"So, what you're saying is that Professor Snape was actually capable of loving someone at some time?"  Ginny looked at Hermione incredulously as the older girl began to tell her friend the story of everything that had happened in the week since she had found Harry leafing through Purity of Blood in the Hogwarts's library.  The two were sitting side by side on the upper deck of the Knight bus, a form of wizarding transportation which would drop them off in Muggle London.  From there, they would journey on foot in two groups, Ron and Harry then Ginny and Hermione, to Grimwald Place for the holidays.

            "The book didn't say anything about him loving the woman, Ginny.  It just said that they were seriously involved."

            "What's the difference?"

            Hermione rolled her eyes.  "I guess he could have loved her, I just find that somewhat difficult to believe.  The way Snape looks at people, I just don't know that he could love anyone.  Neither, it seems, do James or Sirius."

            "You wrote again?"

            "Well, the book wasn't published that long ago.  I thought maybe they would have noticed Snape having some sort of romance with a girl from Hogwarts.  No luck, though.  They don't remember anything."  Though it still seemed odd to Hermione to write to Harry's deceased loved ones, she had found herself growing more comfortable with it.  She still wasn't one hundred percent certain of the veracity of the replies, but Sirius's letters were distinctly like the man she had known, and James's writing could have easily been mistaken for Harry's. 

            Ginny got a dreamy look on her face.  "I wonder who it could have been?  Maybe he wasn't so evil back then.  Maybe he can't love anyone now because this girl broke his heart."

            Hermione was incredulous.  "From what the Marauders, both living and dead, have said, I don't think Snape was ever too much better than he is now."

            Ginny shrugged.  "It makes a great story though.  Think about it Hermione:  Severus Snape, kind and gentle boy, abandoned into the care of another by his birth parents, separated from his twin, journeys to Hogwarts.  There, he finds love in an unsuspecting place.  Poor Severus later has his heart broken when his love is tainted.  Filled with pain, he turns evil and becomes the Potions master at Hogwarts, where he can spread his wrath and agony to all Hogwarts students through homework, tests, and detentions." 

            "That's terrible," Ron said, coming up behind them and making a face as though he had just smelled something sour.  "Snape doesn't love anyone.  All he cares about is making potions and flunking Gryffindors."

            "Maybe he loved someone a long time ago," Ginny huffed.

            Ron put a finger to his chin as though he were considering the possibility.  "Doubtful," he said at last.

            Hermione continued on.  "Anyway," she said.  "I didn't really get anywhere.  I think I'm going to have to ask the Tree about Snape."

            Ron's face suddenly turned cloudy.  "I don't think you should do that, Hermione."

            "Why?"

            "Snape, he'll kill you if he finds out."  Ron looked her straight in the eye for the first time since they had embraced weeks ago on the lakeshore at Hogwarts.  "If what you said about him being so concerned over whether or not you had talked to the Tree about anyone else is true, you know he'll go into a bloody tantrum if he gets wind of you being around that Tree again."

            Hermione looked around, finding Harry napping in the far corner before speaking her next words.  Though the two had shared a friendly moment over dinner, their relationship had quickly digressed once again after the library incident.  "Look, Ron.  Not everyone would be as immature as Harry just because they found out I was talking with a Tree.  Maybe Snape would know I was only trying to help him.  He wouldn't be as thick as Harry and think that it was all some evil ploy to ruin his life."

            Ron's ears were as red as his hair.  Ginny frowned uncomfortably at Hermione's words, but said nothing.  "Help him," Ron practically shouted.  "How, in the name of Merlin, would you be helping Snape?  And, even if you were, why would you want to?"

            "Maybe I could find out what more there is to the story, and I could help heal the wounds," Hermione said quietly.  Ever since she had read the entry about Snape, she felt drawn to the possibility that there was something more to the story, something that she was missing.  She felt the need to know who the mystery woman was.  It had become a consuming task already, leaving her leafing through volumes upon volumes of Hogwarts history, hoping for just a single hint.  Right now, all she could think about was sitting beneath the boughs of the Black family Tree, and letting it weave it's hideous tales while she listened in horrific earnest, captivated by a magic she could not understand.

            "Fine," Ron said, straightening up, hands on his hips and an evil glare in his eye.  "Do what you want.  You always do anyway.  Just don't go asking about me.  Some people like to keep their lives private."

            "Oh, grow up Ron," Hermione snapped, feeling both angry and deflated.

            A minute passed in silence, during which Hermione could feel Ron glaring daggers at the back of her head. 

            "Hermione," Ginny said in a soft voice that was barely above a whisper. 

            "What,' the older girl replied, reproving herself for the snappish sound of her voice.

            "Please, for the last time, stay away from that Tree."

            Hermione turned to Ginny, eyes haunted and torn between what she would have liked to do and a deeper more compelling force that would determine what she was to do.  "Ginny," she said in a voice that sounded weaker than any the Weasley girl had ever heard from the mouth of her friend, "I can't."

*           *           *

            Ron had taken up a vigil outside of the door to the study soon after the four of them had safely arrived at the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.  Several times, Mrs. Weasley had shooed him away, muttering about how he and Harry should be spending some time playing the latest wizarding games which Tonks had brought over from the Ministry.  Ron had simply rounded the corner until his mother passed out of sight, then returned to his post, determined to keep Hermione away from the Black Family Tree.

            Ron wasn't the only one intent on keeping the Tree out of Hermione's sight.  Ginny kept trying to distract her friend with different activities, including the shopping trip with Parvati and lavender that had been planned what seemed like a lifetime ago to Hermione.  As the days passed by, Hermione felt herself being more and more drawn to the study.  It was as though the Tree were calling her name, begging her to go in and sit beneath it, to listen to just one more story.  She vowed that she would do just that.  She needed only to find the chance.

              At last Christmas Eve arrived, and with it many of the members of the Order.  Mrs. Weasley had enlisted the help of every able bodied person in the household to help her prepare a fantastic feast for twenty-six.  Though Hermione looked forward to the prospect of seeing so many familiar faces and friends she was ready to take advantage of her opportunity to slip away to the study unnoticed.

            After having her fill of dinner, Hermione sat in the great room with the others for a while, laughing and reminiscing.  Soon, she slipped away, making as if she had to use the restroom.  She knew that in the midst of the jovial spirits, her absence would go unnoticed. 

            Carefully, she crept up the stairs, jumping over the one that creaked just in case Ron or Ginny were listening for her to head that way.  She reached the study door and took a deep breath trying to clear her head.  The calling of the Tree was pounding in her ears.  She knew that she could not return to Hogwarts until her mission had been accomplished.

            Slowly and with great care to be silent, she turned the knob on the door, stepping through the threshold as though she were nothing more that a whisper.  Keeping the knob twisted, she shut the door so that the latch would not make a sound.  After locking herself in, she performed a quick spell to keep the room impenetrable.  Breathing easier, she turned around to face the back wall where the tapestry depicting the Black family Tree was hung. 

            Out of curiosity, she looked to the Potter family, wondering if Snape's name was listed there and she had somehow missed it in her haste during her last visit.  It was not.  That meant the Tree had some secrets it like to keep to itself. 

            Running her fingers along the cloth, Hermione tried to remember what exactly she had done last time to make the Tree come to life.  Try as she might, she could remember nothing.  She had simply been staring at the tapestry, wishing that there was someone who could tell her more, someone who was both knowledgeable and objective.  She laughed that her pain had come at the price of her innocent wish being granted.  Now she knew why people said to be careful what you wished for.

            Perhaps the key was in the wished.  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, picturing the Tree and begging for someone with the ability to answer her questions.  She felt a soft rustle in the air, and when she looked up the Tree had sprouted again.,  eagerly, she ran to sit beneath it, her eyes shining with anticipation.

            "So," the Tree said in its gruff voice, "you have returned for more."

            "Yes," she said, trying to quell her excitement.  "I have a lot I need to ask you, and I don't know how much time I have."

            "Last time was not enough?" the Tree asked.

            "I though it was," she admitted shyly, "but what you told me before was only the first thread in the process of unraveling.  I have a lot more questions for you now."

            "Very well," the Tree said, straightening (if such a thing were possible) "you may begin."

            Hermione cleared her throat and scooted to a more comfortable position before speaking.  "last time I was here, I asked you to tell me about the Potter family, and I found out more than I ever wanted to know.  You told me that Severus Snape was James Potter's twin brother, which makes him Harry's blood uncle."

            "This is correct," the Tree affirmed.

            "I went back to Hogwarts, and the knowledge was hard on me.  I tried to keep it a secret, because I didn't want Harry to find out, and I didn't want Snape to know that I knew."

            "You asked," said the Tree.

            Hermione continued as though it had not spoken.  "The secret came out, however, and Professor Snape was very angry with me for speaking to you.  He was also very concerned as to whether I had asked about any other wizarding families.  I told him that I had not, but he did not seem satisfied with the answer.  A few days later, I found Harry Potter looking through a book in the library.  When I picked the copy up, it was an anthology of wizarding genealogy.  In there, it was marked that Snape was seriously involved with a pure-blood witch."

            "This is true," the Tree said.

            Hermione looked up, her face deadly serious.  "Tell me about Professor Snape."

            The leaves on the Tree shook as though it were sighing mightily.  "As you wish," it said.

            Hermione sat back and listened, waiting to know the truth.

*           *           *

            Hermione counted herself lucky that she had been able to spend the evening with the Tree, for on Christmas day Snape had arrived.  He had dropped off a vial of Pepper Up Potion at the insistence of Mrs. Weasley for Harry, who was feeling under the weather.  After that, he had immediately stormed up the stairs, creating such a racket that he had woken the portrait of Sirius's mother.  "FILTHY MUDBLOOD LOVERS," the painting screeched.  "SOILING MY HOME, BEFOULING MY NAME…" Everyone had covered their ears and continued unwrapping presents until the din had died down and they were once again able to hear themselves think.

            Hermione had received a crocheted maroon bag with the Gryffindor crest on it to carry her cauldron and potions ingredients in from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, a new bottle of Sleekeazy Hair potion from Ginny, a book of famous wizarding quotations from Ron, and a gold galleon from Harry.  He told her that that way she could get what she wanted.  She thought it was the most impersonal gift she had ever received.  Though they had been feuding all year, she had at least taken the time to buy Harry a new pair of gloves that were supposed to help him grip his broom and hopefully the snitch better.  Ron had picked them out and assured her Harry would like them.  Harry had glanced them over after seeing that they were from her and had mumbled a soft thank you before throwing them into his pile of presents without even trying them on.  Mrs. Weasley had noticed and frowned, but did not say anything.

            Hermione was so busy with her gifts that she did not notice the length of time Snape had spent upstairs until he returned to the ground floor of Grimwald place nearly an hour later, claiming that he would have stayed longer, but he had urgent business to attend to now that his job here was done.  He gave Hermione a very nasty look then billowed through the door.

            Hermione thought about what the Tree had told her last night, still wondering if it could be true.  She grabbed her presents and hauled them up to her room.  Suddenly, she heard Ron yelling from down the hall.  "Get out of there right now, Hermione!  I told you to never look at that bloody thing again!"

            Hermione leapt out of her room,  wondering how he could have suddenly been tipped off that she had snuck a visit to the Tree last night.  He looked at her in surprise as she appeared.  "If you're out here," he said, "then who's in there?'

            The door, instead of being locked had been left open a crack which had led Ron to suspect the Hermione was in talking to the Tree.  Together the opened the door and found the room empty.  Judging from the wreckage, however, it had had an earlier visitor.

            "OY!  Mum, Dad, Harry, Ginny, come quick!  Someone's been in here!"

            Hermione heard the others come charging up the stairs as she surveyed the wreckage that was left in the room.  Much of the furniture looked as though it had been tipped over by a heavy blast.  Scorch marks covered the walls and ceiling.  Hermione glanced to where the tapestry of the Black Family Tree had been just the night before.  There was nothing left except for a few charred fragments of fabric.  The rest had been completely destroyed.

            "Oh my," said Mrs. Weasley, drawing her hand to her mouth.  "Who could have done such a thing?"

            The others were drawing speculations but Hermione stopped them by holding her hand up.  "It was Snape," she said.

            "Professor Snape?"  Mr. Weasley inquired.  "Hermione, are you sure?"

            "Yes," she answered.  "he and I had been having quite a row over this tapestry.  He wanted it destroyed.  He was just here, while we were opening our gifts, then he left."

            Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seemed satisfied with the answer, and the retreated to the first floor to tell Lupin and Tonks what the commotion had been about.

            "Well," said Ron, "I'm sorry that you didn't get to listen to the Tree again, Hermione but I actually think that Snape did the right thing for once in his miserable life."

            Ginny agreed.  "You should be glad that Snape destroyed that Tree before you had a chance to talk to it again, Hermione.  Who knows what kind of damage it could have done this time?"

            "You're right, I suppose," Hermione feigned resignedly.  "I guess everything does work out for the best, after all."  She would wait until the right time to tell them what she had learned on what had proven to be her final visit to the Black Family Tree.  Until then, she would play along as though they had outwitted her plans t visit with the Tree, and had kept her safe from harm until Professor Snape could destroy what they had all obviously decided was an instrument of pure evil.

            Ron and Ginny both seemed satisfied with her answer and turned to walk down the stairs and rejoin the festivities downstairs.  Hermione listened to them go, and only when their footsteps had faded away did she turn around again.  To her surprise, Harry was still standing there.

            "You seem awfully happy about the whole thing, Hermione," he remarked quietly.

            "There's nothing I could do about it even if I wasn't," she said.  "Besides," she lied, "I think the best thing that could of happen was for that Tree to be destroyed before I could gat any more information out of it."

            Harry still looked incredulous.  "You're lying," he said.

            "About what?'

            "You said you were glad to see the Tree destroyed, but I know better than that.  The only way you would be glad about it is if you had already talked to it again."

            "What makes you say that?"

            "Because I know you, Hermione.  You're not satisfied with knowing half of what there is to know about anything.  You think that you can learn about everything there is to know in the world and that you can analyze everything and break it down into it's most basic parts."

            Hermione sniffed indignantly.  "And I suppose you see no merit in the pursuit of knowledge?"

            "I didn't say that," said Harry, his eyes still cold every time they fixed upon her.  "It's just that there are some things that you can never understand just because you took a little time to learn about them."

            Hermione had run out of patience.  'Is there something that you want to tell me, harr6y?  because if there is I suggest you get on with it."

            Harry shook his head.  "You just don't get it, do you?"

            "What are you talking about?"

            "Look, Hermione.  I saw you come up here last night, but I didn't tell anyone.  Merlin knows I have more of a right to tell Ron and Ginny on you than anyone else on this earth does, but I didn't say a word."

            "Why not?" she huffed.  "Were you saving it until now so you could hold it over my head.  Are you going to tell Ron that I talked to the big bad Tree next time you're angry with me."  She sounded wickedly snide, even to herself, but she couldn't help it.  If this was Harry's idea of revenge she still felt his anger was misplaced.

            "No," he said icily.  "I just thought maybe you would figure out to leave well enough alone if that thing told you something else terrible.  Maybe you would realize that it's not up to you to decide how to ruin people's lives."

            "It's still about that, is it?  Grow up, Harry, and get your head out of your arse!  Think about what you would have done if you were in my position before you attack me next time!"

            "I wouldn't know, Hermione," he said coldly.  "You see, I've never been in a position that involves having a normal, easy life."

            Hermione had reached the end.  She felt herself trembling with age.  So far, everything he had said had only served to push her closer and closer to her breaking point.  She felt as though she were about to completely lose control.  "You call my life easy, Harry?"

            "Compared to mine, yes."

            "I just asked you if you thought my life was easy," she said, matching his chilly tone.  "I didn't say anything about holding a contest."

            Harry rolled his eyes.  "Then I still think your life is easy, Miss Perfect Prefect."

            Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing.  "Yes, Harry," she seethed.  "My life is so easy.  Everyday I wake up and hope that there is enough time for me to get everything done and have it done correctly, but I know there never will be, not when I have to do my prefect duties as well.  I can hardly finish all of my homework.  I work until way after everyone else has gone to bed, and al lot of times I do more homework before I go down to breakfast."

            "Oh," said Harry.  "I didn't realize that having homework was so much worse than having your parents killed by Voldemort!"

            He was missing the point completely.  Hermione lost it.  "Shut up when I'm talking to you!" she screeched in a voice and manner that sounded nothing like, yet, paradoxically was everything she had harbored within her for so long.  It was a scream of every moment she had wished to scream, every cry she had wished to wail.  It was not her, and ye5t somehow it was her.  "Just shut up and listen!  You haven't bothered to do that since you found out that I knew that Snape was your uncle!  I'm just trying to tell you that no one's life is easy, Harry.  You're not the only one in the world that has problems, you know.  Neville couldn't brew a potion if his life depended on it.  Ron's family can hardly afford to live.  Nothing I do is ever good enough for me.  We all have our cross to bear, you're not the only one."

            Harry said nothing.

            "Look, Harry.  This is the last time I'm going to tell you this.  Either you'll listen or you won't, and if you don't, I give up on being your friend because I know that it isn't what you want anymore.  I didn't mean to hurt you.  I was trying to do what was best for you, and unfortunately it didn't work out quite the way I planned it to, thanks, in no small part to you.  Don't talk, just listen.  If you hadn't come into Snape's office, you wouldn't have found out what I was hiding until I knew that I should tell you.  Sometimes we hurt the people we love because we love them, not in spite of our love for them." 

She turned from him, not allowing him to answer as tears streamed down her face.  She headed to the bedroom she and Ginny were sharing and flopped down upon the twin bed, letting the down pillow soak up her tears as she drowned in her misery.  Half of her hoped Harry would follow her, but the other half was relieved that he had stayed away.  After losing control like she had, she didn't know if she was ready to face anyone.  She told herself that it was normal, that it happened to everybody at some point, but somehow she felt as though she should be removed from the statistical average.  She thought she had shown weakness when all she had really shown was humanity.

Sometime later, she heard a soft knocking on her door.  "Come in," she murmured, not bothering to look up.

            "Hermione?  It's me, Ron."  She felt the edge of the bed dip down as he sat beside her.  "Is everything all right?"

            "I don't know," she answered honestly.

            "Harry says the thinks you've made up, but he wouldn't tell me anything."

            She rolled over and faced him, the gloom suddenly seeming to lift a bit.  "He said that?"

            "Yes."

            She laughed.  "He actually listened then.  After all of the times I told him the same exact thing, he actually listened."  Suddenly, she felt as though she could fly. 

            Ron smiled briefly, and then turned more serious.    "I, um, heard you and Harry arguing.  Just the beginning of it.  I dropped a dung bomb on the steps, and I went back to get it, you know.  Uh, anyway, I heard him say that he knew you visited the Tree again."  His face was bright red.  "Why, Hermione?"

            Her shoulders slumped and she frowned.  "I wanted to find out about Snape's mystery woman.  I had to know, Ron, and I thought that the Tree would be my only chance."

            Ron tried to look reproving, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him.  "What did you find out?"

            "I can't tell you," said Hermione.  "It wouldn't be fair to him if I did."

            "Like he's ever fair to us," Ron grumbled.  "Come on, Hermione."

            "I can't tell you," she repeated firmly.  "Besides, you wouldn't believe me if I did."

*           *           *

            Hermione had remained silent throughout the rest of the holidays, despite the frequent attempts of her friends to get her to revel the secret of Snape's past.  Ginny had expressed nothing more than a cursory interest, while Harry had been indigent of her enlightenment.  Ron, being the most melodramatic of all, had professed that he would surely die were he not let in on the secret.  Hermione had simply smiled a knowing smile and firmly sealed her lips, refusing to indulge them.

            She sat before the fire in the Gryffindor common room pretending to read one her textbooks as she dreaded Potions Class the next day.  Snape had never returned to Grimwald place after his destruction of the Black Family Tree.  She still didn't know if he had destroyed the Tree because he didn't want anyone else finding out the information that he knew Hermione was already aware of, or because he was trying to prevent her from learning what he believed she did not yet know.  In any case, it would make for a rather sticky situation.

            She had written to Sirius and James again after finding out Snape's secret, but neither of them had known anything about the secretive life that Snape seemed to have left behind in the past. 

            She recalled her last session with the Tree.  Sitting beneath its boughs, she had inquired as to Snape's past.  Even when she did it, a small part of her felt that her actions were anything but right.  Even so, she found that she couldn't help herself.

            It began innocuously enough.

            It seemed that during Snape's days as a student at Hogwarts Headmaster Dumbledore had gotten into a bit of a tiff with the then-Headmaster of the French wizarding school Beaux Batons, Algernon Fite.  The two had been amiably arguing over which school had the most advanced curriculum and students in the area of potion making when Fite had suggested a friendly competition between the two schools.  Dumbledore had agreed, and the two Headmasters each selected twelve students to represent their respective schools.  Snape was one of those selected, along with a list of names with whom Hermione was only partially familiar including Frank Longbottom, Lily Evens, Sirius Black, and Lucious Malfoy.  Hermione supposed Harry had inherited his father's potion making ability.

            The two schools had agreed to meet on the Grounds of Beaux Batons, for Fite was somewhat of an agoraphobic, and Dumbledore had pronounced himself in need of a vacation anyway.  After a few weeks of fervent practice, the dozen students and Dumbledore had departed for the French provinces.

            The competition was to last for ten days.  There were five grueling sessions of potion making interspersed with five days that could be used for leisure, sightseeing or, if one were overly ambitious, extra practice.  After four days and two sessions of competition, the two magical schools were in a dead heat as to which among them was the most proficient.  The fifth day was a day of rest, during which the Hogwarts students left in small groups to explore muggle France.  Snape, however, decided to bolster his teams chances by heading to the potions lab and working on his concoctions.  He had a few ideas, and felt that if he could simply tweak them a bit he would take the lead in the personal competition, as well as help Hogwarts on to victory.

            Down in the lab, he had toiled away nearly an entire day.  As he collected his materials to leave, he was caught off guard by a small cough from the back of the room.  Turning quickly, he saw a girl that he recognized as Arial Dora, one of the Beaux Batons candidate for the contest.  It seemed that Snape had been furious, thinking that she had been spying on him.  Dismissively, she had silenced him, saying that she was simply admiring his work.

            From what Hermione had gathered, the two had formed a quick friendship that thrived in the potions lab and sustained them through the rest of the tournament.  From what she knew of Snape, he had had few friends during his school years, and she supposed that the attentions of  a mysterious foreign girl with an appreciation for the finer subtleties of potion making were probably just what a sixteen year old Snape would need to win his heart.  The two had continued their correspondence after the tournament had concluded (Snape had won the individual contest, and Hogwarts had narrowly escaped as the victor, winning by less than five points). 

            Over the summer that year, Snape had quietly visited Arial, citing other reasons for his absences to his family, while she too had made up excuses to her loved ones.  It seemed no one had noticed their blossoming relationship.  Hermione supposed that since Snape was stereotyped as being a greasy silent git no one thought that all of the extra time he spent practicing potions could have had any more motivation than his personal success in the competition.

            The following year, Snape had continued to communicate frequently with Arial, even visiting her illegally through the floo network on one occasion.  She had scolded him harshly, citing dire consequences for the both of them if anyone had seen them together. They did not see each other again after this until the following summer after Snape had graduated from Hogwarts.

            For a year following Snape's graduation, he had taken a position in France working with a group of alchemists.  It was during this time that Snape's juvenile interest in the dark arts became more mature and serious through the guidance of his co workers who were all quiet supporters of Voldemort.  It was also during this time that Snape tried repeatedly to persuade Arial to come and live with him.  It seemed that he wanted to bring their relationship out in the open.  She was violently opposed to doing this, saying that it wouldn't be fair to him if they did.

            After working in France for fourteen months, Snape decided that it was time to move on, and to delve deeper into the dark circles that were forming throughout the wizarding world.  Voldemort was just reaching the apex of his power, and many of his supporters were beginning to become more public.  Snape felt that it was time for him to do this as well.  One last time, he pleaded to Arial that she put aside her inhibitions and create a life with him.

            This time, Arial had coldly turned him down, saying that not only would she never live with him, they could not ever be seen together again if he valued his future and hers.  He asked her why, and she said it was because she was pregnant with his child, and that her father would be sorely disappointed if he knew that a supporter of the Dark Side was involved.  She proclaimed the man a strong proponent of the so-called "good" side, but would say no more about him.  Snape had been devastated, but he had turned his anger into rage through his work for the Deatheaters. 

            Nearly a year later, Snape had received a correspondence by owl stating that eight months ago a daughter had been born to him.  Arial had run away from her family in the dead of night, changed her name and settled down to live with a dark wizard whom she would not tell Snape the name of.  That was the last time Snape ever heard from her.  He never knew his child.

            Hermione had had so many questions she had wanted to field to the Tree, but had decided that enough was enough for one night.  She remembered bitterly how she had worried that spending any longer with the Tree would cause her to be missed.  If she had know of Snape's intent, she would have continued grilling the Tree as to who Arial was, who her seemingly intolerant father had been, and as to who this child was.  As it stood now, she had answered her question with a dozen more.  She didn't even know where to begin in her quest for answers now.  She had tried to summon the Tree again, but it seemed to have been damaged beyond repair.  She had written to James and Sirius, but neither of them knew anything about a girl named Arial, though Sirius had expressed a mild degree of approval that Snape would use his time at Beaux Batons to "snag the ladies" as he put it. 

            Hermione didn't know where else to turn for answers, because she knew that Snape wouldn't be giving her any.  As it stood right now, she hoped that Snape would never find out that she had been snooping into his personal life.

            "Still thinking about the Tree," Ron said with only a hint of bitterness in his voice.  She knew that he wouldn't give up until she had told him everything that she knew.  Right now just didn't seem like the time, though.  She trusted her friend, but she hated to have him running his mouth by accident during his quest for answers, which she was certain would be far less methodical and orderly than the research she planned on doing.

            "A bit," she said.

            "What did it say?"

            "It said not to tell you what it said.  It said that if I did you would die a slow and painful death at the hands of Snape when he found out that you knew about his love life.  It said that you can't keep your mouth shut," she said a bit snappishly.

            "I can too," Ron pouted, focusing only on one thing that she had said an ignoring all of the rest.

            Harry rolled his eyes from behind Ron and grinned at Hermione.  Hermione was glad to have his friendship back.  She had forgotten how nice it felt when the three of them could interact together in peace without having to mediate through Ron or Ginny. 

            Ron changed the subject.  "What do you think we'll be doing in potions tomorrow Harry?" he asked, a sickening grin on his face as he turned and winked exaggeratedly at Hermione.

            Harry had the same grin spread over his countenance.  "I don't know, Ron.  Do you think it will be truth serum this time, or a bit of mind-reading?"

            "It's hard to say," said Ron, sighing.  He reached out and touched Hermione on the shoulder.  She felt a shiver run down her spine.  It was the first time there had been any physical contact between them since their embrace.  "Whatever it is, though, I have a feeling that poor Hermione will be spending loads of time in detention with Snape."

            Hermione smiled wanly.  Ron was right.  She had better learn to like the dungeon.

*           *           *

            He remembered.  For the first time in fifteen years, he allowed his thoughts to slip back to a time when he felt it was in his power to be happy.  Arial.  He hadn't thought of her in so long.  He had hidden those thoughts away, and slowly time had eroded them until they were nothing more than brief flashes of memory.  It was as though they were a part of another life.

            He recalled everything about her as he sat on the edge of his bed, staring into the darkness of his chamber.  The air was damp and cold, but he made no efforts to stave the cold.  Perhaps it would numb the pain.

            She had been beautiful in a way most would never have appreciated.  She had a subtle quality about her, vivid intelligence and an invincible spirit that had made up for what she lacked in actual looks.  He had found few others like her, and none with whom he would have wished to share his life.

            He wondered where she was for not the first time.  Her departure had been such a sudden affair, that it had completely taken him aback.  He had expected her to one day allow him deeper into her life, to throw off the repressive cloak of family she wore and make the decision to be with him.  When he found out she was carrying his child, he had been certain that the moment would be at hand.  He had been wrong.

            She had left him in a cold and decisive way that had cut him to the very quick.  Even now, he doubted that he could be quite so heartless.  He never even knew his daughter.  He had one picture of her as a small infant.  She looked nothing like him, nor did she resemble her mother.  He had stowed the image away in a desk drawer or a cabinet somewhere, never having really looked at it closely, and choosing consciously never to dwell on it.  In no way was that his child.  Arial, in the same cruel way she had disposed of their relationship had disposed of him as that child's predecessor.  He had no doubt that she had never mentioned him to their daughter. 

            He grasped a piece of his bed sheet between his fingers, twisting the cottony material in an effort to dull the anguish he felt inside.  He wondered if Arial ever did the same.  Did she know what she had done to him, what she had put him through?  He wondered if she would even care. 

            He breathed in deeply, letting the cool air fill his lungs until his head had been cleared.  Miss Granger, he had no doubt, knew at least part of the story.  He had been too late.  He had seen it in her eyes.  The loathing that normally presided there was far preferable to the pity had had seen on Christmas.  He did not want to be pitied.  He wanted only to be left alone, a fact that he tried to make abundantly clear to everyone in the entire castle everyday.

            He only hoped that that Nosy Gryffindor Girl could remember that.

*           *           *

            Ron's prediction of Snape's behavior in their first Potions Class following the holidays proved to be somewhat of an exaggeration.  If anything, he had afforded Hermione even less attention than he had previously throughout the year.  She had been relieved by her slight reprieve, and had taken the opportunity to aid Ron and Harry with some much needed catching up.  Grudgingly, they were forced to admit that the quality of their Potions work had suffered without her aid.

            "A word, Miss Granger," Snape said after dismissing class.  Harry and Ron stood behind with her as the rest of the students filed out of the classroom, happy to escape the gloomy cold of the dungeons.  Snape gave the two boys a nasty glare.  "Neither of you bear the slightest resemblance to Miss Granger."

            "We were just going to wait for her, Sir," Ron said.

            "Well, go wait in your common room, then.  I am sure that Miss Granger is intelligent enough to find her way back to Gryffindor tower without your help."  He motioned them towards the door, and the pair sourly walked out muttering about how unfair their lives were.  Hermione held no doubts that they were waiting just outside, ears pressed tightly against the classroom door.

            "Yes Professor," she said benignly.  She didn't know if he knew that she had spoken to the Tree about him, and she would rather let him think that she had not if such a thing were possible.  She cleared her mind and took a deep breath, waiting for him to try and probe her mind.  She had been practicing various methods of Occlumency, and she knew that he would find nothing relevant to his quest.

            To her surprise, she felt none of the sensations that she expected washing over her.  She opened her eyes again, and he was simply staring at her with the sort of loathing she felt whenever she looked at him.  "There is no need for such tactics, Miss Granger.  I know that you have already become all too aware of some of the events in my past which I would have much rather kept secret."

            "I'm sorry, Sir," she said, her cheeks burning with the shame of having been caught.  "I didn't mean…"

            "Yes, you meant to, Miss Granger.  You didn't mean for me to find out what you had done, though."

            "No, Sir, if I would have known what the Tree was going to tell me…"

            "You would have shared that you were going to listen to it with all of your little friends.  Yes, Miss Granger, I am all too aware of that fact.  Despite whatever lie you were going to tell me in its place, I understand what your actual intent was."

            Hermione was fed up with him already.  She wondered how he could so easily drive her to such exasperation so quickly.  Some days, it seemed as though all she had to do was look at him and the hot flush of frustrated anger began to flow over her.  Now he was staring at her with those dark, cold, unforgiving eyes and she could feel her dislike intensify.  He refused to hear anything aside from what he wanted to hear.  All he cared about was what he believed was true.  He had no interest in the actuality of the situation.  "Perhaps, Sir," she said coldly, "you could allow me to finish a statement or two?"

            "I see no need to waste my time, Miss Granger.  What as been done has been done, but I promise you that this turn will not go unpunished.  You see, I was angry with you for having snooped through Potter's records unauthorized, but Dumbledore was content to simply let it go.  This I will not be persuaded to take lightly.  You have violated my privacy in a most serious way, and I will not stand for it.  I don't care who you ridiculous friends are, there are certain policies of behavior that should be enforced.  I expected better of you, Miss Granger.  As a Prefect, I would have thought you would have had some sense of honor."

            Hermione felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes but she willed them furiously away. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.  He was trying to break her, but she would bend enough that such a thing was impossible.  "Perhaps, Sir, you have misjudged my intent," she said softly, some of the earlier coldness having left her voice.  Though she still loathed the sight of him, she could not help but feel some measure of sympathy for the man before her after hearing his story.  Such a tale was enough to breed pity for even the coldest of men.

            Snape snarled at her, and she had the feeling that he was about to lose his normally unflappable coolness.  "Miss Granger, I do not care what your intent was.  All that I care about is what actions you undertook in the process.  Those actions were wrong and I intend to deal with them.  Firmly.  You may leave."

            She opened her mouth to defend herself, to tell him she was sorry for what he had been through, something, anything that would make things better, but he gave her no chance.  "Get out of my sight," he said simply; waving her off as though she were nothing more than a pesky fly he had become intent on quashing.  He buried his head over a stack of papers making it clear that her interview was over.

            Hermione turned away and walked up the stone steps, unsure of what to do next.  She opened the door and found, not at all to her surprise, Harry and Ron waiting outside.  "What did he say to you, Hermione," Harry implored.

            "Did he try to read your mind again?" Ron asked.  "If he did, I'll go in there right now…"

            "Oh stop it, Ron," Hermione said, her voice sharper than she had intended.  "He didn't try to read my mind.  He told me that he knew I'd spoken with the Tree.  He said that I had violated his privacy, and that that was something that would have to be firmly dealt with."

            "So you have detention again," Ron concluded thickly.

            "No, Ron, I might be expelled from the school if Snape has his way.  It was bad enough that I knew that he was Harry's Uncle.  He wants to make sure that no one else knows his other dirty little secret.  I guess the only way he thinks that he can control that is through some sort of oppressive discipline."

            "What is his secret?"  Harry asked. 

            Hermione glared at him.  "Remember what happened the last time I told you a secret Harry?  If I remember correctly, it upset you a bit."

            "It's about me then," Harry said, his eyes narrowing. 

            "No.  I just don't think that it's anyone's business.  Not even mine."

            "You should go talk to Dumbledore," Ron said.  "You need to see him before Snape does.  Let him know your side of the story.  I'll come with you, if you like."

            Hermione thought it over for a moment.  Ron was right.  That's exactly what she would have told him to do were the situation reversed.  At this point, Dumbledore was the only one whom she could trust with this secret.  He probably already knew anyway, she reasoned.  "You're right Ron," she acknowledged.

            She turned down the hallway that led to the staircase outside of Dumbledore's office.  All of the prefects knew the password, so she would not have to wait until McGonagall would arrange an audience with the headmaster for her.  "Fizzing Whizbee," she said to the stone gargoyle which promptly jumped aside.  She stepped onto the revolving staircase, and only then did she notice that Ron and Harry both were still with her.  "What are you doing here?" She asked.

            "Moral support," said Harry.  Hermione knew better.  They wanted to go into the office with her so that they could hear Snape's secret.  She had already done enough damage, though.  She would allow no such thing.

            "That's nice of you," she smiled.  "You can wait outside until I'm finished."  The two shared a crestfallen look so identical it was almost comical.  Hermione smiled to herself as she taped on the headmaster's door.  It was nice to have both of her best friends again.

            "Come in, come in," Dumbledore said from within.  She opened the door a crack and stepped into his circular office.  Hermione found herself within infrequently enough that its eclectic magic was still a sufficient spectacle to wow her.  "Good afternoon Miss Granger" Dumbledore said softly.  "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?'

            Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat as she sunk down in the chair opposite the headmaster.  She didn't know where to begin, and she stated as much.

            "At the beginning is usually sufficient," Dumbledore reasoned.

            Her mind was swirling.  So much had happened this year that she no longer knew where the beginning was.  The best that she could come up with was that day during the past summer when she had conjured the live Tree for the first time and had settled beneath its branches to learn about the Potters.  Painfully, her story came pouring out to the kindly man before her.  She barely even paused long enough to catch her breath between each section.  Most of this, she knew, was old information to him.  When she reached the part about visiting the Tree a second time, however, something seemed to hold her back.  She felt as though she should be mindful to protect Snape's privacy, for she wasn't certain how much of the tale she had learned the headmaster did or did not know.

            "I saw the Tree again over our winter vacation," she said at last.  "I asked it about Snape."

            "Professor Snape, Miss Granger.  Why did you do such a thing?"

            "In class, he made us brew Vertiserum.  When he was interviewing me to find out if mine had been mixed properly, he started asking me if I had asked the Tree about anyone else.  He seemed very intent on finding out that I had. I became curious, and, after seeing something in a genealogy book that caught my eye, I asked the Tree about Snape.  It told me a very sad story about him, and now he knows that I know.  I think that he wants to have me expelled for invading his privacy.  I did it for the right reasons though.  I just wanted to help him."  Hermione felt lighter after sharing her story, but still her breath caught in her throat.  The moment of reckoning was upon her.

            Dumbledore stood up and paced about his office, looking uncharacteristically old and weary.  At last, after Hermione had long since grown uncomfortable, he returned to his seat.  "Miss Granger, sometimes we do things, and then after we have done them we justify that our mistakes were performed with only the best of intentions.  We all know that this isn't entirely true, though."  She opened her mouth to defend herself, but quickly shut it again.  Something about the timing simply didn't feel right to her.  Dumbledore was in command of the floor now, and she knew that he would not yield, nor should he be forced to, until he had said his piece.  "You know, Miss Granger, that your intent may have had a degree of nobility to it.  I have no doubt that you are of such character that you would think it unreasonable not to help Professor Snape even though you may not always agree with or like him.  However, I think part of your motivation was simply curiosity.  If what you have told me it true, Professor Snape made it implicitly clear that he did not want you to have discovered any further knowledge of his past.  Whatever his motivation for secrecy may have been, you violated that wish by delving into a yesterday that he may have wished to ignore."

            Hermione hung her head slightly.  He was right.  She had never meant to hurt Snape with what she found out, whatever it may have been, but much of her action had been the product of curiosity.

            Dumbledore smiled kindly at her.  "I don't know what exactly you found out about our Potions master, Miss Granger, but I am certain you will not feel the need to share it with anyone else in this school, including myself.  Don't look so surprised.  There are a few things about Professor Snape that I don't know."

            "So I'm not going to be expelled," Hermione asked cautiously, her heart feeling a bit lighter.

            Dumbledore chuckled softly.  "Not today, Miss Granger.  I can hardly expel you for simple curiosity, though it may have offended one of your professors.  I do feel, however, that I must give you some sort of punishment.  You did violate Professor Snape's privacy."

            Hermione didn't care that she was being punished.  Dumbledore had been more interested in the fact that she had done the right thing by not spreading the information she had gathered around to the whole of Hogwarts than he had been that she had done what might have been the wrong thing, by gathering information from the Tree in the first place.

            "I think that two weeks of detention with Professor Snape seems like fair punishment."

            "Yes Sir," Hermione said her heart sinking gloomily as she rose to leave.  Two weeks of detention with Snape didn't seem like a fair punishment for any crime, especially a simple act of curiosity.  She scowled as she exited.  Despite's Ron's advice from yesterday, she was no more fond of the dungeon than she had ever been.

*           *           *

            Hermione had had a miserable week thus far.  Starting the night of her encounter with Professor Dumbledore, she had been working late hours in the Potions lab with Snape helping him to prepare for the following day's lessons.  Actually, to say that she was helping him was a bit of a stretch.  She was getting everything ready as he stood behind her and supervised in the most cynical and overbearing way that Hermione could have possibly imagined. 

            "Miss Granger, I believe that I asked you to cut each root into sixteen equal pieces.  I did not say cut sixteen equal pieces and then throw away the rest of the root."

            "But, Sir, all I disposed of were the ends.  Since they taper off, it's impossible for them to be of equal volume with the rest of the …"

            Snape turned even icier.  "Shut up, Miss Granger and simply do as I say."  She waited, hurt for him to billow away, but he simply stood there glaring over her shoulder.  She decided that the reason he was so angry about the stupid roots was because he had not thought about the size discrepancy until she mentioned it.  She took a small degree of smug solace in this fact.  "What are you waiting for," Snape hissed.  "I would love to see you finish this project sometime before the morning hours so I could at least get a decent amount of sleep tonight."

            Hermione had had it.  Every night so far, Snape had given her impossible tasks to complete and had simply stood by and watched her struggle to finish the enormous and monotonous workload she had been assigned.  She hadn't gotten to sleep before three AM since her first day of detention, and, as the hands of the clock were nearing one now her prospects for tonight looked similarly bleak.  "Perhaps," she said with just a hint of insurgence, "we would both be able to get some rest if you would stop standing around and help me."

            Snape looked as though he were going to snap his wand, which he was tightly clutching, in half.  "I, Miss Granger, am not the one who has been assigned a detention for eavesdropping."  He stepped away from her a bit.  "However, I will take one part of your advice."  He looked to the counter and began muttering numbers to himself as though he were calculating something.  "Judging from what you have left to complete, I would say that you have another three hours of servitude before you can head back to your bed.  I shall be back to check on you in two and a half hours, after I have gotten some rest."  He turned on his heel and headed for the back door of his office.  Suddenly his footsteps stopped and his voice rang through the room once again.  "Don't try anything funny, Miss Granger.  I sleep just on the other side of that door, you know, and I am a very light sleeper."  Having dispensed his warning, he stalked into his private chambers, leaving Hermione alone with her frustration, her fury, and a huge pile of slimy roots that still needed cutting.  He had also taken her wand.

            Hermione growled animalistically in her throat.  How she hated him at that moment!  She couldn't believe that this was happening.  Why couldn't he have at least left her her wand so that she could spend a fraction of the time dissecting these stupid roots?  She felt as though she were going to break down, but she furiously began working again, determined to finish before he could return from his unearned rest.

            After about an hour, she heard a soft noise coming from the door to Snape's living area and looked up, expecting to see the hated professor standing there with a smug look upon his face.  Instead, there was nothing.  She looked around puzzled, lowering her eyes to the floor.  "Dobby," she said softly.  "You scared me."

            "Dobby was cleaning, Miss.  Dobby was told not to clean this room, but then Master Snape grew tired of cleaning it himself.  No one else will come down here, Miss.  All of the others are too afraid."  Dobby looked immensely proud of himself for his bravery and his reinstated employment.

            "Dobby, you don't have to clean Professor Snape's chamber, you know," Hermione started.  Despite their less than ideal surroundings, Hermione could think of no better opportunity to give the elf a lecture on the equality of all houselves that she desired.  Dobby, apparently, had other ideas.

            "Miss, please, Dobby is wanting to clean.  Dobby likes to work."  As if to demonstrate the truth of this statement, Dobby set off with a duster, sweeping up around the room.  He stopped when he reached the pile of roots before Hermione.  "Would Miss like Dobby to clean these?"

            "No, Dobby, I have to finish cutting them so that I can go back to my common room and get some sleep."  Hermione tried not to let the bitterness she felt leech into her voice, but she was not entirely successful.

            Dobby looked as though she had granted him his greatest wish.  "Dobby can help, Miss," he squeaked excitedly.  "Dobby can cut the roots!"

            Hermione felt that she had to practice what she preached, despite the appeal of Dobby's offer.  "No, Dobby," she said resignedly, "I don't want to put you to any trouble."

            "It's no trouble," Dobby said delightedly.  He waved his hands over the pile of roots, and all of them became neatly cut into sixteen equal pieces. 

            "How did you know?"  Hermione asked, amazed that her work was so quickly, and so correctly, done.

            "Master Snape always tells Dobby to cut roots that way," Dobby stated proudly.

            "You mean," Hermione said, eyes narrowing, "that you always prepare the materials for Snape's lessons."

            "Yes, Miss," Dobby said, beaming.

            Hermione sighed.  So much for Snape's work ethic.

            She watched as Dobby finished cleaning the room, thanking him profusely.  After he left, she considered waking Snape, for she still had forty-five minutes to waste before he would return to the classroom.  Somehow, she decided, arousing Snape from his slumber probably wasn't the best idea she had ever had.

            Looking around the room, she tried to find somewhere comfortable to nap for the remainder of her detention.  After finding nothing promising, she began pacing about the room, trying to come up with something to do.  She couldn't start on her work for the next night, for she didn't know what it would be.  There was no decent place to doze.  All of her homework was still in Gryffindor tower.

            Overcome by boredom and fatigue, she began quietly opening the drawers around the room and rifling through them, making certain to replace everything exactly as she had found it.  She wondered why Snape had not locked them before leaving, and then decided that he believed she would have been too absorbed in her task to cause any sort of destruction.

            She came upon a large cabinet.  Carefully, she opened the door.  Inside was a large pensive.  She considered losing herself in Snape's memories, but decided that enough damage had already been done.  She lifted the basin, trying to see if there was anything behind it.  Something fluttered to the floor.  Quickly, she replaced the pensive and bent down to pick up the small scrap of paper that had been stuck to the bottom of the basin.

            It was a photograph.  There was a small infant obviously just born.  It had a small hint of dark brown hair, a small upturned nose, freckles and green eyes.  Hermione looked more carefully, trying to find some distinguishing mark.  She was certain, despite the lack of anything indicating as such, that this was an image of Snape and Arial's daughter.  The features were all very babyish still, and it was difficult for Hermione to imagine them on a person who would be, she had calculated, her age. 

            In the picture, the baby was wearing a t-shirt and a diaper.  On the inside of her right knee was a large dark birthmark in the shape of an oval.  Hermione committed the image to memory.  Brown hair, green eyes, freckles, birthmark on the leg.  She looked it over one last time and then replaced it beneath the pensive, hoping that it was facing the same direction in which Snape had left it.  Glancing at the clock, she returned to the table where she had been chopping roots.  A few minutes later, the door to the office opened to reveal a Snape who looked as though he had never even been to bed. 

            He looked over her work and measured a few pieces.  Glaring at her, he told her that she could take her leave.  He seemed almost angry that she had been able to finish faster than he had anticipated.  She hoped that he didn't suspect her foul play.

            She headed back for her common room in the darkness, her mind churning with possibilities.  She felt as though she had to find this mysterious girl.  She didn't know how she was going to do it just yet, but at least she now had some idea of what she was looking for.

*           *           *

            "Hermione, why do you keep staring at every girl we pass in the hallway?  That's just plain weird."  Ron made a disgusted face at her as the two of them made their rounds during their free hour. 

            "I'm looking for someone," she said in a dignified way.

            "Who?"

            "I don't know."

            Ron looked at her as though she had gone mad.  "If you don't know who you're looking for, then how will you know when you find them?"

            Hermione stopped and glared daggers at him.  "If you must know," she lied, "I heard about a minor incident in one of the girl's toilets that happened yesterday.  A First Year told me that another student was trying out spells to clog up the sinks so the room would flood.  She didn't know the girls name, she could only give a description of her."

            Ron looked aghast.  "What's the matter with you," Hermione snapped.

            "I didn't know that girls liked to flood the toilets too," he mumbled.  His face was nearly as red as his hair, and Hermione began to wonder how many times he had taken part in an action similar to the one she had just falsely described.  "Anyway," Ron said halting her train of thought, "What did this Toilet Trasher look like?"

            "Toilet Trasher?  Ron, what is a Toilet Trasher?  Never mind."  Hermione shook her head.  Ron's creativity defiantly needed some direction.  "The girl said that she was somewhere between Fifth and Seventh year.  She had brown hair, green eyes, a turned up nose and freckles."

            "That narrows it down," Ron said sarcastically.

            Hermione was indignant.  "I think it does, Ron.  It couldn't be me or Ginny, or Cho Chang, or…"

            "Fine," Ron surrendered.  "It's just that there are a lot of girls at Hogwarts that have brown hair and green eyes."

            "Name one," said Hermione.

            Ron said nothing.  Hermione gave him a superior smirk, and then chided herself.  If she wanted help in finding Snape's daughter, she would have to be both discrete and polite.  "Sorry, Ron," she said.  "That was really mean of me."

            "It's okay," Ron shrugged.  "I bet detention with Snape will do that to you.  Have you been getting any sleep at all, Hermione?  You look like death warmed over."

            "A little," she said softly.

            "I, ah, I mean we, have been waiting up for you to come back from the dungeon every night.  Last night, it was well after two, and there was no sign of you.  You should report that great slimy git to McGonagall.  Really, Hermione.  It isn't right for him to keep you there like that.  Besides," he added, "I have to do all the prefect duties."

            Hermione knew that his concern for her was genuine, but she got the feeling that it would be far less intense if her punishment hadn't exponentially increased his workload.  "It's only for another five days," she shrugged.

            The two of them continued walking towards Gryffindor tower.  It had been an unusually quiet morning, and their rounds had finished without incident.  They still have thirty-eight minutes before the start of the next period. 

            "I think he has it in for you, Hermione.  Really, I do."

            "Ron," Hermione said in the tone of a parent explaining why a child had to eat their vegetables for the millionth time.  "I told you already this week that Dumbledore gave me detention, not Snape."

            "I don't think Dumbledore would have given you so much detention if he knew how late it was going to be lasting every night though, do you?"

            She had to admit that he ha a point.  Still, she was glad that she had continued her punishment at least through the past night.  Snape had finally grown so weary of supervising her that he had left her alone long enough that she could see the photograph.  If her detentions had ended earlier, she knew that was no chance that he would have done such a thing, and therefore no chance that she would have seen the likeness of his daughter.  Still, she didn't want to look as though she were enjoying this series of punishments.  She didn't doubt that Ron would seek help for her on his own if he felt that that were the case.

            "Look, Ron.  It's just for a couple more days.  I'll stick this one out, then I promise if he ever takes advantage of his position like that again I'll be the first to tell McGonagall.  You won't even have to ask me to."  She smiled warmly at him, and he couldn't help but grin in return.

            "All right," he agreed.  "I still hate him, though."

            "Me too," said Hermione.  In her heart, though, she didn't know if those words e\were as true as they had once been.  Before he had just been her evil Potions Master, and object of scorn and dislike for most of the students.  Now, however, she had seen his humanity.  Though she certainly didn't like him that made him harder for her to hate.

*           *           *

            "I found this for you," Ginny Weasley said.  She walked into Hermione's room and sat down at her desk, a book clasped in her hands.  She looked around and giggled.  "how do you live in here?"

            Hermione actually looked at her room for the first time in ages.  She supposed that the situation would look strange to an outsider.  Her small third was very neat and orderly.  The bed was made, the books on the desk arranged by size and then alphabetically, all of her dresser drawers neatly closed, the closet covered by draperies and the dirty laundry hidden away from public view.  Across the room, however, it looked as though a whirlwind had come through.  Perhaps it was time to put her foot down again, as she did every so often.  Hermione liked Parvati and Lavender, and she did her best to live with them without quarrel, despite their differences.  The mess was taking over, though, and the only space she had left was the closet, bed and desk that she called her own.  "Patience," she answered Ginny.  "A lot of patience.  Anyway, what is that?"

            "Ron said that when the two of you were doing your rounds yesterday you were looking for some girl that tried to vandalize one of the bathrooms.  He said you gave him some sort of description, but he couldn't remember it.  He didn't think that you had found her yet, so I thought maybe I could help out."  Ginny smiled and handed her the book.

            It was a copy of last term's yearbook.  Hermione mentally shook her head, amazed at her own stupidity.  How could she have not thought of something so simple.  "Thanks, Gin," she said earnestly.  "This should help a lot."

            "What does she look like?' Ginny asked.  "I mean, maybe I could help you out.  She might be in my year, or she might play quidditch."

            Hermione described the girl to Ginny, careful not to give her anymore information than she had given Ron.  As long as she could keep the stories straight, and tell them in exactly the same way maybe she would manage to keep Snape's secret.  She also couldn't act overly excited if indeed she did stumble upon a possible candidate.  She was getting ahead of herself, though.  The chances of her finding that Snape's daughter had been hiding right beneath his nose for the past six years were small enough to make her investigation ridiculous.

            She spread the book out across her bed and she and Ginny began pouring over it, pointing out possibilities to each other.  At last they had gone through all of the present Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Years.  From all of the pictures, they had only three possible candidates: Hannah Abbot, a Sixth Year Hufflepuff, Karen Macao, a Ravenclaw in her Fifth Year, and Darcy Lester, a Sixth Year Ravenclaw.  Ginny grinned.  "It looks like the Ravenclaws were on the loose in the bathrooms."

            Hermione smiled slightly and wrote the names of the three girls down.  She felt slightly disappointed in her discovery.  Though the only one of the three that she knew well was Hannah Abbot, she had a sneaking suspicion that none of these girls was the daughter of Professor Snape.  She had been expecting someone far more menacing looking.  If Pansy Parkinson or Millicent Bulstrode, both Sixth Year Slytherins, had fit the description she would have been ecstatic. 

            She and Ginny made small talk for a little while before Hermione would have to venture down to the dungeons once again.  Tomorrow night would be her final night of punishment, at last.  She could hardly wait to get a decent night's sleep.  There simply weren't enough hours in the day when you have to spend at least six of them with Snape leering over your shoulder.

            "You're late, Miss Granger," he said when she arrived without even looking up. 

            "I'm sorry, Sir," she said.  She had been waylaid by a Second Year who was in hysterics because she couldn't find her Transfiguration homework.  She explained as much to Snape.

            "I believe that you are not the only Prefect in Gryffindor, Miss Granger.  There should be six of you, two for each of Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Year if my calculations are correct.  Though you may have learned from Mr. Potter that it is always necessary to play the hero, I assure you that his advice is unfounded."

            Hermione breathed deeply.  She wondered how Snape could hate his own nephew so much.  Everything that anyone did wrong always had to come back to Harry, according to the Potions Professor.  Harry, nor a pale imitation of Harry's heroics, had had nothing to do with her service to the girl.  She simply had grabbed hold of Hermione's robes, crying, and refused to let go until Ginny had pulled her off and promised to help her search for the misplaced assignment.

            She headed for the table where she expected the pile of roots to be laid out and waiting for her, but Snape stopped her.  "No, Miss Granger.  I think you have learned well enough the excitement of chopping roots.  Tonight, I have a different assignment for you."

            She stood stock still, filled with trepidation.  There was something sinister about the look n his face. She had a feeling that she would probably much prefer the monotony of chopping roots to whatever task he was about to give her.  There was something sinister about the look n his face.

            "Sit down, Miss Granger," he said, sounding not at all kindly.  She did as she was told and he rose from behind the desk, his footsteps sounding loud and ominous as they approached her desk.  She tried to control her breathing and steady her vital functions, but she was finding it exceedingly difficult to do so.  He came closer and closer until she could almost hear his heart beating.  He put his greasy, hook-nosed face right in hers.  She tried not to cringe, but found she was unable to stop herself.  "I want to tell you a story," he said at last.  He backed away and only then did she let out the breath she hadn't noticed she had been holding.

            "Once there was a very nosy girl who talked to a very presumptuous Tree.  Owing to the influence of her House, no doubt, she felt that she could save the people of the world if only she knew something about them.  She wanted to start with her friends, but she quickly found out that it is indeed a tangled web we weave.  Instead, she decided to facilitate someone who was no friend to her, someone who has never had need of friends, and has no use for intrusive inquisition from a meddlesome child."  Hermione felt a lump of something she could only describe as fear rising in her throat.  She had seen Snape angry countless times before, but she had never witness his eyes growing so cold and diamond hard.  She felt as though the temperature in the room had lowered at least ten degrees, and she shivered involuntarily, though whether it was from the cold or the fear even she could not be certain.

            Snape resumed his narration in the same iniquitous tone that always lay just beneath the surface of his mellifluous speaking voice.  "She dredged up a dead man and called his son, whom I am anything but find of, my nephew.  This is strange, however.  I have never had a brother; I was an only child.  I cannot have a nephew.  As if this weren't enough, she returned to that disruptive piece of timber, and found out that I too, am human and that I have a past.  Again, though, her findings are strange."

            He stopped for a moment, and when he looked at her, Hermione felt as though she were going to pass out.  His eyes were haunted, and he looked as though he were little more than a shadow of a man.  His voice was so cold she felt as though her heart would surely freeze were she to listen for much longer.  "This time, she uncovered a woman and a child.  This woman is like the man she claimed was my brother, however.  I love no one.  I never have, I only thought I might have once, but that was a very long time ago, almost in another world.  I have no lost love, and, therefore, I have no child."

            He looked at her with more hatred and hurt than Hermione had ever in her life known.  "I am warning you to stay out of my business, Miss Granger.  Though you did not ever bother to ask, you know my side of the story now.  As you can see, I care about none of these skeletons you have unearthed, and I want nothing to do with a past I have left behind.  That was another time, another place, and another life, and I don't care to relive it."

            "But," Hermione said, not sure why she was protesting him but at the same time feeling as though she must.  "I only wanted to help."

            "I don't want your help," Snape said coldly.  "I thought that my little story would make that abundantly clear.  You don't think that we had this chat just so that I would have a chance to cry on your shoulder, do you?  I simply wanted to let you know that you advances are completely unwelcome, not to mention out of line.  The past is past, carved in stone, set and done.  I want nothing more to do with it."

            Hermione hung her head slightly, feeling the fear turn to a deep sadness, but not quite comprehending this wash of emotions. 

            "Now, get out of my office," Snape said.  "I need some sleep, as babysitting you has kept me up all night for nearly two weeks on end.  Don't come back tomorrow.  I've been punished enough already.