Due to some latent masochistic tendency, Hermione found herself attending the Sorting Ceremony against her better judgement. Even though it would only cause her pain, Hermione had to see all of her friends together and healthy for the beginning of the year--and because this was the last Sorting Ceremony she would ever have the opportunity to witness as a Hogwarts student.
The professors all sat at the Head Table solemnly, eyeing the flock of nervous first years with curiosity. Heads of houses were particularly excited, each hoping for some promising fresh blood to brighten house prospects.
Harry and Ron both stared glumly at the newcomers, sitting close together silently. The space across from them at the table was notably unfilled. Hermione's heart wrenched--she wanted nothing more than to sit across from them and talk like always, even if it was about Quidditch.
She was startled out of her reverie when Ginny, timidly at first, made her way towards the boys. Then, more boldly, she sat in Hermione's place as though she was accustomed to sitting there. Jealousy, acceptance and approval vied for control as Hermione continued to play the silent observer.
Finally, her pragmatic side won out--Harry and Ron shouldn't have to be alone simply because Hermione herself was unable to keep them company. It would be unfair of her to dislike Ginny for doing the right thing and at least trying to fill her shoes. Dumbledore, too, had noticed the scene, and his eyes were twinkling at the younger redhead. McGonagall, too, watched them with an air of resignation.
Harry and Ron seemed to be oblivious to the significance of Ginny's behavior, and conversed with her reluctantly. After a few minutes, they seemed to relax. Ron even managed a weak smile.
Poor Neville, on the other hand, looked utterly lost and alone. Hermione hadn't realized until now how alone he was without her. Shy and insecure, Neville had a hard time fitting in with a group known for its courage. And what would he do in Potions next year?
Hermione's train of thought was again interrupted, this time by the beginning of the sorting ceremony. As the sorting hat sang its song, she remembered her own fear as she had waited to be sorted. When the names began to be called, she watched intently, attempting to guess what house each first-year would belong in before the Sorting Hat declared its own judgment.
The worst, however, was when the feast magically graced the long tables, and Hermione was unable to dig in, or even to tease Ron for stuffing his face in a most undignified manner. A bit tired of watching her friends carry on without her, Hermione's attention turned to her teachers, whose more normal behavior was comforting to her.
Suddenly, Snape's eyes narrowed and she noticed the tension in his right arm. Long, pale fingers moved to grasp his forearm, but then retreated as he rose menacingly from his chair. With a knowing look, Dumbledore nodded at him and then acted as if nothing unusual was going on.
Hermione, however, was curious, and followed the Potions Master silently after he stalked out of the Great Hall. The first-years, she noticed with amusement, were gazing fearfully at the figure in black, billowing robes.
Slipping through the main door in Snape's wake was a dangerious business--he had a tendency of slamming doors behind him, and this occasion was no exception. Taking a mental note to employ caution in the future, Hermione continued to shadow her professor as he entered the Forbidden Forest. Slightly nervous but unwilling to back down, Hermione continued on while trying to remember the route Snape had taken.
Although she had expected to witness an adventure in the forest, Hermione was sorely disappointed when Snape entered a secluded clearing and apparated, his figure melting away into the night. With a sigh, Hermione cautiously began to make her way back to the school while pondering potential remedies to this problem. How was she going to follow Snape without knowing where he was headed? And how would she keep track of him?
Cringing when she heard a bizarre howling sound not too far away, Hermione made sure of her invisibility and then increased her pace. Only after she had passed Hagrid's hut did her thoughts turn once again to Professor Snape.
Of course, a tracking spell would be ridiculous--in this case it was entirely too easy to detect one, especially when the target was a highly trained wizard such as Snape. He would doubtless be extremely paranoid about others spying on him, as he wouldn't want to be caught out himself. It wouldn't be prudent to attach a tracking spell to an object, as there was no guarantee he would carry it with him all the time, and besides, she would probably have to sneak into his quarters in order to enchant it.
But, thought Hermione, what about a potion? She knew he tested his own, so if she were able to bide her time and slip something in before he imbibed one, it would be perfect. The only problem? There were no tracking potions in existence that could trace a person more than half a mile away.
Not to be deterred, Hermione was filled with new hope as she crept down to her dungeon quarters--after all, she was pretty handy with potions herself, and happened to be sharing rooms with a former Hogwarts Potions Master.
After closing her door softly, Hermione could barely contain her excitement.
"Barnabas?" she called. When she didn't receive a prompt reply, she bellowed, "BARNABAS!"
"What in the name of Salazar Slytherin are you screaming at me for?" croaked a drowsy voice. Barnabas, unlike most ghosts, had a tendency to sleep--it had been a pastime during life, and not one he was willing to surrender in the hereafter.
"I, ah..." He gazed at her expectantly. "Do you know how I might be able to alter the current formula for the tracking potion so that I can know the location of someone anywhere in Britain?" He raised an eyebrow.
"That's a tall order, young lady," he scolded. Hermione couldn't tell if he was teasing--his melted face was still difficult for her to read. There was a long pause.
"But, I think it's entirely doable. Get some sleep tonight, and you and I can put that lab to use tomorrow."
"Do we have the proper ingredients?" Hermione asked. She hadn't yet taken stock of the probably outdated substances in the storage cabinets.
"We probably have most things, because the majority of my--our--ingredients are imperishable. However, if we're missing something..." Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"I suppose that's your job." Barnabas' face contorted into an unmistakable smirk. Hermione rolled her eyes, complained feebly, then headed off to bed. Even though she was tired, she found herself staring at a ceiling she couldn't see in a pitch-black room. Her bed felt clammy beneath her, and no matter how she positioned her pillow it seemed to sink limply beneath her head. Her cotton nightgown felt too thin in the frigid dungeon chamber, even though she hadn't been bothered by the temperature before.
After tossing and turning during hours of fitful slumber, Hermione's ears picked up the forlorn yowling of a cat--obviously Mrs. Norris. But this wasn't the sound she made when she had caught a student. Instead, even from a distance, she sounded anguished and distressed. Nervously, Hermione crept out of bed and, after disappearing stealthily, tiptoed out into the hallway. Barnabas was still in the sitting room, dozing in midair before the dying embers of the evening's fire.
Following Mrs. Norris' unpleasant voice, Hermione found herself heading towards the potions classroom. She blanched as the coppery scent of blood washed over her, making her stomach churn.
Mrs. Norris was pacing around a dark lump that had fallen by the door to the Potions classroom. This lump was obviously the source of the bloody scent, and as Hermione cautiously approached the unmoving figure, she was unhappy, though not surprised, to find it was Professor Snape, who was completely unconscious.
Not considering the risks of her actions, Hermione knelt next to her professor and checked for his vital signs. He was bleeding profusely, and his breath was frighteningly shallow. After murmuring a few quick spells to staunch the bleeding, Hermione muttered a quick "mobilicorpus" and skilfully maneuvered Snape's broken body to the infirmary, where she deposited him gently onto one of the unoccupied beds.
Unsure of what to do next, Hermione noticed the light was on behind Madam Pomfrey's office door. Pomfrey would be searching for whomever had deposited the Potions Master so unceremoniously in her infirmary, and Hermione decided it would be better to flee the scene, whether or not she could be found. Feeling vaguely like a small child playing ding-dong-ditch, she rapped sharply on the door. After making sure she heard footsteps approaching from within, Hermione did the only thing she could do in her situation: turned around and ran like hell.
The professors all sat at the Head Table solemnly, eyeing the flock of nervous first years with curiosity. Heads of houses were particularly excited, each hoping for some promising fresh blood to brighten house prospects.
Harry and Ron both stared glumly at the newcomers, sitting close together silently. The space across from them at the table was notably unfilled. Hermione's heart wrenched--she wanted nothing more than to sit across from them and talk like always, even if it was about Quidditch.
She was startled out of her reverie when Ginny, timidly at first, made her way towards the boys. Then, more boldly, she sat in Hermione's place as though she was accustomed to sitting there. Jealousy, acceptance and approval vied for control as Hermione continued to play the silent observer.
Finally, her pragmatic side won out--Harry and Ron shouldn't have to be alone simply because Hermione herself was unable to keep them company. It would be unfair of her to dislike Ginny for doing the right thing and at least trying to fill her shoes. Dumbledore, too, had noticed the scene, and his eyes were twinkling at the younger redhead. McGonagall, too, watched them with an air of resignation.
Harry and Ron seemed to be oblivious to the significance of Ginny's behavior, and conversed with her reluctantly. After a few minutes, they seemed to relax. Ron even managed a weak smile.
Poor Neville, on the other hand, looked utterly lost and alone. Hermione hadn't realized until now how alone he was without her. Shy and insecure, Neville had a hard time fitting in with a group known for its courage. And what would he do in Potions next year?
Hermione's train of thought was again interrupted, this time by the beginning of the sorting ceremony. As the sorting hat sang its song, she remembered her own fear as she had waited to be sorted. When the names began to be called, she watched intently, attempting to guess what house each first-year would belong in before the Sorting Hat declared its own judgment.
The worst, however, was when the feast magically graced the long tables, and Hermione was unable to dig in, or even to tease Ron for stuffing his face in a most undignified manner. A bit tired of watching her friends carry on without her, Hermione's attention turned to her teachers, whose more normal behavior was comforting to her.
Suddenly, Snape's eyes narrowed and she noticed the tension in his right arm. Long, pale fingers moved to grasp his forearm, but then retreated as he rose menacingly from his chair. With a knowing look, Dumbledore nodded at him and then acted as if nothing unusual was going on.
Hermione, however, was curious, and followed the Potions Master silently after he stalked out of the Great Hall. The first-years, she noticed with amusement, were gazing fearfully at the figure in black, billowing robes.
Slipping through the main door in Snape's wake was a dangerious business--he had a tendency of slamming doors behind him, and this occasion was no exception. Taking a mental note to employ caution in the future, Hermione continued to shadow her professor as he entered the Forbidden Forest. Slightly nervous but unwilling to back down, Hermione continued on while trying to remember the route Snape had taken.
Although she had expected to witness an adventure in the forest, Hermione was sorely disappointed when Snape entered a secluded clearing and apparated, his figure melting away into the night. With a sigh, Hermione cautiously began to make her way back to the school while pondering potential remedies to this problem. How was she going to follow Snape without knowing where he was headed? And how would she keep track of him?
Cringing when she heard a bizarre howling sound not too far away, Hermione made sure of her invisibility and then increased her pace. Only after she had passed Hagrid's hut did her thoughts turn once again to Professor Snape.
Of course, a tracking spell would be ridiculous--in this case it was entirely too easy to detect one, especially when the target was a highly trained wizard such as Snape. He would doubtless be extremely paranoid about others spying on him, as he wouldn't want to be caught out himself. It wouldn't be prudent to attach a tracking spell to an object, as there was no guarantee he would carry it with him all the time, and besides, she would probably have to sneak into his quarters in order to enchant it.
But, thought Hermione, what about a potion? She knew he tested his own, so if she were able to bide her time and slip something in before he imbibed one, it would be perfect. The only problem? There were no tracking potions in existence that could trace a person more than half a mile away.
Not to be deterred, Hermione was filled with new hope as she crept down to her dungeon quarters--after all, she was pretty handy with potions herself, and happened to be sharing rooms with a former Hogwarts Potions Master.
After closing her door softly, Hermione could barely contain her excitement.
"Barnabas?" she called. When she didn't receive a prompt reply, she bellowed, "BARNABAS!"
"What in the name of Salazar Slytherin are you screaming at me for?" croaked a drowsy voice. Barnabas, unlike most ghosts, had a tendency to sleep--it had been a pastime during life, and not one he was willing to surrender in the hereafter.
"I, ah..." He gazed at her expectantly. "Do you know how I might be able to alter the current formula for the tracking potion so that I can know the location of someone anywhere in Britain?" He raised an eyebrow.
"That's a tall order, young lady," he scolded. Hermione couldn't tell if he was teasing--his melted face was still difficult for her to read. There was a long pause.
"But, I think it's entirely doable. Get some sleep tonight, and you and I can put that lab to use tomorrow."
"Do we have the proper ingredients?" Hermione asked. She hadn't yet taken stock of the probably outdated substances in the storage cabinets.
"We probably have most things, because the majority of my--our--ingredients are imperishable. However, if we're missing something..." Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"I suppose that's your job." Barnabas' face contorted into an unmistakable smirk. Hermione rolled her eyes, complained feebly, then headed off to bed. Even though she was tired, she found herself staring at a ceiling she couldn't see in a pitch-black room. Her bed felt clammy beneath her, and no matter how she positioned her pillow it seemed to sink limply beneath her head. Her cotton nightgown felt too thin in the frigid dungeon chamber, even though she hadn't been bothered by the temperature before.
After tossing and turning during hours of fitful slumber, Hermione's ears picked up the forlorn yowling of a cat--obviously Mrs. Norris. But this wasn't the sound she made when she had caught a student. Instead, even from a distance, she sounded anguished and distressed. Nervously, Hermione crept out of bed and, after disappearing stealthily, tiptoed out into the hallway. Barnabas was still in the sitting room, dozing in midair before the dying embers of the evening's fire.
Following Mrs. Norris' unpleasant voice, Hermione found herself heading towards the potions classroom. She blanched as the coppery scent of blood washed over her, making her stomach churn.
Mrs. Norris was pacing around a dark lump that had fallen by the door to the Potions classroom. This lump was obviously the source of the bloody scent, and as Hermione cautiously approached the unmoving figure, she was unhappy, though not surprised, to find it was Professor Snape, who was completely unconscious.
Not considering the risks of her actions, Hermione knelt next to her professor and checked for his vital signs. He was bleeding profusely, and his breath was frighteningly shallow. After murmuring a few quick spells to staunch the bleeding, Hermione muttered a quick "mobilicorpus" and skilfully maneuvered Snape's broken body to the infirmary, where she deposited him gently onto one of the unoccupied beds.
Unsure of what to do next, Hermione noticed the light was on behind Madam Pomfrey's office door. Pomfrey would be searching for whomever had deposited the Potions Master so unceremoniously in her infirmary, and Hermione decided it would be better to flee the scene, whether or not she could be found. Feeling vaguely like a small child playing ding-dong-ditch, she rapped sharply on the door. After making sure she heard footsteps approaching from within, Hermione did the only thing she could do in her situation: turned around and ran like hell.