Hi, sorry…I know it took me a very long time…I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't make excuse, but I've developed a strange tremor in my right hand that sometimes makes it hard to type. So while my mother is secretly praying it's not a brain tumor (and I have more of a chance of getting leprosy than a brain tumor) I have had to cut down on my load of typing. Of which there is a lot.

Ok, now to address one problem people had with last chapter.

Cool kittie: Yes, I know about the altitude thing…believe me, I had altitude sickness myself when visiting the Andes. I just thought I'd skip it, seeing as though they're witches and probably would be able to cope.

Sabriel41: I am sorry, I've only just now seen your review…I am going right now to look at your story…I am honoured that you want me to look at it…best thing that happened to me all month.

So…on we go, to the chapter I think of as the lull before the storm. Very dialogue heavy.

P.S: everyone must see Kill Bill. I demand it.

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.

Chapter 13 – Back to basics

With the potion out of the way, Hermione found herself back in the swing of things…mostly. No more meetings running into early morning or missing class to tend mortally wounded teachers. Now it was business as usual, with normal school classes and homework at the end, rehearsals on Saturdays and special lessons with Deb on Tuesdays. The only difference was that now the incessant male ramblings of Quidditch had been replaced by incessant inter-gender ramblings about My Fair Lady. With only five or so months to go, (Hermione thought it was plenty of time) Dean Thomas had frantically begun conjuring materials for props and scenery. He refused to simply let Professor McGonagall transfigure them all on the day, insisting that "It just isn't art when we skive off like that."

By February he had so many props and sets that, eve when he reduced them in size, he couldn't put them anywhere. Fences from Covent Garden appeared in the hallways, along with staircases from Professor Higgins house and a number very impressive, glimmering crystal chandeliers. Dumbledore was almost immediately alerted to this by a very irate Argus Filch, who seemed to take it as a personal attack, and was now watching Dean everywhere he went.

One evening in the common room, Harry, Ron and Hermione were writing a particularly nasty potions essay comparing the effects and ingredients of a floating potion and a flying potion. Ron, who'd just finished his first scroll of parchment, had taken a break to scowl at Hermione, who was nearly finished her third scroll.

"I just don't understand, Hermione," He said desolately, "There just isn't that much to write about these silly potions!"

Every time they had homework, Ron persisted with this performance. Hermione hated it.

"You're not trying, Ron," She replied as she pulled another scroll out of her bag, "You're just sitting there worrying about how hard it is."

"I am not," he said indignantly, "Look here, I'm up to my second scroll."

Hermione didn't really want to have this discussion with him. It was like trying to tell a baboon he ought to learn to speak. He just wasn't interested.

"Can't I just copy yours?"

"Oh honestly, Ron," she snapped, "You can be so stupid! There isn't any time left to be lazy! Can't you see that you've got to stand on your own two feet now? I can't help you in the exam, can I?"

"No, but you can help me now."

Infuriating. She couldn't stand it any longer.

"Fine, here!" she threw her essay at him, "Take it, you stupid, immature, creature! What do I care if you ruin your own chances at OWL's?!"

And with that, she stormed out of the common room and ran straight into Ginny.

"Oh, sorry, Ginny," she said distractedly, "Your brother was just being a git again and he made me so angry I had to leave."

"I know what you mean," Ginny replied sadly, "He just refuses to grow up these days. It almost as f he doesn't want to go any further than Hogwarts."

"Yes…"

They stood for a moment, Hermione trying to think of a polite way to leave, Ginny surveying Hermione's face, picking at emotions and thoughts.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I think I know who's going to be Professor Higgins."

Hermione's heart began to bounce around in her chest.

"Really?" she smiled carefully, "Who?"

"Professor Snape."

Hermione stomach lurched and began to squirm almost as much as she was.

"And I think I know who's going to be Eliza too."

Hermione's knees nearly gave in. Could Ginny know? How? Sometimes the girl was as omniscient as Dumbledore.

"It's you, isn't it?"

"Ginny you mustn't tell anyone" She pleaded, "Not a soul, please, you've got to know how embarrassing this is going to be for me, please, you can't tell anyone!"

"It's alright, I'm not going to tell. But I think you should talk to Harry."

"Why?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Because he misses you. He feels like he hardly gets to talk to you, and he really wants to because….well, because Ron and I aren't enough. He needs you too."

Hermione put her head in her hands.

"I just want this year to be over so everything goes back to normal."

"Hermione, there is no such thing as normal, especially not now."

Hermione realized how very true that was. She would eventually have to go home to an empty house, find a job…do…everything, and pretty much on her own.

"Look," Ginny said reasonably, "Why don't you go back in there, tell them to put their homework away and just talk to them. Ron will calm down soon enough. They just want to support you…they didn't really get to, and they want to make sure you're happy. In fact, maybe you should tell them who's playing Eliza."

Hermione gave her a look of pure horror.

"You don't have to tell them who's playing Higgins. That'll be all too much for them. They know how to keep a secret though. They are loyal to you."

"Ginny, when did you become a mother?" Hermione asked wearily.

"When puberty kicked in," Ginny chuckled, "I can't help it. It's in my genes. Now go and talk to them."

Ginny pushed her back into the common room and straight back to the table at which Harry was now telling Ron something that seemed to make him sad. They stopped as Hermione came to stand rather awkwardly beside them. She was silent for a moment, but suddenly felt obligated to say something.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you, Ron," She said slowly, "I didn't mean to, but you see…well, I've been under quite a bit of stress."

"No, it was my fault," He said somberly, "Harry told me…I should be more sensitive."

"No, Ron, really," She said earnestly, "Harry's wrong. It's really me. You see….well, I don't quite know how to say this, but….well," she dropped her voice to a murmur, "I'm going to be Eliza Dolittle."

Jaws have never dropped so low so fast from people who were so used to surprises.

"You?" Said Ron incredulously. "But…how?"

"I've been practicing in secret with Deborah and…Professor Higgins. During our private lesson time."

"Ooh…" Harry suddenly whispered, "Who's Higgins, then?"

"I'm absolutely not telling you!" she answered resolutely, then tried a different tack, "You have to leave some surprises for later, don't you?"

"Oh ho ho," Ron chuckled, "Not this one, I'm afraid. Come on Hermione, tell us. Are you embarrassed?"

"Of course not." She knew they'd see through her. They always did. This wasn't exactly how she'd planned this conversation to go…but quality time is quality time.

"Who could so thoroughly embarrass Hermione that she wouldn't want to tell her two best friends?" Harry stood up and paced in a mocking fashion. Hermione didn't put it past him to be referencing Higgins, but remained silently resigned to their thoughts, trying to will herself not to react.

"Are you telling me you haven't already thought about this? I thought everyone was up in arms about this."

"Yeah," Harry conceded, "But no one knew as much as we do now. For all we knew it could have been a Dementor. Now we know it's someone who's here all the time. And someone you don't want to tell us about."

"Oh fine, whatever…" Hermione waved her hand irritably, "How long will this take?"

"It can't be a student, can it?" Ron suggested, ignoring Hermione's last comment.

"I don't know anyone who hasn't got a part already. Even Malfoy's got one."

"Right," Ron agreed, "so we're pretty much looking at teachers then…" Ron rubbed his chin for a moment, then started, "I've got it! It's Filch."

"Eeeuuurgh," Hermione nearly gagged.

"No," Harry shook his head, "He's the bartender."

Another silence.

"Oh!" Ron pointed victoriously at her, "Professor Vector!"

"No," Harry smiled at Hermione's rolling eyes, "He's the Ambassador…but there's someone we're forgetting, Ron. Someone so obvious. Someone we'd never guess would ever do something like this. Someone so…unexpected."

Hermione's heart accelerated to light speed.

"Who?"

"Dumbledore," Harry said petulantly, "Bloody Dumbledore."

Hermione's heart decelerated.

"What?" Ron said disbelievingly, "Albus Dumbledore?"

"Do you know another Bloody Dumbledore?" Harry asked angrily.

"No, it can't be…I mean, we all know he's….you know what-ing on You-Know-Who for the Order. He can't be doing that, and being Headmaster, and rehearsing a musical."

"Why not?" argued Harry, "Hermione's in the middle of her final year at school, is taking extra lessons, her parents passed away and she's the main part in our musical. Some people are multi-taskers."

"What about Snape?" Ron offered.

Hermione's heart leaped into warp speed again.

"Don't be stupid, Ron," Harry laughed, "Do you really think Hermione could bear to be around him any longer than is absolutely necessary. And besides, that man hasn't got a funny bone in his body. His funny bone probably isn't even funny."

"So that's it, is it?" Hermione feigned weary defeat as she sat down in one of the nearby wingbacks. She could hardly believe her good luck. They were so…ridiculous. It was almost criminal to let it go to waste.

"Bet on it." Harry sat back happily.

"Alright then," Hermione shrugged, "Ron, what do you think?"

"I reckon it is Filch, only professor Daniels has him posing as the bartender."

"Wait

"Willing to bet on it?" Hermione was half pleased and half horrified at her sudden mimicry of Deb's manipulation.

"Why not?" Ron smiled deviously. Hermione would've felt bad, but she knew Ron had recently been sent some money from the terrible twins, who were making a fortune on Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

"Right then," she rubbed her hands together, "two galleons to the winner, plus you've got to run naked across the stage during the intermission if you lose."

Neither party looked to happy about that last part, but Hermione was thrilled. She knew she had them in the bag now. She knew they were both wrong, and almost wanted to tell them then and there who it really was right then.

"Alright, let's shake on it." She put two hands out crossed over, and they formed a little triangle of handshakes. And there it was. Four galleons and a lifetime supply of ridicule were hers.

"Deb, I've been meaning to ask you something." Hermione mentioned as they shared some tea at the end of a rehearsal with Snape.

"Ask away," Deb put her teacup down and crossed her arms.

"That day, on Mount Everest. You said to the Diable that if it didn't do it's job there'd be Antimony in the chest instead of jewels."

"Oh…you want to know why that would be an incentive to complete it properly. Well, it goes a little something like this. You know how Arsenic is deadly to humans?"

"Yes."

"Antimony is hugely more deadly to a Diable. One touch and they're gone. Only they can't help touching it if they see it. They are just mesmerized by it in it's pure state, so they have to touch it, which means they have to die. Kind of like those bug lights that attract bugs and the electrocute them."

"Wow. Isn't that a little harsh?"

"Hermione, did you even look at him? He is a hardened criminal. You think this is the first time his life has been threatened? Believe me, he'll deal with it."

They were silent for a little while, not uncomfortably, but contentedly, like old friends from a past life.

"I told Harry and Ron I'm Eliza."

"That must have been interesting." Deb commented.

"Well, I've never seen two jaws drop so low so fast."

"I'll bet," Deb chuckled, "And I'll bet they also wanted to know who the illustrious Professor Higgins will be." Deb rubbed Severus' shoulder. He grimaced.

"Yes, they did. And they guessed all over the place. He did guess it was Severus, but harry convinced him it wasn't. So now Ron reckons it's Filch and he's only got the bartender part as a cover up."

"That's ridiculous and disgusting," Severus protested, "He's got the personal hygiene of a sewer rat and the enunciation of an inebriated whore."

"I was just going to say they were wrong," Deb admitted, "But ok. What about Harry?"

"Well, I thought he'd guess it was Severus, but no, he reckons it's Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" Severus repeated unbelievingly, "The man is ancient! If Longbottom were to be older than him he'd have to be dead! Are these two boys out of their minds?"

"Wow, Severus," Deb grinned, "Taking it personally, are we? Feeling a little invisible?"

He crossed his arms and ground his teeth sulkily.

"Oooh! Oooh!" Deborah crowed, "Wait, who am I? Henry, don't grind your teeth! Get it? Get it? I'm Mrs Higgins!"

Severus didn't find that very funny, so Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing at him.

"Oh come on," Deborah coaxed Hermione, "You want to laugh, go on, you know you want to…"

Hermione held herself resolute, took a deep breath and raised her chin.

"Deb, you are puerile."

"I know, it's great fun, you should try it some time. You too, Severus."

There was no response.

"Oh never mind," Deborah murmured and sipped her tea.

"So anyway," Hermione continued, "I convinced them to bet on it."

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Deborah slapped her on the back, "I'm glad I've taught you something. See, Severus, isn't she smart? What did they bet?"

"I made them bet two galleons, and whoever is wrong has to run naked across the stage during intermission."

Deborah burst into rambunctious laughter and Severus just scowled.

"Why are you encouraging this, Deborah? You're supposed to give her a detention."

"Oh for Fuck's sake, Severus!" Deborah sobered enough to swear sharply, "You, of all people, should enjoy this moment. You're two most hated students are certain to embarrass themselves thanks to yourself and Hermione, and all you can do is grimace like your constipated. Step out a little, man, why don't you try smiling? Just picture it! The two of them, streaking across the stage, their white arse cheeks clear for all the world to see…not to mention other delicate parts. Molly Weasley having a heart attack, then berating her son, then having another heart attack when she finds out it was Hermione who orchestrated it."

Severus' lips twitched into something resembling a smile for perhaps a split second before he abruptly lifted himself from the chair.

"Funny," he agreed curtly, "But wrong."

"Oh, and you're the authority on that, are you? Severus, you are such a stick in the mud."

They sat for a little longer in silence.

"Deborah," Hermione piped up again.

"Yes," Deborah answered slowly.

"What happens after?" Hermione asked.

"What do you mean, after?" Deborah grinned.

"I mean after all this, after the end of the term." Deborah  sipped her tea and put it down again. "I imagine you'll get into a course at university, I may stay on to teach here, or maybe I'll have a holiday, and maybe Severus will too."

"I don't think I want to go straight to university." Hermione considered it, "I mean, I want to see a bit of the world first."

"Hermione," Severus  suddenly interjected, "I think it's best—"

"Since when do you know what's best?" Deborah challenged him.

"Since I'm the oldest and most sensible." Severus said defensively.

"Oh, sensible, are you? Was joining the death eaters the most sensible thing you could think to do, then?"

"Shut up, you harebrained lunatic."

Deborah giggled, but didn't provoke him further.

"Don't you want to get into the swing of things at university?" He offered, "See what it's like…"

"Not really, no. I'd rather see what the world is like."

"You went to Germany with your parents, if I'm not much mistaken," Severus argued, "And you've been to France and—"

"How do you know all this?" Hermione asked defensively, suddenly aware it was entirely inappropriate for him to know these things.

"I just know. You give Minerva a present, she blurts it out to someone else. She can't help herself, blathering on about how much everyone loves her."

"Awww, Severus," Deborah cooed sarcastically, "don't worry, You'll never have that problem."

"You just can't keep your mouth shut, can you?" Severus shook his head.

"I know," Deborah shrugged matter-of-factly, "It's a curse. Now Hermione, I think you have to make that decision on your own, because it won't be us at university. But, if you need any help setting things in order…if you want anything at all, you only have to call me, or Severus for that matter, and—"

"Excuse me, since when am I her Godfather?"

"Since now," Deborah said simply. He looked at her angrily, and she clicked her tongue at him. "Are you telling me that if Hermione called on you for help, you wouldn't oblige, you nasty, nasty man?"

He turned his eyes down, seemingly chewing his tongue…hard.

"Anyway," Deborah turned back to Hermione, "We're only an owl or fireplace away, so don't ever hesitate, night or day…particularly when dealing with Severus…you should probably wait until night time, because he very much enjoys having his sleep disturbed at three in the morning."

At that he leapt from his seat with an aggravated, "bah!" and skulked to the farthest window.

"That time of the month, is it, Severus?"