Wow, it's been ages since I've updated, hasn't it? To anyone who's still checking this story, I am very sorry, and I'll be attempting to update regularly from now on. I know this chapter is rather short, but bear with me and my recovering muse


Uggh. Her head felt like two Hypogriffs had sat on it, before allowing the Hogwarts Express to run over her. Thrice. Hermione blinked blearily, quickly recoiling when her vision came in contact with light. Horrible, piercing, headache-encouraging l. What had happened to her? She stopped trying to get up and lay back onto the bed instead, drawing up the sheets before realising that they felt… different. Silky. Not her heavy, comfortable duvet.

Voices… there were muffled voices, right outside her bedroom door, she assumed. It sounded like Professor Dumbledore and… Professor Snape. Hermione groaned, the full memory of what had taken place the night before crashing down on her – the white room, the odd, coreless wand, the knife, the touch of gentle hands upon her… No. Stop. Oh, to hell with it, she decided to risk getting up, gingerly testing her limbs before she did so. Her right arm felt sore, a light bruise had formed where the knife had stabbed her, and her back ached slightly when she swung her legs onto the floor. Well, not too bad. Next came her eyes… she blinked tentatively, snapping her eyelids shut when the light stung at them again. She had never had a hangover before, but presumed that this was what it would feel like. Why anyone would willingly endure such hell for only a drink or two of alcohol mystified her.

"I do not appreciate you hiding things from me. Have I not endured countless years as a spy for the Order? Doesn't that alone warrant me this one answer that I ask from you?"

It was Professor Snape. Hermione's features twisted into a frown, before she realised that it only made her head throb more.

"Of course it does, my boy, and I have accordingly provided you with that answer."

She peeled an eye open, then the other, blinking blearily and realising that the light came from an odd ball hovering near the ceiling, glowing dimly. It drifted about now and then, but never left the general vicinity of the ceiling.

"You talking circles around me is not very amusing, Headmaster. Why, then, did you burn the parchment containing the spell mere seconds after we had conducted the ritual itself?"

Hermione inched closer to the edge of the bed to hear better – was Snape implying that Dumbledore was purposefully covering something up?

"An old man's mistake, Severus."

"And the knife?"

Thud.

"What was that?"

Oh bugger! Hermione hurriedly scrambled up from the floor, only to find that her vaguely jelly-like legs promptly gave away again. The door edged open, revealing two visibly male silhouettes. She gave them a sheepish smile and smoothed her hair self consciously. "Uh – good morning, Professors!"

"Miss Granger, how lovely to see you awake," there was, as always, an amused twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes; but Snape's expression was flat and gave nothing away. "I trust that you are feeling alright?"

"Obviously not, judging from that fall." Snape commented idly, crossing his arms and regarding her. "I'll supply you with a headache relieving potion and strengthening potions."

Hermione couldn't refrain from blinking in surprise at the uncharacteristic offer of help from the snarky Potions master. "Oh, erm… thank you, Professor."

The man's expression darkened ever so slightly, and he seemed about to reply before the Headmaster interrupted cheerily, "Well, I expect Miss Granger has had enough for the day. I have taken the liberty of summoning breakfast; a house-elf shall be arriving at the dungeons shortly." He offered her a sunny smile and a nod, then turned and whisked away in his star-dusted, warm purple robes. Snape gave her another dark look before billowing after the Headmaster.

Her head was still much too fragile for her to appropriately contemplate the whirlwind events during the past five minutes, and so the bemused Gryffindor latched onto the only detail she could, Dumbledore's words: the dungeons. She turned to observe her surroundings for the very first time, noting the black sheets smoothed over her – no, his bed; the prominent shades of green and silver that frosted the room; the cold stone slabs that made up the impersonal chamber; the abandoned fireplace that was tucked into a lonely corner; towers upon towers of fresh-leafed books that just called for you to stroke them, to devour the fables they offered; there was an ornate, gilded mirror, and next to it a wardrobe made of what she could only assume was oak.

It was all so incredibly Severus Snape.

She assumed that they had brought her here so as not to disturb her dorm-mates and arouse their suspicions.

The door opened again, and from her perch on the ground, she saw a black-clad midriff, with a pair of pale, weathered hands before it, carrying a cup of tea and a familiar leather-encased box. Her scrutiny travelled upwards, skimming over the tightly buttoned frock coat – why was the man so conscious about his attire even in his own home? – onto a pale neck that was touched by a few strands of inky black hair, until she met a burning, unfathomable gaze. She blushed, and her eyes immediately returned to its former inspection of the rug below her feet.

"Drink up, Miss Granger." Professor Snape said dryly, conjuring an armchair and thrusting the tea practically under her nose. After a brief pause, she took the drink, giving it a dubious stare.

"It hasn't been poisoned, in case you were wondering," her Potions professor drawled, stirring his own tea and setting down the box. "I did, however, add the required amounts of headache relieving potion and strengthening potion, for your benefit."

Hermione hadn't actually doubted the quality of the drink, despite his thoughts otherwise, but she sipped at the drink after his words. It was bitter, but that was probably because she was unaccustomed to tea so early in the morning.

"If you have sated your thirst... hold out your hand, Miss Granger."

She looked up in surprise, inappropriate thoughts immediately racing across her mind before she could squander them. Instinctively, her hand rose, albeit somewhat warily. An ebony rod was pressed into her palm, and she could actually feel the powerful tingle that skimmed over her skin and the electrifying buzz that travelled along her veins. Her fingers closed over the smooth wood, and it felt like it had been specifically tailored for her grip from the beginning. It felt… different, although she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"It hums," her voice was barely a whisper, but he heard. "May I…?" She held up the wand and pointed it at a piece of paper.

"Be careful with it, Miss Granger, this is not your typical wand."

Her brows furrowed in a silent question, but he simply nodded for her to continue, a small gesture for you'll see.

Accordingly, she aimed at the parchment, then… "Accio parchment! Oh… wha-"

A lean figure came hurtling at her, knocking her to a side a second before the animated parchment soared her way, missing her head by a fraction of an inch. Nevertheless, strands of her frizzy brown hair fell to the floor, cleanly sliced in half by the seemingly harmless piece of paper. Hermione's palm flew up to rest against her mouth, stifling the gasp that left her lips. Her eyes were round with wonder, and she darted a look at Snape, who was dusting his sleeves off quite pompously. His dark brows quirked in an I-told-you-so sort of manner.

How infuriating.

"Now, as you know, I have been assigned to educate you on your skills with hexes -"

"My hexing is just fine… in fact, without blowing my own horn, sir, I'd say it's more than above average." No doubt owing to the threesome's reckless escapades, of course.

There was a dangerous silence, during which the abashed 5th year squirmed uncomfortably, her chin tilting downwards in an appropriate gesture of embarrassment.

"Whilst I do not appreciate your unprompted interruption, Miss Granger – where, I might add, you did an admirably fine job of 'blowing your own horn' – will your hexing be just fine with this particular wand?" he slid the black wand from her fingers and dangled it in front of her, his eyebrows lifting in the way only he could. When no response came from her lips, he sneered and fitted the wand back into his box.

"I thought so. If you expect to be trained properly under my eye, I will tolerate no spontaneous, impulsive gestures; you will, as always, address me by my suitable title only, and comply with each and every exercise I craft for you. There will be no foolishness or tomfoolery, and I will anticipate no less than a sharp mind and wit. Have I made myself clear?"

Hermione contemplated not answering the hateful git for a brief moment. "As crystal," she relented, with a heavy sigh for good measure.


"Ron, can you please put that down, and for Merlin's sake start studying for once?" said Hermione, shooting discrete glares at the redhead whenever she could spare a second away from her Arithmancy textbook.

Ron, on the other hand, didn't seem particularly concerned about risking her wrath, and only continued perusing the newest edition of a Quidditch magazine.

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione growled, finally setting her quill down and snatching the thing from his hands. "I thought you'd be capable of thinking of your future for once, instead of pointlessly devouring comic after comic after comic!"

"I hardly think my future is going to be spent buried in books and studying for exams… and now that I think about it, having a broomstick up my arse doesn't seem very appealing either!" he retorted, whipping his magazine back from her. "And it's a magazine, not a comic."

By now, they had captured the entire common room's attention, and Hermione was blushing an angry red. "Well I don't see the difference! They're as daft and silly as the other, aren't they? God, when will you ever stop being so immature and naïve, and start acting like your age for once?"

She punctuated her tirade by dramatically scraping her armchair back and standing to leave. But two or three fuming stomps later she realised that she had, in fact, left her books behind.

"You know what, Hermione?" Ron's complexion was as red as his hair by now. "Being smart won't necessarily get you anywhere! Take… take Victor Krum, for example! Compare him to that greasy old bat Snape… who d'you think is better off? Honestly? Skulking around the dungeons doesn't seem like a dream job to me!"

"It's better than mindlessly whipping around on a bloody stick all day while others are fighting for their lives in this goddamned war!"

The atmosphere in the room gave a whole new definition to the word 'silence'. Everyone tried and failed miserably at subtly shrinking back from her fierce glower as Hermione gathered her books and stormed into the girls' dormitories.

Nosy old busybodies. She placed her pile of books on the desk. Bang.

Immature little brat. She landed on the hard wooden chair. Thud.

Stupid, impulsive, idiotic old Hermione. Her head fell into the cradle of her arms. Inhale.

What in Merlin's name had she done? Had she just jeopardized the only chance they had of bringing Voldemort down from his throne? Her cinnamon eyes squeezed shut when the full implications of what she had ruined came crashing down on her. She had to find Professor Dumbledore.

She stood so abruptly that the chair crashed to the floor, but Hermione paid it no heed as she rushed towards the common room, ignoring everyone's curious stares, and down the corridors. Maybe it could still work

No…no, of course it couldn't, the spell's aim was to draw love from between a couple, and even before this insignificant feud, Hermione was certain that it was something she and Ron had never had.

But… why would Dumbledore suggest it, then? Wasn't he omnipotent? Didn't he know absolutely every sodding thing that you could come up with? Perhaps he was right, perhaps it could work…

The Gryffindor hesitated at the foot of the Headmaster's office's staircase, where the set of stone gargoyles sat. "Let me in, I have to speak with the Headmaster."

The statues remained stubbornly blank-faced.

"Please, please let me in. It's an urgent, urgent matter."

When they still remained motionless, she sighed threw her hands up in defeat. "Oh, all right then, erm… Chocolate Frogs, Hiccup Sweets, Ton-Tongue Toffees, lemon drops – oh, open up already!"

"Interesting choice of guesses, Miss Granger," Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice spoke from behind her. "Unfortunately, I have decided to vary from the sweets, it's been getting rather dull, don't you think? I opted instead for Nose Biting Teacup."

The gargoyles immediately stretched and parted.

"Oh, erm… H-Headmaster," Hermione greeted awkwardly. Now that she stood before him, she found that words wouldn't form. The astute old wizard's bushy grey brows rose, and he swept an elegant hand forwards, gesturing for her to go first.

"Now, what is it that you wanted, Hermione?" he asked kindly, when he too stepped onto the staircase, and it started spiralling upwards.

"I… uh, well, you see Professor… me and Ron…" it suddenly seemed much more trivial coming from her mouth than it sounded in her head. "Well, I'm not very sure that the, er… spell will work, quite honestly."

Dumbledore nodded benignly, and popped a lemon drop into her mouth as he thought. "Let's step into my office, Hermione."