Snape furrowed his brow in concentration, black eyes intent upon hers. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I know you said something, but…" He shrugged. "I don't recall what it was."

Hermione let out a cry of triumph at that. "It worked!" She grinned in delight. The potion could be used to leave just traces of a memory as well, in situations where having traces left would be useful.

When the potion had been completed a month ago at the end of January, such was what Snape had asked her to do for Draco Malfoy. She had just confirmed that the memory of his words had been completely erased, and had been replaced, interestingly enough, by a memory of falcon-flight.

"Bravo, Miss Granger," he had said, giving her a genuine smile. "The Ministry shall indeed be pleased to hear of this." He had then taken a deep breath and addressed her frankly and without pretension. "I would ask something of you, if you are willing. I believe that young Mister Malfoy could benefit from this potion."

"You want to erase what he did?" she had protested. "But then he'll go back to being his old self…I thought you said you didn't mean to absolve him!"

"Never an absolution," he had said, lips pressed tightly together for a moment in self-regret, "but…let me say it to you this way. Do you think it is possible to erase enough of the memory that he doesn't feel a need to prove the human inability to fly, but leave enough so that he still knows he's done," another grimace, "a terrible wrong?"

"Erase the details, you mean, and leave the overall impression?"

"Exactly. As is, I see him," Snape sighed, leaning against a worktable and crossing his arms over his chest, "breaking his word eventually to not end it all. Such things only grow with time, not fade…"

She was astonished how little he bothered to hide such things from her any longer. In between days in the workroom and evenings on the wing, somehow, some of the barriers had been erased. It hardly seemed like they were teacher and student sometimes, and that was a little frightening.

She understood what he was asking, and knew he didn't ask it lightly. Something within her was gratified to know that he honestly cared for the Slytherins that much and that he trusted her enough to be a part of this. Quite honestly, she was more than glad to do this--she could tell Draco was constantly teetering at the breaking point. He had spent more than his share of time in the hospital wing, and she knew Snape had spent more than one of their sessions here in the workroom brewing Dreamless Sleep Potion to replace stocks Draco was rapidly depleting.

So she had set to work again as Snape sent the news of her triumph to the Ministry, urging her also to perhaps consider publishing an article upon the potion. "Take credit for your work, Miss Granger," he had said when she protested. "No Gryffindor modesty. You've earned it."

Another month of hard work to perfect it. Practicing drawing out memories of objects or words from another person (Snape usually) into a Pensieve. That was necessary, since to use the potion the healer would need to extract the memory from the patient, but it was laborious indeed. Endless equations and testing to find out how to leave only a permanent wisp of the original memory behind. Impressions, but not details.

It was based upon the Muggle concept of limiting reactants in chemistry, she found. When she added the anti-memory to the Solventus, she first removed part of it. That ensured that there was not quite enough to completely bind to and erase all of the original memory. The two would have had to be in equal proportions to completely cancel. The tricky bit was finding out the exact proportion of anti-memory to memory to receive the desired effect. The Forgetfulness Potion would fill in the hole left by the partial destruction of the memory, effectively binding the wisp of memory left to a small confine and leaving it no room to expand back to its full vividness.

After a month, she finally had it. Thank God. It was getting messy, she thought, blushing a little. More than once she had left Snape with a funny turn when she got the proportions wrong--either the memory was hardly touched, or he'd recall nothing whatsoever. She had to respect his determination to succeed in this as great as her own, willingly being her guinea pig.

It appeared that omitting a carefully measured eighth of the anti-memory produced the desired effect. "You're certain it worked?" she asked, carefully using a Destruction Charm on the rest of the anti-memory.

"It feels like it was twenty years ago or more," he replied, looking quite pleased, "rather than ten minutes. I know you said something, that I was listening closely and hoping that it would be successful, but I don't recall a word of what you said. I do remember I was surprised by it!"

She had said rather facetiously, "Slytherin'll win the Quidditch Cup this year." Half the reason she had said that was for the amusement of checking the anti-memory and having herself say that of course, Gryffindor was due to win.

She chuckled softly. "I suppose we should test it again to make certain it wasn't a fluke and that my numbers are right," she said cautiously, initial elation tempered with the realization that one success didn't indicate perfection. It could have been random chance.

"Very well," he replied. "To think I'm seeing the day where I'm actually letting a Gryffindor play around with my mind…good God. The Slytherins of '78 would have been horrified with me." He seemed caught between sarcasm and genuine amusement. There were times she could swear he was bantering with her without bothering to act dark and brooding. Maybe it's because he knows I'm actually listening, she thought. And that I've seen his worst and still insisted on staying the course. He honestly respected her, she was certain. He hadn't gone so far as to be kind to her in Potions class, but she wasn't sure either of them would handle that well. And too, she had stopped trying to desperately prove herself in class by knowing everything. There were other means of proving her worth now, and that satisfied her quite well.

She began carefully cleaning the equipment to run another trial. "Are you certain you want to do this today? I have been working with your mind quite a bit lately. I don't want to overdo it and perhaps cause an accident."

He raised an eyebrow, handing her a flask to clean and going to his cauldron next to hers to stir up the latest batch of Dreamless Sleep Potion again, tipping in another poppy blossom to correct the imbalance indicated by the pale blue coloration. "There are not many memories I would miss much," he stated quietly. "Another try, Miss Granger, and if it succeeds, I believe young Draco will be your first case this weekend." She nodded. Even if I slip slightly, she realized, Draco would be better off than he is now. But she was instinctively methodical and meticulous. She would not make a mistake.

She thought for a moment. Something suitably trivial, that wouldn't be embarrassing to leave in his mind if things went wrong. "Crookshanks seems to like you."

He smiled a little. "He's an opinionated chap," he replied, sitting down on the stool by the worktable. She hid a grin. So are you, sir.

Touching her wand to his temple, she concentrated on drawing out the memory concerning Crookshanks. It was exhausting work--her idea of the memory she wanted had to be as detailed as possible to get the right one, and that was a little difficult if she hadn't been there to experience it. Still, for one experienced with a Pensieve, it wasn't that difficult of an obstacle. She completed the rest of the potion easily, and he drank it.

He confirmed that it had worked, looking puzzled when she asked him how Crookshanks felt about him. "How should I know?" he asked, obviously baffled.

"It worked," she assured him, feeling a warm glow of elation. She had done it. They had done it, much as he disclaimed his help.

"Does Saturday evening work for…" She trailed off, tidying up again.

He nodded absently. "I'll make certain that he is here," he assured her, turning back to his potion.

She left quietly, saying only a "Good night". Tiredly she climbed to Gryffindor Tower, a month of hard work day and night taking a hard toll. She only hoped that Voldemort wouldn't call Snape tonight. He had been summoned only two days ago, so it was unlikely. Still, it's all worth it, she thought, picking up her Herbology text with a suppressed yawn.

Saturday came, and she got through the day rather nervously. She started worrying if the potion would have the desired effect upon memories with truly strong emotions that her simple memories of words said did not. The proportions might be wrong--I might leave too much with emotion that deep, she thought frantically, eating her beef stew at dinner, barely aware of Professor Flitwick asking her whether her acceptance from Lothlorien had arrived or not.

Sheepishly she smiled and said that it had not, but it was not due till next month anyhow. She ate quickly and took a peek over towards the Slytherin table. Draco sat there, flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and he looked paler than usual. He had excused it off to a bout of Gambrellian Influenza procured while on Christmas break, a disease that could take up to six months to run its course. Here at Hogwarts, only she, Snape, Draco, and most probably Dumbledore knew the true circumstances. It was an awkward thing sometimes to be in such privileged (or more perhaps burdened) company.

After completing her History of Magic essay, she said a good-bye to Tosca and Crookshanks, chattering happily away in her room about the quality of mice available for hunting these days, and headed for the dungeons.

"Sugar plum!" she said softly to the door of the workroom, suppressing as always the urge to giggle at the rather ridiculous password. She had heard Snape say it, nearly biting off the words in disgust. Unlocking the door, she went in and carefully began gathering the ingredients she'd need. Glancing at the large jar of Forgetfulness Potion, she was thankful for its long shelf life. The batch she had made the previous fall was as good as new, though she had perhaps only five doses left now due to copious tests over the months.

She carefully measured out a portion of it, setting it to heating. Thankfully, he had left her the portions of sea cucumber gelatin, Chimaera venom, and Fetch feather powder that she'd need, rather than waste time retrieving them from his office. Going to the storeroom, she grasped the jars of Arctic seawater and cordgrass, carrying them over to the worktable.

She set to work preparing the Solventus, idly moving the Pensieve aside for the moment. She was in the middle of precisely titrating the Chimaera venom with the Fetch feather powder buffer when she heard the door quietly open behind her.

"What's she doing here?" she heard Draco ask, trying to sound angry but voice a little too quavery for it. "You said nothing about Granger, sir."

"She developed the potion," Snape said rather shortly, obviously having explained the principle of what they intended to do. "She is sworn to secrecy of this."

"I suppose you told her everything," Draco said bitterly. "So Granger, what kind of monster do you think I am?" Beneath his mocking tone was a deep well of self-loathing. His blue eyes studied her dully.

"I only know," she lied without compunction, "that you have a memory that needs removal." He seemed to relax a little at that, but the tension in his body still betrayed his nervousness.

"This works?" he asked dubiously, sitting down as she gestured him to the stool

"Do you think I'd let her experiment willy-nilly on you?" Snape replied.

Draco grimaced. "Point taken. Well, Granger, do your worst." He settled his hands on his knees. She carefully recalled that night, trying to draw out the memory from his mind.

It came reluctantly, obviously deep-rooted in his mind, flowing into the Pensieve like thick tar. Draco let out a low, almost animal whine of pain, hands fisted in his robes. It's been occupying a good portion of his mind, she realized, hands fumbling slightly. It's not like those minor memories…

She looked at Snape, who looked slightly concerned, but gestured for her to go on. Anything has to be better than what he has now, she told herself, steadying her hands with an effort. She noticed that the memory filled more of the Pensieve than she was used to. The memory was Inversed, checked, and the usual eighth taken out, she hoping that removing the memory hadn't left an enormous hole the potion would be unable to fill. It nearly broke her heart to see that the anti-memory was of him saving the girl.

Routine took over from there, as she added the anti-memory to the Solventus, and then that to the Forgetfulness Potion. She handed him the cupful of effervescing potion, and he cautiously drank it, eyes still disbelieving.

A minute later, Snape quietly asked him, "What do you remember about the Christmas holidays?"

Draco blinked and furrowed his brow in concentration. "I came back to Hogwarts early." He paused for a moment. "And I know I did something…something wrong, but," he shook his head and grimaced, "I don't know what. It's all fuzzy."

Snape gave her a relieved smile behind Draco's back. "How do you feel about the Death Eaters?" he asked casually. But Hermione clenched her hands into fists, biting her lip. This was the answer that would confirm success or not. If Draco wanted to avoid the Dark Mark like the plague, all was well. If it had gone wrong, he'd be back to his old, obnoxious self, and it had been a complete failure.

"Depraved bastards," Draco said in something close to a snarl. He smiled humorlessly. "I hope it doesn't run in the blood." He looked thoughtful. "I suppose not. Whatever I did, it's got me completely off the idea of following in Father's footsteps." He shuddered. "May I go now?" he asked Snape, almost politely.

"Yes, and let me know if any of the old symptoms persist," he replied. Draco gave a curt nod and headed out the door, still looking confused, but somehow relieved.

She was aware that while she was scrubbing out the cauldron he lightly touched her on the shoulder and said a quiet, "Thank you." She heard the quiet swish of black robes, and the sound of footsteps towards his office. When she looked up, he was at his desk, bent over a stack of essays. She placed her hand on her shoulder where his had been, a little bemused as she finished.

She smiled a little and left the workroom, feeling quite pleased with herself. A spy and creator of a valuable potion: she had absolutely no reason to doubt her usefulness now. Crookshanks and Tosca demanded to know how things had gone as she stepped into her room, and she launched into a retelling for their benefit, relaxing and allowing the pride in what she had done to flow.