A/n:  Hey, all!  Here's the next part of Destiny's Shadows.  I had to divide this chapter in two, and the main action is in this part.  The next part will be a little slow, but not too bad, I hope.  I'm rather pleased with this part for some reason.  I hope you are, as well.   Lyrics in this chapter were provided by Macbeth W. Cauldrina.  Thank you, and please review!

::: 11 :::

Destiny's Struggles part 1

"And though I know who I'm not,

I still don't know who I am.

But I know I won't keep playing the victim."

--Alanis Morissette

It was hard for Harry to find the strength and will to force himself to his feet the next morning.  He'd delayed adamantly for over twenty minutes, once even throwing a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six at Ron.  Ron had finally tired of Harry's refusal to awaken and had pulled his wand on him.  Harry had hesitation in admitting that he would not have made it to his first class at all that morning had Ron not put a Tickling charm on him, which made him roll on the floor laughing until his breath was scarce for nearly a minute.

Needless to say, tension between the two boys was high as they made their way down to the Great Hall for what was left of breakfast.  Harry was desperately attempting to tame his wild hair, which he'd not bothered to brush.  Over the months, he'd grown used to having some semblance of control over it—now it was back to the way it always had been, on this day at least.  Harry sighed and gave it up as they stepped through the doorway.  It wasn't like he hadn't been dealing with that particular problem for fifteen years anyway.

Hermione beckoned to them from a corner of Gryffindor table.  Harry noticed she'd slid as far away from most people as she could, while keeping Ginny close so as to look busy.  Harry and Ron settled themselves across from the two girls and began to put food onto their plates quickly, not wanting it to vanish before they'd gotten any.  Hermione handed them each a piece of paper.

"Course schedules," she said.  "I was given yours, due to your tardiness."

Ron rolled his eyes.  "Jeez, you make it sound like we've committed a heinous crime.  'Tardiness,'; why can't you just say we're late?"  It was obvious his temper was stretched, though as he was usually this sarcastic anyway, it took someone who knew him well to notice that.  He jerked his thumb in Harry's direction.  "Besides, blame him.  He's the one I had to hex just to get him out of bed."

"Stop with the sarcasm, Ron," warned Hermione, giving him a look that made her look like a younger version of Professor McGonagall. 

"Sorry.  But my last comment was not sarcastic," Ron said with an air of a person defending himself.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked at Harry, who was sitting across from her.  Harry glowered at Ron, who just continued to eat in a unconcerned manner.  "It wasn't a hex—it was just a Tickling Charm.  He's exaggerating—I wasn't that bad."

Ron waved his hand negligently.  "Charm, hex, what's the difference?  It was effective, nonetheless.  And let me assure you, Hermione, that he was indeed that bad."

Harry didn't even bother with a reply to this, though he could feel his cheeks flush a little as Hermione chuckled.  He knew she wasn't making fun of him—simply finding amusement in his obstinacy.  It could be worse.  He picked up his course schedule and began to look it over.  His eyes narrowed after a moment.  This schedule was different than what he was accustomed to.

"It says here I'm in advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, and Charms.  Advanced?"  This question was directed mainly at Hermione, who was most likely to understand this.  Sure enough, she did not disappoint him.

"In sixth and seventh year, students are divided between basic and advanced classes.  The teachers choose who is suited for what.  You have mostly advanced, which is good; I have all advanced, so we'll be together."  She frowned at her schedule.  "Except for Potions.  I'm in basic Potions."

"No major loss there," muttered Ron, picking up his schedule to look it over for the first time.

"But why?" she questioned.  "I'm more than capable—Snape may hate me, but even he can't deny that my marks in Potions have always been the highest.  I don't see how he can place me in basic with justification."

"Snape doesn't need justification, Hermione," said Ginny ruefully.  "He's just a sadistic man who plays favorites."

"Talk to him about it," suggested Harry as Ron nodded vigorously in response to Ginny's comment, his mouth too full to utter a single intelligible word.  "I'm in basic too, though I've never showed much talent for the subject, so I can see why.  I guess I'm in advanced everything, except for Astrology, Divination, and Potions."

"I'm sure you're missing a lot in advanced Divination," said Hermione dryly.  "To think you could have been in a class which introduces more ways for Trelawny to predict your death.  What a devastating loss."

"Hypocrite," teased Ron.  "Just a moment ago you were telling me not to be sarcastic, now you're doing it yourself."  He looked at his schedule again.  "I've got the same advanced subjects as Harry does, except for Herbology.  I suppose flunking the class last year didn't help my shot of getting into advanced."

"Today we've got Double Potions first, then we have Care of Magical Creatures.  Then there's lunch and I have Arithmancy and you have Divination," read Hermione.  "Not too bad."

"Yeah, except for the Double Potions part."  This seemed to remind Ron of their earlier discussion.  "Are you seriously going to talk to Snape about advanced Potions?" he demanded, around a mouthful of food.  "It's hard enough as it is.  Besides, you'll be alone with the Slytherins—Harry and I are staying basic.  Even if we wanted to go with you, Snape would never let us."

At the mention of the Slytherins, Hermione busied herself with her book bag.  Though Ron didn't seem to notice that he'd done anything wrong, Harry could tell that this was not the most pleasant of ideas for her.  However, knowing Hermione, she would not let the Slytherins scare her away from any advanced class.

Hermione stood abruptly, making Harry and Ron look up at her in confusion.  "Come on, then.  I'd like to talk to Professor Snape before class begins, so we'll need to start down now."

Ron looked scandalized at the prospect of leaving the food, but Harry pulled him up by the collar with no regard for his reaction.  In his opinion, he had nowhere near paid Ron back for waking him so harshly, and tomorrow, Ron was in for a rude awakening of his own.  Ron grabbed a last biscuit and waved a goodbye to Ginny, who was summoning over a few of her fifth-year friends to sit with, before Harry and Hermione had succeeded in dragging him from the Great Hall.  On their way out, Harry noticed the Slytherins watching them with the eyes of hawks.  There was a great deal of whispering as they passed.  Hermione pretended she did not notice, but Harry knew she was far too sharp to have missed it.  However, he dared not bring it up.  If she wanted to say something, she would do so herself.

Just as they were turning the corner into the hallway that would lead them to the stairwell to the dungeons, Harry ran into someone.  He stumbled backwards, grabbing desperately at his books, which threatened to tumble from his bag at any moment.  Hermione stopped him from falling at the last second, and they all looked up to see who they'd run into.

It was their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Adair Rusdorn.  He looked down at them with a murmured, "Terribly sorry," and began to step around them.  Suddenly, he stopped, seeming to notice them for the first time.  His face was lit by a brilliant smile.  Harry remembered Lockhart's charming smiles, but somehow this man was different.  There was no phoniness or narcissism to this man's smile—simply a pleasant humor that had the effect of gaining someone's trust effortlessly.  There was something within him that made Harry hold back from doing that just yet.  He'd learned too well what happened when you trusted someone so quickly.

"Harry Potter and Hermione Granger," he said, grinning at them both.  He crossed his arms, giving them the once-over.  Up close, they realized just how young he looked—certainly no older than twenty-five.  He was also not the least bit slimy, no trace of anything that would mark him as someone Severus Snape would associate with.  "Quite the famous pair, you two have become.  It's a pleasure to meet you."

Harry and Hermione shook his hand and Ron did as well, introducing himself.  When he stated his last name, Rusdorn raised his eyebrows.  "Weasley?  No relation to the hooligans running that new joke shop in Hogsmeade, by any chance?  What was it called . . . Weasley's Wizard Weezers?"

"Wheezes," Ron corrected, nodding.  "Yeah, they're my older brothers.  Why?"

Rusdorn laughed.  "Pair of troublemakers, those two.  Second I stepped into their shop and told them I was to be filling the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, they were all over me.  Trying to 'help' me, they said.  They had great fun in accidentally setting loose many items on me."

Ron was smiling and nodding.  "Yeah, that's Fred and George for you.  No respect for authority.  It's why they're so well loved."

The easy feeling this man was spreading was contagious; Harry couldn't help it—he smiled in spite of himself.  Rusdorn certainly seemed to be the nice sort.  They talked for a few minutes longer, long enough for Harry to find out that Rusdorn had been lined up for the English International Quidditch team as a Keeper.  That did it for Harry—he couldn't help but like this guy.  He noted out of the corner of his eye that Hermione was still not smiling.  She nodded a little at times and was polite as always, but no more.

Rusdorn checked his watch.  "I think we're all going to be late now.  It was nice to meet you all.  I'll see you in my class sometime soon, I hope."  With some cheery goodbyes from Ron and Harry, Rusdorn dashed away.

"He's brilliant," said Ron with a laugh.  "And you said Snape hired him?  Must have been a mistake . . . Snape would never hire anyone that cool, especially for the position he's wanted for years . . ."

"Come on," said Hermione impatiently.  "I've lost my opportunity to speak with Professor Snape by now, and we're going to be late on top of everything if we don't hurry."

Harry and Ron followed her instructions, but as they jogged down the stairs and into the dungeons, the talk stayed on the topic of Rusdorn and, of course, Quidditch.  Finally, Harry asked Hermione, "What do you think of him?  You've been awfully quiet, and you're usually the first to critique new teachers."

She just shrugged.  "He seems nice."

"Nice?" asked Ron.  "He's amazing!  He was a superb Quidditch player—how is it that the best adjective you know is 'nice'?  You, Miss I've-got-the-full-contents-of-a-dictionary-stored-in-my-brain?"

Hermione scowled at him.  "How do you know he was such a fantastic player—because he told you he was?  Have you ever seen him play?  No.  You talked with the man for what, five minutes?  Already, you're acting like he's a national hero, or something.  I, personally, am going to wait to make a judgment, even if you're gullible enough to be roped into loving him already."

"Gullible?" demanded Ron.  He and Harry's earlier quarrel seemed to have been forgotten, but he was still not in the best of tempers.  "And you're some expert on the topic of hidden agendas?"

Hermione just looked at her feet.  "I never said that," she said in a low, emotionless tone.  "All I mean is that I've been through enough to have trouble trusting people easily."

Ron lapsed into silence, knowing he'd gone too far without meaning to.  Luckily, they reached the dungeons at about this time and the heavy silence was not so noticeable when they entered Snape's classroom.  The three slid into seats at a table near the back and far away from the Slytherins, not that there were many.  Most Slytherins, favored as always by the Potions Master, had been placed in the advanced class.  Of thirty students, Harry could only spot five Slytherins, three of whom he barely knew by sight.  The other two were Crabbe and Goyle, whom Harry supposed not even Snape could find good excuse to place in an advanced course.  They were looking utterly lost and even more dense than usual without Malfoy, their leader.  Harry felt a small pang of sadness at the thought of Malfoy, but shoved it aside, replacing it with a query as to how Crabbe and Goyle had even managed to escape Azkaban after showing their true colors as Death Eaters the year before.

If Snape had any recollection of the few events that had gone on between he and Hermione the year before, he showed no sign of it.  He smirked at them dangerously and Harry stared him down, his hatred for the Potions Master resurfacing after a summer of freedom from his tyrannical classroom.  This was to be a year in which they definitely did not want to anger Snape—with his position of Deputy Headmaster, there was no telling the types of punishments that they would receive.

Snape raised his wand and the door slammed shut behind Harry.  It slammed in the faces of two Gryffindors who were hurrying to get inside.  Snape, finding this amusing, looked at them all with a wide sneer.  "Welcome to basic Potions.  This is the class in which the less capable are placed—namely, this class will consist of mainly Gryffindors."  He paused to allow himself a second sickening sneer and the few Slytherins there had to opportunity to guffaw loudly, apparently not understand that by doing so, they were laughing at themselves for being as stupid as the Gryffindors allegedly were.

"As you've proven yourselves incompetent at what we've been doing up until this point, we will begin a long stretch of review.  We will start by brewing the Nagillus Potion.  It is a simple potion, of course, one I would expect all sixth years to be able to do.  It is one you've done before, so I won't be giving you instruction on it.  It's all in your books, if you can manage to flip through the pages successfully.  Can anyone tell me what this potion does—and only what it does?  No instructions on brewing it."  The look he gave them all would not be forgotten—no one would dare go against this order.

Immediately, Hermione's hand flew up.  Harry felt that this would be a common occurrence throughout this class period, with her determination to prove herself worthy of advanced Potions.  Snape surveyed them all, his eyes sliding past Hermione as though she hadn't made any motion to indicate she knew. 

"How sad.  A sixth year class who cannot even tell me the uses of the simple Nagillus Potion?  Rather pathetic, really.  Longbottom!  Tell me one thing Nagillus can be used for."

Neville, who had a hard enough time talking to a nice teacher when he was prepared, practically jumped out of his skin at being addressed as such.  His mouth went open and closed many times, no sounds coming out except small squeaks.  "I-I d-don't know, s-sir," he stammered at long last, voice quivering, sounding terrified.

"Pity," said Snape, though his eyes danced gleefully, contradicting his words.  "Ten points from Gryffindor.  Does anyone else care to have a go?  Mr. Potter, perhaps?  Your fame seems to have grown to new proportions—is there any chance your intellect has done the same?"

Harry went very red in the face, hating the fact that he would have to admit that he hadn't the slightest idea what the Nagillus Potion was used for.  Just as he opened his mouth to say he hadn't a clue, Hermione's elbow collided gently with his rib.  He looked at her and with her eyes, she motioned him to look down at the table.  He did, being careful not to move his head as Snape was watching him very closely.  On a piece of parchment in front of her was the short description.  He began to read:  "The Nagillus Potion is used for—"

"SILENCE!" howled Snape.  His black eyes were alive with anger and he stared at Hermione with a deep loathing.  "Miss Granger!  How often do I have to remind you not to deliberately go behind my back and tell your classmates something they should already know?!"

"I didn't tell Harry anything, sir," she said, not quailing under his livid gaze.  Her voice was remarkably steady and even Harry, had he not known the truth, would have believed her.

"Writing him a note is the same thing!  Do you think I'm blind?  Could you have been any more obvious?  I did not ask you to tell me what the potion is used for, I asked Potter!  Is your faith in him so little that you feel it necessary to answer for him?  I can easily see how that would be, but aren't you supposed to be his friend?"  he snarled.  Suddenly, he sneered.  "I would have thought that being placed in the class for the less qualified would have dampened your insufferable spirits—would have thought you'd be a bit less eager to answer every question that comes along.  Apparently I was wrong.  But then, being the best in a class of idiots is not much of a compliment, is it?  I welcome you to the title, Miss Granger.  Queen of the Fools you are.  Are you satisfied, now?"

Hermione was quite red with embarrassment by this time and she was trembling with either anger or fear, but her eyes did not leave Snape's, nor did her expression waver.  "I apologize for helping my friend when he needed to understand something.  I was under the impression that that was what school was for—learning.  And when the teacher isn't qualified to teach his subject, it is necessary for the students to learn somewhere, wouldn't you agree?  If the students should know this by now, I wonder why so many do not?  Who can I trace that back to?"

The room had gone deathly still and silent.  Never, in any of their years, had anyone spoken to Professor Snape in such a manner.  Certainly, kids had argued or even insulted him at times, but no one had ever done so to such a blatant degree.  Perhaps most shockingly of all was that this was Hermione Granger speaking—perfect student and prefect who, with the exception of Professor Trelawny, had never given a professor a foul word to their face in her life.  Everyone was staring at her—Ron's mouth had dropped open so far it was nearly touching the desk—but she didn't seem to notice.  Her eyes were still set firmly on the Potions Master, who stood motionless and unreadable in front of them all.  Harry knew now that she was trembling mostly from anger, though he'd have been surprised to hear that at least some of it didn't come from terror as well.  Snape's face was now contorting itself into such a pure form of loathing and disgust that Harry winced inwardly.  A lot of Snape's ugliest expressions had been directed at him in his six years here, but even he had never seen Snape look at him with this much anger.

He hissed through his clenched teeth, "Granger!  In—my—office—now!  The rest of you—brew your potions!  Have them done in an hour or you all get zeros!"  He glared at Hermione, who was standing up to follow his instructions.  He then stalked out of the room and into the office connected to it. 

Severus Snape's office was well known to be a dangerous place.  It was as feared and avoided as Filch's office.  Very few went in there and those who did rarely emerged as confident as they had been going in.  There had been rumors that he tortured some kids in there, though Harry didn't believe it.  Certainly he thought Snape capable of such a thing, he just knew that under Dumbledore's watchful eye Snape would never have gotten away with any such act.  But Dumbledore's not here today, a voice reminded Harry.  He began to feel a pang of worry for Hermione as she straightened her desk slowly, taking her time and not caring that she was only making things worse by forcing the man to wait.  Obviously she was not frightened, but Harry was a different story.

"Are you mad?" hissed Ron, disbelief still etched in his every feature.  "Talking that way to Snape!  You're asking for an early funeral, Hermione!  Of all the teachers to pick to finally start talking back, you have to pick him!"

"Why not him?" she demanded.  "He's been tormenting me mercilessly for years because I'm a Gryffindor Muggle-born who is friends with the both of you and can always answer everything he says.  He hates that I show up his own House half the time.  The only reason he didn't advance me to the next Potions level is because he's a biased piece of scum—and I'm not afraid of him.  I'll get detention and lose House points—I'm so very terrified."

Ron was just shaking his head at her.  "If this were occurring at any other time, I'd be laughing at your audacity.  But the fact is you're crazy!  I've heard how maniacal he can get if someone really pisses him off—I think you've done that.  He did tell you to come to his office, too.  He didn't just shout at you in front of everyone, which he'd normally have done to humiliate you and make the other Gryffindors turn against you."

"There's a whole class out here, Ron," she told him logically, her face still red, a frown of anger set in her expression.  "What do you think he's going to do?  And I've faced a lot worse than Professor Snape.  He's been thrown rather low on my list of frightening people."

"I dunno, Hermione," muttered Harry, speaking up for the first time.  "Remember third year when Sirius escaped?  I'd never seen him so mad.  He looked ready to kill.  He probably would have killed if he'd gotten the opportunity—seemed pretty keen to strangle me at the time.  He looked just as mad a moment ago, only his voice wasn't raised."

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh and glared at the two boys.  "Honestly!  You two are as bad as my parents.  Personally, I think you're overreacting just a lot—"

"MISS GRANGER!  GET—IN—HERE!"

The room seemed to shake with the words that exploded from the open door of Snape's office.  Neville, more nervous than ever thanks to Snape's horrible mood, jumped a foot in the air and spilled a whole bottle of golden liquid into his cauldron.  It began to hiss and bubble in a way it shouldn't have, and many students began to scramble to get out of the way of what they felt was an impending explosion.

Hermione gave her two friends once last withering look and turned and marched straight to the front of the classroom and into Professor Snape's office.  A moment later, the door slammed shut.  Everyone who was not busy getting far away from Neville and his dangerously spitting cauldron was staring mutely at the door.  The Gryffindors were all quite shocked at the behavior from their perfect classmate and didn't seem to care about the fact that neglecting their potions meant a zero for their first grade of the school year.  Neville looked over to Harry once his cauldron began to settle and Harry could see how the boy's facial complexion had turned from rosy to white in a clear sign of nerves.

"Has she lost her senses?" he asked, his voice high-pitched.  "Talking that way to Snape . . . Merlin . . ."

"Crazy—definitely," remarked Lavender Brown.  "Everything that's happened must have addled her brain."

"Oh, yeah.  But that has to be the coolest thing I've ever witnessed!" called Dean Thomas triumphantly.  "This'll go down in the record books for years.  I reckon she's the first to ever talk to Snape like that!"

The explosion of shouts from Snape's office halted all the excited murmuring.  No one could make out the words, as they were muffled by the door and the wall, but they could all tell it was Snape's voice shouting in very acute anger.

"Yeah," said Ron, once the yells had died.  He threw his textbook into his empty cauldron and sat back in his chair, staring at the closed door with a look of apprehension and disgust on his face.  "Brilliant plan of hers, wasn't it?  What has gotten into her?"

Harry, who had been about to add a remark of his own, was stopped when a sharp pain hit his chest.  It was so painful that it felt as though someone was stabbing him.  It faded away, only to come again to a lesser intensity and a word flitted across his mind for the briefest of instants—Hermione.  And suddenly it was clear as day to him, though when he looked back on it even after he understood everything, he still was unsure as to how the realization dawned.  Hermione was in trouble.

He leaped to his feet, throwing his chair backwards into the table behind him and splattering some of the potion that two of the Slytherin boys had been brewing all over the desk and floor.  Their protests fell on deaf ears, as did Ron's confused yells.  Again the class was consumed by mutters as Harry ran for the door of Snape's office, giving no warning as to why.

When Harry reached the door, he twiddled the knob to find it locked.  Growling, he pulled out his wand. 

Behind him, he heard Ron yell, "What in Merlin's name are you doing?  Have you bloody well lost your mind?  He'll kill you!"

He heard Neville's shaking response.  "First Hermione, now him.  They're all going nutters!"

None of this really sank in until later, though, when he would review this moment and ponder it.  Instead he snarled, "Alohomora!"  He heard the distinctive click and threw the door open. 

Before him, Hermione had her back to him.  She was slowly backing towards the door he'd just thrown open, one hand to the side of her face.  She seemed to be in shock, or a deep stupor. Snape was yelling words that the blood pounding in Harry's ears didn't allow him to comprehend.  Snape had his fist raised.  Harry had always had the ability to quickly analyze and assess situations and this one took him less than five seconds.  Snape had struck Hermione at least once and was preparing to do it again.

Everything stopped when he entered.  Hermione quickly made her way over to Harry, who immediately put a protective arm around her.  She was shaking and looked terribly upset.  Her breathing was somewhat irregular, a clear sign that she was very frightened.

"Potter, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" snarled Snape.  "I had my door locked for a reason!  You think you have the right to come bursting in here at any time you damn well please!  I was in the middle of talking to a student—something you should know if you had an ounce of intelligence in that skull of yours."

"Doesn't look like talking to me," said Harry, his voice containing a warning edge.  He drew Hermione back as Snape took a step forward.  "Looks like you hit her.  And no matter how much Dumbledore trusts you and lets you get away with, if he knew you'd hit a student, things could become very different.  For one, your position as Deputy Headmaster would be taken away in an instant."

"You can't prove anything," said Snape, looking a little concerned and hiding it well.  "And exactly how do you know that your perception of things are correct?"

"Oh, I'll bet you I can prove it," replied Harry, though he had no real idea how he could.  He gave Hermione a side glance, just to verify what he already knew.  "He did, right?"  She nodded.  Her eyes were downcast. 

"Dumbledore isn't here to sense anything's happened."

"Professor McGonagall will be just as harsh—probably even harsher—as Dumbledore would have been.  She'll believe us.  She doesn't like you and Hermione's her favorite student.  She probably won't take too kindly to this."  He began to steer Hermione toward the door.  "Let's go, 'Mione."  He gave Snape one last glare.  "If you ever go near her—or anyone else—again, I promise you I won't hesitate to attack.  And don't think I'm too frightened, because I'm not.  As far as the fact that you're just a spy for Dumbledore goes, I'm not so sure I've ever believed that.  And spying can go two ways."  Snape just watched them leave, his face a blotchy white-red.  He didn't beg or attempt to blackmail them—such groveling would be below him—but was shocked at Harry's arrival and knowledge of the situation, and his own reaction.

Harry and Hermione were greeted by a bombardment of questions, especially when they saw Hermione's state.  Ron was the first to greet them, shouting at everyone else to get out of their way.  Harry told Ron to collect their things and bring them out into the hall.  He wasn't going to stick around for the rest of this class and he doubted Snape would expect them to.  Ron did this without question, though he looked nervously at Harry.  It was obvious that something—Snape—had Harry extremely wound up.  It was rare to see Harry sink to this kind of seething anger.  He could only think that he had been right—Snape had hurt Hermione.

Once they were gathered in the corridor outside the dungeons, Hermione began to tell them what had happened, starting with when she'd walked in.  She had regained much of her composure, but still looked rather shaken.  Her face was a disturbing cross between ashen and crimson. 

"He was furious," she said with an air of someone who knew they were stating the obvious.  "I'd never seen the man so crazed.  He was shouting and threatening me with everything from detention to three hundred points from Gryffindor to expulsion.  He even called me a Mudblood a few times.  I wasn't in the best of moods and began to get angry and be sarcastic.  He just—snapped.  He strode forward and backhanded me round the jaw before I even knew what had happened.  Then Harry came in and . . . you know."  She massaged her jaw.  "It hurts something awful.  I hope it isn't out of alignment or anything."

If anything, Ron looked more horrified by this story than Hermione did.  "That son of a . . . I'll kill him!  Who the hell does he think he is, walking around and hitting students?  This will get him fired if I have anything to do with it!"

"I know.  I'm going straight to McGonagall once her Transfiguration class is out.  It won't help Snape's case that Hermione and I are prefects."

"Not to mention famous and revered," added Ron.  "This'll get that man at long last.  I'd still like to strangle him, though."

"Oh, do calm down," insisted Hermione with a frown.  "Obviously this is not a good thing, but it's not call for murder."

"He had no right, 'Mione," chimed Harry.  "Though I'll agree murder is an inappropriate action, I'd still like to mess him up a bit."

"Oh, I'm not even going to start," she growled, mostly to herself.  She checked her watch.  "Come along, then.  McGonagall doesn't have a class this period.  She offered me extra tutoring this period if I were behind from last year or just wanted to get ahead.  We can go now.  This will all be worth it if we get him out of Hogwarts at long last.  It hurts to talk, so lets just go, all right?"  With that, she began to march ahead, a regained purpose in her step.

"Barking mad," hissed Ron to Harry as they hurried to follow.  "What's gotten into her?"

Though Harry just gave a shrug, he personally felt that it wasn't what had gotten into Hermione so much as what had gotten out.  Throughout their years—though she'd lightened up a lot by fourth year—she had always felt that failing classes and getting detentions and being expelled were the worst things that could happen to a person.  Last year she'd been put through so much more, her perspective had changed.  No longer were things like that so important—they now must seem quite trivial.  Harry supposed that while it had weakened her in ways, it had also made her a lot stronger.  It would take him a while to get used to her new personality—for now, she was completely unpredictable.

When they'd made it to the third floor, following Hermione at a pace that was far too quick, they were panting.  Still Hermione didn't stop, though her bag weighed roughly as much as Harry's and Ron's did combined.  McGonagall's door was open.  Hermione continued inside, not stopping until she was just in front of McGonagall's desk.  Harry and Ron caught up a moment later. 

McGonagall didn't look up right away, but when she did, she let out a small gasp.  "Dear girl, what happened?"

The side of Hermione's face was much more noticeable now that the rest of it had gone back to its normal color.  The red area around her jaw stuck out very obviously and from the way Hermione winced when she touched it, Harry was sure it was hurting her.  He felt a seething anger burn to life again but suppressed it, knowing Hermione was annoyed enough with them for being so eager to harm Snape, though he couldn't see why.

Hermione told McGonagall the same story she'd told Harry and Ron.  Harry verified his parts and Ron nodded vigorously the whole time.  As the story unfolded, McGonagall seemed to grow steadily more angry.  Finally, she set down her quill and stood.  Short though she was, when she was angry, she had the ability to make herself look terribly imposing.  Her breath was coming in short puffs from her nose, making her look somewhat like a bull.

"I will state here without shame that I have disliked Severus from the moment the Headmaster hired him.  I've never felt Dumbledore's trust was completely well-placed in the man, but loyal as I am to him, I did not question it.  We've had our rivalries for years, but never has he done . . . that is to say that never have I heard of him doing . . . anything of this sort!  I will, of course, discuss this with Albus, but if it is up to me—and I am acting Headmistress—he will be thrown out by tonight!"  She looked over the three students.  Harry was looking somewhat appeased and nodded gratefully.  Ron looked as though it had just been announced that both his birthday and Christmas would be taking place the next day.  Hermione was nodding a little, rubbing her jaw and looking rather subdued now that she'd done what she had so fiercely intended to do.  McGonagall patted Hermione's shoulder.  "Are you all right?"

She nodded quickly.  "Oh, yes.  It just hurts, that's all."

McGonagall gave her a sympathetic smile.  "Head down to the hospital wing.  Poppy will be able to fix that up in seconds, I daresay.  It won't be another long stay, don't worry." 

Hermione nodded and thanked the professor before turning and walking out of the room, her steps much slower than they had been coming in, a great deal of the light gone from her eyes.  Ron trailed after her.  Harry, instead of following his friends, stayed still for some reason.  He watched their retreating backs—Hermione's in particular.  Again, that familiar sharp pain was attacking his chest.  It came in short bursts, painful for a moment, then fading for several before returning again.  It had been bothering him since he'd first sensed Hermione was in danger.  Which brought up another puzzle—how had he known that with so little doubt?  It hadn't even been as though he'd suspected it—he'd known it without question.  What was this odd pain and why was it always connected to Hermione?

McGonagall gave Harry a pat on the shoulder similar to the one she'd given Hermione.  "Don't worry, Mr. Potter.  She'll be fine.  Snape will be out of here, suspended at the very least.  Now go off and join your friends."

Harry could feel his cheeks burning at the way she'd stated Hermione would be fine.  For a moment, he'd seen the smile that had crossed her face—exactly like Sirius's months before.  Did everyone know how he felt about her?  Was he really that transparent?

Harry wandered out of the room slowly.  By the time he reached the hallway outside the classroom, Ron and Hermione were far ahead of him.  Though he felt tempted to run and catch up, he decided not to.  His thoughts were completely disarrayed and he needed some time to work them out.  He glanced at a clock overhead and realized that there was still half of the double period for sixth years left.  They still had an hour.  Kids in different years were beginning to wander the halls now, but no one Harry knew too personally.

They reached the hospital wing quickly and it took less than five seconds after they'd stepped through the doorway for Madam Pomfrey to notice them and bustle over.  "Oh, you three!" she cried.  "I don't believe I've ever had such frequent patients!  Then again, Remus Lupin may rival you in that category . . . but then, he had an excuse.  You three are just plain danger-prone!  Who is it this time?  One of you, I suppose?"  She was staring pointedly at Harry and Hermione.  Ron, eager to escape the gaze of her vulture-like pupils, was happy to step aside.

"Me," said Hermione after a moment's hesitation, stepping forward.

Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue disapprovingly at the sight of Hermione's face, upon which a bruise was beginning to form.  "You young people . . . always fighting!  At least most of you have the sense to use your wands.  Physical Muggle fights are just plain senseless!"  Her eyes flicked momentarily over Hermione's prefect badge and she shook her head sadly.

"I wasn't fighting," Hermione hurried to correct the nurse.  "I was just hit."

The nurse narrowed her eyes in anger.  "So much violence in this school!" she began and Harry could feel another one of her mad rants coming on.  He rolled his eyes.  Just when they thought they'd headed one of them off, she found something else to start ranting about.  "Every week we have patients in here for fighting or being cursed or one thing or another.  And who struck you?  I suppose it was one of the Slytherins?  It's always one of your two Houses, one attacking the other.  Usually Slytherins attacking Gryffindors, but if I'm heard saying that, I'll be losing my job . . ."

Hermione seemed quite hesitant to answer this, so Harry stepped in.  "Yeah, it was a Slytherin," said Harry bitterly.  "If you count the Head of their House." 

This seemed to shock even Madam Pomfrey into silence.  "Snape did this?" was all she said.

"I know it sounds absurd—" began Hermione, but she was cut off.

"Oh, not at all," said Madam Pomfrey.  "I've been saying for years that he's capable, but am I ever listened to?  Never . . . and what happens when I'm not listened to?  People get hurt!"

This was the end of the discussion and within five minutes, Hermione's jaw was back to normal.  They walked headed out of the hospital wing just as quiet as they'd been coming in.  It was Hermione who spoke first, as they instinctively wandered in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, though they had no real idea where they were going. 

"Let's go down to Hagrid's," she suggested.  "We have his class next anyway.  We'll just talk to him until it begins."

Harry and Ron immediately nodded.  "Yeah," said Ron.  "I can't wait to tell him about Snape!  He'll be fired by the morning at this rate!"  Ron looked so giddy about this that he was on the verge of skipping.  Harry kicked his shin and Ron grimaced, looking quickly to Hermione.  "No offense meant.  I still want to strangle the bloody git for smacking you."

Harry rolled his eyes.  Somehow he didn't think this comment would go over any better than the last had.  Hermione just nodded and they kept walking in silence.

*******

A/n:  Sorry for the odd place I stopped the chapter, but I had to cut it in half, and this was the best place I could find to stop it.  I figured you wouldn't mind, as long as it was an update.  :-)  I know Snape may seem out of character to people, and I do not want flames from Snape fans, because I'm delving more into this later.  That's all I'm saying, but I ask you not to flame me, or tell me he's OOC.  I know he is.  I'm making him that way on purpose.