding form as he wove through the room.

She took it back. Maybe the year wouldn't be so bad after all.

Author Notes:

Thank you for your continued support! You make my little writer heart very, very happy :)

Playlist:
Creature Chromosomes, Rob Lane (A Discovery of Witches)
Vertigo, Alice Merton
How Magic Will Be Lost, Rob Lane (A Discovery of Witches)