Reviewers! First of all, I'm SO sorry for the long wait. Writing a suspense fic and leaving things hanging (quite literally) is horrible. However, my life has been total lunacy for the past two weeks, and it's about to get even crazier, so I want to get this chappy out now. Barring any problems with the website, I will post again on May 21st. Messages! Angel, yay! Thanks for your comments. The elves at Hogwarts keep their secrets. They wouldn't blab, I don't think. As for Dumbledore having a bathroom in his chamber, um … the commode was broken, so he was, uh … searching for another one? LOL Yeah, lame-o. I'll try to fix that and put in something else. Glad you're enjoying, though. Infall, will do. Luv ya! EAV: Well, Madame Pomfrey won't find out about the Obliviation, … mwa ha ha. Have fun! Kiwi: Thanks for your comments. I clarified the "apparition code" thing in this chapter, so it's more magical than techno. Hey, I have a completely non-Harry related question for you. Are you, by any chance, the same Kiwi that draws Skirting Danger? Just curious. Shiba! Hee hee! Glad you liked that part. And you liked Myrtle! Whoo hoo! I'm glad I wrote her right. Thanks as always for your comments and support. Stahchild: What can I say, babe? Thanks a bunch as usual for your reviews, and I'm so happy you like it.

Here's more!

CHAPTER NINE: Purgatory

Harry, fortunately, picked that moment to finish up. Hermione heard him pour his concoction into his hip flask, noisily gather his supplies, and leave. The stall door next to hers creaked loudly as he opened it. She twitched her nose in desperation. Her eyes began to water as he walked with agonizing slowness out of the bathroom.

Finally, the far door swung shut. Hermione let it rip.

"ACHOO!"

The sneeze was so powerful that she let go of the walls, rocketed straight out of the stall, and thumped into the ceiling. She stuck there like an enormous fly, pressed solidly up against the peeling tiles, looking down absently at her cauldron far below and rubbing her nose in relief.

"Bless you," said Myrtle suddenly.

Hermione shrieked. "Don't do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"If I did, and you died, would you join me here?" Myrtle asked absently as she drifted into Hermione's range of vision.

Hermione snorted at the bespectacled ghost. "Perhaps if I were sentenced to Purgatory."

Myrtle huffed and floated back a few paces. Hermione ignored her. She pulled out her wand, pointed it at herself, murmured an incantation, and immediately began to peel off the ceiling. Keeping an eye on Myrtle, she floated down to the ground, landed gently, and straightened her clothes.

Myrtle looked slightly disappointed that Hermione had made it down in one piece, but Hermione didn't notice this. She was contemplating her cauldron. More specifically, she was contemplating where she would put her cauldron, as it couldn't stay here. People actually used Myrtle's bathroom in emergencies. She couldn't chance anybody coming in here and finding it. But where could she take it? The dorm?

The air suddenly got very cold behind her, and Hermione turned around. Myrtle's mood, it seemed, had again done a 180. She was staring at Hermione with narrowed eyes and crossed arms.

"You know something," the ghost announced, with a cold directness in her voice that gave Hermione pause. "You're brewing, and you didn't want Harry to see you. You two are friends, but you're keeping something from him… I don't like this. What's going on?"

Hermione did her very best to keep her face bland and emotionless. If Myrtle found out, she could easily tell … well, anybody.

"I'm sorry, Myrtle, but you're wrong," she replied, trying to sound business-like. "What I'm making has nothing to do with Harry. It's for the Headmaster, it's top secret, and I'm afraid that if I tell you what it is, I'll have to kill you. Erm, again."

Myrtle's eyes went wide. "Wh-Wh-What?"

"You heard me," Hermione said, finding her courage. "Clear off. And by the way, you never saw me in here. It's for your own safety, you understand."

"E-E-Er …"

"GO, Myrtle!" Hermione barked.

Myrtle gave no further argument. She floated off right through the wall.

Hermione watched her go, let out a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding, and studied her cauldron again. Moving the potion was dangerous, but putting it in her dorm room and making up some story to keep Lavender and Parvati away from it was better than leaving it out in the open. The girls rarely went back up to their room once the day started, so it was a perfect place for simmering.

Decision made, she checked the stall to make sure she'd gathered everything. Her inspection satisfied her; she slung her satchel over one shoulder. With great care, she magically fastened the portable blue flame underneath her cauldron, picked it up by the handle, cast Invisiblium on the whole thing, and made time out of the bathroom, her left hand clenched around the handle and her arm flung out very far and taut. The fire might have been invisible, but it was still very real, and she had to keep it away from her robes.

It was almost 6:15. She went down her checklist as she headed for the Tower. Set my stuff in a spot where it won't cause trouble. Do it before Vati and Lav wake up. Go down to breakfast. Act normal.

She sighed through her nose and pressed on. The plan seemed to have a fighting chance. The potion was on its way, Harry had no idea what was going on, and if Ron covered his end of the action right, they could have their friend freed from this rubbish in two short days.

But one thing was bothering her as she trudged down the hall: Snape. Ron's knock-out blow and cover-up had been brilliant, and she knew that her memory charm must have worked at least halfway because if it hadn't, she and Ron would be in Dumbledore's office right now, and Snape would be howling for their expulsion. Her brain said they were in the clear.

Her instincts said something else. Snape was a grouchy old bat, but he was an intelligent grouchy old bat. Once he came around from the blow (she figured he already had), he was bound to suspect something. And they had Potions today! Her stomach tied itself into a slipknot. What would her teacher remember from last night? Well, that depended entirely on how well she'd managed to Obliviate him before Ron roared in and played Whack-a-Prof with that shovel.

She shook her head in dismay and trudged on. Ron had done something felonious, she had no field experience with that charm, and even if it had worked correctly, she'd given Snape no cover story. The combination of sneaking, brewing, and worrying was starting to give her a headache. She leaned clumsily to the left from her invisible burden, and rubbed her tired eyes and red nose with her free hand.

The former Heads in the office watched from their frames with no small amusement as Albus Dumbledore gathered up his substituting supplies, picked invisible lint off his ornate purple robes, and checked the clock for the sixth time in thirty seconds.

It was nearly eight o'clock in the morning. Dumbledore was nearly 160 years old. He had been an instructor at Hogwarts for nearly a century and Headmaster for nearly a quarter-century after that … and yet, after all his living and all his experience in the classroom, he felt his morning porridge burbling in his stomach.

He was teaching today. And he was nervous.

Finally cottoning on to what the portraits were snickering about, he chuckled at his own insecurity and smiled broadly at a nearby mirror to make sure he didn't have anything in his teeth.

"Never goes away, does it, old boy?" he asked his reflection quietly. "Ah, well. Onward and upward."

Dumbledore strode out of his office, loaded down with parchment, quills and a few books (the rest were floating along behind him). He gently flipped back his mane of white hair and began to fumfer with his beard, heading for the dungeons and the Potions classroom.

Teaching Potions was not his strong suit, but he would do for the time being. He was comforted by the fact that he and Poppy had gotten Severus taken care of and into bed without a fuss last night. And if he knew anything about the man, the subsequent measures he'd taken would ensure that the Potions Master would not leave his quarters until Dumbledore came back at day's end to fetch him.

At three minutes to 10, Hermione was jogging through the halls with Harry, hurrying to Potions. They'd just seen Ron off at Care of Magical Creatures and Hagrid had insisted each of them take a rock cake with them, "for later," so now they were scurrying along like maniacs, loaded down heavily with book bags and cauldrons, their pockets full of pastries that were more rock than cake.

Hermione's logical side asked why she was running. Considering last night, Snape would probably not be teaching today. She hadn't seen him at breakfast that morning. Of course, this was hardly something to be concerned about, because Snape rarely made an appearance at breakfast. Even so, her first ridiculous thought at realizing his absence was something along the lines of Oh God, we killed him! Frankly, she was amazed that any of her breakfast had made it into her stomach, she was so nervous.

Ron had eaten like a pig, as usual. Harry had picked at his food with no enthusiasm. And Professor Dumbledore had made quite an unintentional spectacle of himself at the staff table, dropping his spoon repeatedly, knocking things over, spilling his tea, and nearly setting his beard on fire by leaning too close to a nearby candle. It was the oddest thing.

"Oh, I do hope we're not late! Professor Snape will be so angry!" Hermione fretted, doing what she hoped was a good impression of her normal self.

"We won't be," Harry replied, with that same scary blandness in his voice. If anything, it seemed to have intensified since last night at dinner. He didn't even sound out of breath, although they were both running flat-out, now.

The bell began to toll. Hermione let off a tame curse, just for a dash of authenticity. But in moments they were in sight of the Potions classroom. They zipped in and took their seats just as the last few chimes of the carillon died away. Both were concerned with getting out their supplies and not being late, and so it took Hermione a few moments to notice that Snape was indeed not at the front of the classroom.

Looking at her instead, and now the picture of calm, was Albus Dumbledore. Hermione couldn't help it. She broke into a wide grin.

Snape woke up to the inviting smell of cinnamon and sugar. He ignored it and instead luxuriated in the safe, wonderful feeling of waking up dry, warm, and rested, in his own bed. A bird chirped outside. Snape ignored this too and rustled around a bit beneath the thick bedclothes, making lumps rise and fall under the emerald-green duvet. He absently put one hand on his chest. His heart thrummed gently under his palm. He was alive, then. Good. His dream of a few minutes ago had indicated something to the contrary, although it wasn't frightening somehow, and it was already starting to slip away from him.

He heaved a sigh and blinked at the ceiling. Lazily tilting his head to the right, he caught half a face full of pillow and saw there was breakfast waiting for him on the night stand – French toast and tea. Then he realized his pajamas felt different. They were not the same ones he had gone to sleep in, and he had a slight headache. Ah, yes. Something bad had happened in the middle of the night, hadn't it? But Albus had taken care of things. It was all over now, and he was here. Good. He was almost ready to nod off again. The bed was so warm, and he was so comfortable, and Merlin's beard, was that SUNLIGHT?

Snape was always up before the sun. Always.

"Damn it!" he exploded, flinging his covers off in a panic and leaping out of bed. "I overslept! Oh, damn it all to Had – aaaugh!"

He made it perhaps eight inches before somehow tangling one foot in the scattered bedclothes, flailing his arms for balance, and crashing to the floor. The fall did nothing to deter him. He shook it off, stood up, and raced around his quarters for a full five minutes, tearing open various wardrobes and looking for his clothes, all of which seemed to have disappeared.

Well, that was a deterrent. Snape was baffled. All he was able to locate were his dressing gown and slippers. It was October, and he was barefoot and chilly. He put everything on. After pacing around and letting his pulse slow, he finally remembered that Dumbledore would be stepping in to teach today.

This did nothing to soothe Snape's nerves. He ran one hand through his tangled, greasy hair and stalked into his bathroom. Shutting the door behind him out of habit, he headed for the toilet. Dumbledore, he reasoned, had probably made off with his clothes to keep him in his chambers. The Headmaster knew that Professor Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House, wouldn't dare wander around Hogwarts in his pajamas. The Potions Master had too much pride to do something undignified like that.

"Miserable old bastard," Snape snarled.

He finished his business, flushed the commode, straightened his dressing gown, and went to the sink to wash up.

Naturally, his first thoughts turned to escape. All he needed were some day clothes and he would be able to get Dumbledore out of his classroom. But Transfiguring his night clothes into his usual robes was out of the question. Snape was a genius brewer, but he was crap at Transfiguration (one of his dirty little secrets) and Dumbledore knew it.

Snape grabbed a towel and dried his hands as he wandered back out into his bedroom. He cast a sour glance at his French toast and tea. His wand was nowhere in sight, but that didn't matter.

"Accio breakfast!" he commanded.

The toast and tea floated over and settled onto a nearby table. Snape eyed it. He was not hungry. He was unsettled. And he knew he wouldn't be able to deal with anything until he sorted out what happened last night, so he flung his towel over one shoulder, stuffed his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown, furrowed his brow, and began to pace.

"Hmm. What do I remember?" he muttered.

The answer, as it turned out, was "not much." After a few minutes of fierce recollection, his head was really starting to hurt and he could only piece together the basics: the alarm that rang at midnight (meaning an intruder was in his classroom), waking up in said classroom with a bottle in his hand, Albus and Poppy arriving, their annoying insistence that he had been drinking, Poppy whacking him on the head with her wand, and then waking up again in his bedroom.

There had to be more to that story.

Snape scratched his face absently, ignored the fact that he needed a shave, and "accio"d his wand. Perhaps this could tell him something about last night. He prepared to cast Priori Incantatem. The last spell he could remember casting was Reparo. He'd dropped his empty cocoa cup at the sudden sound of the alarm, and quickly fixed it before shouting his personal apparition codeword and appearing in his classroom. Setting his wand down on the table next to his toast, he cracked his knuckles and cast the spell. A little specter drifted out of the tip.

It was the gray shade of an inanimate object, of all things: the door to his storage room in the Potions classroom. There was a whisper of "Alohomora!" … and it swung open.

"Son of a Basilisk!" Snape shouted.

It was all falling together. The quickly localizing headache, the missing time, the blurry memories… Everything was meshing in a most frightful way. Someone, some sneaky, indecent, horrible person, had lured him into his classroom, incapacitated him, gotten their hands on his wand, and used it to open the door to his stores. This meant that on top of everything else, there were precious ingredients missing; ingredients he would have to replace.

Snape sat down on his messy bed with a flump. He remembered clearly coming into his classroom, but almost everything from there on was a blur, at least until Albus and Poppy arrived. He glanced at a low cabinet near his breakfast table for a moment. Then he hurried over and took out a small stone cauldron full of swirling mist.

Shoving his food aside (the plate made a growl of disapproval), he set his Pensieve down on the table top, put his wand to his forehead, focused his thoughts, and drew out a long silver strand, which he added to the bowl. Then, taking a deep breath, he plunged his head in …

Snape stood calmly in the memory of his dark classroom, arms crossed, and watched as his other frazzled self glared around like a madman, shouting, "All right, who's in here? Show yourself!" and then, after a moment of intense frustration, "Oh, that's it! Lumos!"

Both Snapes (who could only be differentiated by the pattern on their pajamas) squinted at the sudden burst of light, and they simultaneously whipped around and the sudden scuttling noise behind their desk. The Snape of just-past-midnight gave chase and the Snape of present hurried behind his counterpart, urging him on. But he didn't move fast enough. Just as his memory reached out, grabbed someone's terry-clothed arm and yanked up, everything went dark.

It was sudden and complete, like someone had blindfolded him and taped his ears shut. Snape stood there and scratched his head. This halting stop to a memory could only be the result of two things, and unfortunately, he was familiar with both. But he hadn't seen anyone rush up behind the other him, so this couldn't be the part where he was incapacitated. Finally the blackness ended and the room lit up again, revealing him on the floor, holding a nearly empty bottle of Firewhiskey and looking distinctly worse for wear.

Snape allowed himself a wince. But the black-out hadn't been caused by whatever had given him his headache. Ergo…

Snape swore quietly. "I was Obliviated! And with no subtlety," he groused. But then his mind overcame his sniffiness, and he ran with it. "There's not even a substituted memory. It's just a blank. Which means … that some beginner got lucky," he finished in disgust.

He saw Albus Dumbledore come in and, having no need for this part of his memory, he shouted, "Stop! Back up!"

Immediately, Dumbledore walked backwards out the door in very fast motion. The world snapped to black, and then reappeared. Memory Snape released something incredibly quickly and began to walk backwards equally so, shouting a word in reverse in a high squeaky voice.

"Stop!" Snape shouted again. "Play in slow motion!"

The scene jumped to life again. Snape's counterpart shouted "Looooooomooossss!" in a voice so deep it would have been comical in another context. He heard a distinctive skritching noise, each sound echoing off the walls. His memory self began to move forward as though through molasses.

Snape easily outstripped him this time and walked over to the desk before his other self could arrive. There, kneeling in the shadows, about to be grabbed by the arm and looking quite terrified, was …

Snape pulled himself out of his Pensieve, his blood boiling. He snatched up his wand and stormed out of his chambers in his sleep things, dignity be damned. Any thought of his appearance had been buried by the intense desire to murder the little brat that had done this to him.

"Granger," he growled dangerously as he stomped down the hall and headed for his classroom. "Hermione Granger is going to pay."

It was a quarter of eleven and Hermione and Harry were halfway through their Blood Replenishing potion. Harry was working slowly and methodically, but Hermione was breezing through her end of the ingredients. After what she'd accomplished this morning, this was nothing. Besides, the room was far more relaxed now that Professor Dumbledore was wandering around offering advice and praise, instead of Professor Snape menacing everyone and breathing down their necks.

But while the Gryffindor half of the class was pleased at this turn of events, the other half looked serious and concerned. Second period NEWT Potions was a double section and the sixth-year Slytherins wasted no time in asking Professor Dumbledore about Professor Snape's absence. The headmaster promptly replied that their Head of House had been brewing late, slipped on the floor, and concussed himself last night. He would be fine, but he was taking the day to recuperate.

That seemed to settle the Slytherins, and the class fell back into its normal routine … minus the usual trouble, since no one dared do anything stupid in front of the Headmaster. Harry and Hermione's potion was coming along quite well. It was almost time to add the last ingredient. Seamus Finnegan was holding his eyedropper of Scriffleberry Essence over his cauldron, ready to add three drops, when several things happened in quick succession.

The door flew open and Professor Snape burst into the classroom in his pajamas, dressing gown and slippers. Several people shrieked at the sight of him. He was unshaven, wide-eyed, and brandishing his wand. Seamus, very surprised at this, plopped eight drops of essence into his brew. It began to bubble ominously.

Seamus cursed, realizing what he'd done, and yelled, "Everybody duck!"

Everybody did.

"Professor Snape!" Dumbledore shouted, just as Seamus's cauldron exploded, showering his work station with goo and splattering everything within a four foot radius. Dumbledore ignored the chaos for a moment. "What is the meaning of this?"

Snape ignored him. He spotted Hermione and advanced on her like a snarling leopard on a trapped monkey.

"YOU!" he roared at her. "I know for a fact that I didn't open up my stores last night. I put a magical lock on the damn thing after that disaster two years ago with the Gillyweed. Only my wand can open that door," he spat, pointing at his storage room behind Dumbledore. "And last night, it did! I have no memory of it! Out with it, Granger, what did you do?"

Hermione looked into those cold, dark eyes, and her breath caught in her throat at the memory of last night, when he'd asked her that very same question.

"I… What? You're insane!" she squeaked out. (It wasn't that much of a stretch. Snape really did look unhinged.)

Snape snarled at her and held up his wand. "I'll get the truth out of you, I swear I will!"

"I didn't do anything to you, you horrible man!" Hermione cried, grabbing Harry's arm in terror.

Harry threw himself protectively in front of her and gazed at Snape calmly, but Hermione could see a tendon in the back of his neck bulging.

"Stop yelling at my friend and go away," Harry said. His voice was very tight. It was as though he was attempting to holler at Snape, but something was holding him back.

"Stop yelling?" Snape yelled. "Oh, that's priceless!" He saw Dumbledore coming down the aisle, lost control completely, and turned his outrage on the Headmaster. "Do you realize what this little cheeky sneak did last night?" he hollered.

He didn't get any further. Dumbledore moved swiftly between Snape and Harry, seized Snape by the ear, and dragged the surprised and yelping professor out of the classroom. Dumbledore gave him a final push into the hallway and turned around to the students, half of whom were terrified, the other half quite impressed.

"I'm so sorry, everyone. Work by yourselves for a moment."

He closed the door. Naturally, no work got done. The class had a silent but fierce fight to see who would press their ears up against the door and who had to listen at the crack below, but it didn't really matter in the end. Even those who ended up a foot from the door could hear the argument quite clearly.

"For heaven's sake, Severus, have you lost your mind?" Dumbledore snapped outside.

"On the contrary, Headmaster, it appears I have found it!" Snape shouted back. "I went over my memories of last night. Hermione Granger lured me into my classroom, incapacitated me, and stole potions ingredients!"

At this, everybody turned and stared at Hermione. Hermione stared back with a look of perplexed, fearful innocence that could have won her a Barclay. Harry threw an arm around her in support. They all turned back to the door.

"And you know this how?" It was Dumbledore again. He sounded irritated and unconvinced.

"Because the little twit thought she could erase the event! She Obliviated me, terribly, I might add, and then either she or an accomplice knocked me out. I'd put my money on Weasley or Potter. I was left on the floor with a lump on my head and a bottle in my hand!"

There was a long pause. Nobody in the class had any clear idea of what Snape was talking about. Bottles? Memory charms?

"I thought he had a concussion!" said Draco Malfoy, a little too loudly. "What's this rubbish about a bottle?"

"Shhhh!" said everyone else.

"Severus," Dumbledore began. His voice was low and serious. "I know you hold grudges. I know you don't like Gryffindors. But to storm into a class, when you are supposed to be resting, and accuse some poor girl of attacking you in the middle of the night… I am disappointed in you. I can't believe that instead of admitting you were drinking, you would prefer to make up lies about students!"

Pansy Parkinson put her hands over her mouth in shock.

"So Snape's a drunk, is he? Well that explains a lot," said Parvati Patil.

Everyone shushed her, too.

"Albus, I told you, I was not drinking! Legilimize Granger! You'll see what really happened last night!"

"Severus, that's not only illegal, it's immoral. Now kindly get a hold of yourself!"

"I will not!" Snape squawked. "She is a prevaricating, scheming little brat, and she must pay for what she did!"

"Stop making a scene and go back to your quarters! We will discuss this at day's end!"

"SHE'S LYING!" Snape roared.

"GO BACK TO BED! NOW!" Dumbledore roared back.

That seemed to end it. There was a long pause and everyone on the other side of the door listened with baited breath. Finally, they heard muttering and the sound of retreating footsteps. Soon there were more footsteps in their direction. They all ran back to their work stations and tried to look busy as Dumbledore came back in, composing himself. He looked around with his usual grandfatherly smile.

"How are we all doing?" he asked.

"Not very well, if you must know," said Seamus, partially covered in the goo from his cauldron. Dumbledore went over to help him.

"Thank heaven Ron didn't make it to NEWT potions," Hermione said in Harry's ear as she added their three drops of Scriffleberry Essence.

"Why do you say that?" Harry asked.

Because he would have given himself away, she thought with a silent snort. Instead she said, "Well, if he'd been here, he might have throttled Snape. He's so ridiculously overprotective of me."

Harry did not smile at this joke, but merely nodded and went to work stirring.

That was the moment when studying and tests dropped to the bottom of Hermione Granger's worry list. She had to tell Ron about this incident, and they had to proceed with their plan as fast as they could. Severus Snape, an exceedingly intelligent man, was now exceedingly angry with her and confined to his room with nothing to do but think. He would find a way around her memory charm, re-live those ten critical minutes, and take the resulting evidence straight to Dumbledore, she had no doubt. The only question was when.

Actually, that wasn't the only question. There was also the question of what Snape would do on his own when he found out. Hermione knew he worked for the Light, so he probably wouldn't kill her, but he was still a mean, vengeful bastard. Being his primary target did not excite her. Besides, there were secondary targets: the boys. Oh, if anything happens to them… She bit her lip as her head started to pound and briefly longed for yesterday, when things had been so simple. Yesterday, there was only one future riding on this plan.

Now, thanks to a botched charm and a shovel, there were three.

TBC

What did you think, folks? Let me hear it! (Or have it, depending.) See you May 21st!

Love,

Kiki :D