A/N: Here's the next chapter. Hope it's good; I had a mild case of writer's block in the middle of writing it. As usual, reviews are always welcome. :)

Chapter 2: Directions

A pale face appeared in her field of vision, its lips drawn back in a malicious grin. Long pointed fangs gleamed, and so did its curved talons as it raised a rotting hand. "Ssslayer," it hissed. Then it brought the hand down, poised to rip her throat out. She screamed in terror—

—and woke up as she hit the floor with a solid thump. It took a moment for her sleep-disoriented mind to realise where she was; in her nice comfy Head Girl quarters, sitting on the carpeted floor on her sore butt.

Muttering under her breath, she disentangled herself from the twisted bedclothes and crawled back into bed

Draco Malfoy raised a mocking brow as he watched one very bedraggled Muggleborn witch stalk out of her room. "My, my, look at what the cat dragged in last night."

"Shut up, Malfoy, or I shall personally ensure you'll never celebrate Father's Day," she threw back over her shoulder as she stomped over to the door, yanking it open so hard it bounced off the wall. He could hear her stamping all the way down the stairs.

Shaking his head, he made a mental note not to cross his colleague that day. There weren't many things a Malfoy was afraid of, but a very angry Hermione Granger with her wand pointed at your throat (and her slaps) was a force to be reckoned with indeed.

Straightening his cuffs, he smoothed his hair back one last time before following more gently in her wrathful wake to breakfast.

She had no idea how she had gotten through the morning, but in some mysterious way, she did. The news of her calling felt surreal to her when faced with the routine of her everyday life, and she had to constantly remind herself of it. Chicken stew for lunch and I'm the Slayer. Lesson on Confounding Charms and I'm the Slayer; Crookshanks seriously needs a bath, and did I mention I'm the Slayer?

"Um...um..." a small uncertain voice from her left pulled her back quite rudely to reality.

She turned to see a boy, probably a second-year from the looks of him, struggling to keep up with her long strides. Sighing irritably, she snapped, "What is it?", only to immediately regret the words the moment they left her lips. Softening her tone with a conscious effort, she apologised and repeated her query, which seemed to mollify him.

With the air of one on Very Important Business, he handed her a note. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to hand this to you."

Biting back another sigh, she took it from him and nodded curtly. "Thank you. You may go back to your friends now." Watching him trot away, she scowled at the envelope and stuck it into her robes, continuing on her way to Transfiguration.

Glancing at a little pocket watch she had gotten in Hogsmeade, she broke into a sprint, praying that she would make it on time. In almost seven years of schooling, she had never been late for any class, and McGonagall would be extremely displeased if she started now.

Swerving to avoid running into (or rather, right through) the Fat Friar, she skidded to a halt outside her destination, joining the stragglers that trickled in. Harry and Ron flashed relieved smiles at her as she took her usual seat beside them. "We were worried you won't make it on time, Hermione," Ron said. "Did Professor Vector keep you that long?"

"Actually, I was intercepted by a boy with a message from the Headmaster."

"What's it about?"

"I don't know. I haven't opened it."

"Well, open it and see. It may be important."

It probably is, she thought sardonically, but was saved from replying when Professor McGonagall strode in. Her fellow classmates quietened instantly. Her reputation as an impartial teacher, despite being the Head of Gryffindor, had garnered her a fair amount of respect among the student population.

She set them to work Transfiguring pears into crows, and quite soon, the room was filled with caws and the frantic flapping of wings, fully-formed and otherwise, as the students tried to keep their errant subjects in check.

Ever seen a green crow? Well, Lavender Brown's holding on to one. How about a pear with scaly yellow legs, wings and a beak? Right there, on Dean Thomas's desk.

Harry and Ron weren't faring too well either. Ron's had sprouted tiny little wings and very short legs, and was hopping about quite energetically. Harry's was no better off, having grown a pair of eyes and a beak—nothing else.

Hermione had to fight to keep a giggle down as she watched Harry's, um, 'masterpiece' opened and shut its yellow beak repeatedly, its beady eyes blinking in a puzzled sort of way. Her crow, on the other hand, had turned out beautifully. When McGonagall praised her work at the end of class, she had to work hard, harder than she had to battle her laughter minutes ago, to keep her face a mask of indifference.

"Miss Granger!" The call rose over the chatter of her classmates on their way out.

Wincing, she left the company of Harry and Ron, breaking away from the crowd towards McGonagall. "Yes, Professor?"

The elderly witch was standing by the desk she had occupied, holding out a leather-bound book which looked very familiar. Dang, how on earth had it found its way into her bag? She definitely did not remember packing it.

"Miss Granger, do be more careful with your belongings in future." Glancing at the two boys who hovered outside the doorway, she lowered her voice. "You may tell Mr Potter and Mr Weasley about your calling, but make sure the news goes no further. As it is, only Professor Dumbledore and I are aware of it."

She nodded and tucked the book into her bag, hurrying out to meet her two amigos. Thwarting their questions with an explanation about an extra-credit assignment, she pretended to take offence at their head-shaking, feeling guilty to the core for lying. She had already been permitted to divulge her secret to them, but something was holding her back.

Upon reflection, she supposed it was merely a selfish desire to have something to herself, something that was hers and no one else's. After all, she had the feeling that the two boys walking along beside her had their own deepest, darkest secrets which they weren't spilling.

The beginnings of a headache were throbbing at her temples, and she rubbed them with an exasperated sigh.

"Somp'un wong, Er-my-knee?" Ron asked from across the table, his speech somewhat garbled by the amount of food he had crammed into his mouth.

She glared at him. "For Merlin's sake, Ron, shut your mouth when you eat! I, for one, do not appreciate the view of your maw!"

"She's right, you know," interjected Harry from her right elbow. Grinning at the miffed redhead, he turned to her. "Are you okay?" he asked in an undertone. "You've been acting weird all day."

"Am I? How?"

He just shrugged. "Dunno. It's just a feeling I had. You're not yourself today."

"Maybe I'm coming down with something. My head's beginning to pound."

"Why don't you go and lie down for a bit?" he suggested, emerald eyes full of concern. "We'll tell Professor Sinistra you're not feeling well."

Usually, she would be horrified at the merest thought of cutting class, but not today. The events of the last twenty-four hours had been strangely draining, and all she wanted right now was some quiet, solitary time.

Back in the peaceful sanctuary of her room, she fished out the note from Dumbledore and broke the seal, her hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before reaching in to pluck out the parchment.

Skimming over the words, she brightened considerably. It contained instructions to where her Watcher awaited. She was to meet the person who would be in charge of her training and guiding her during her tenure as the Slayer.

She knew it would be foolish to form a mental image of her future guardian even before she met him or her, but her mind couldn't help conjuring an image of a bespectacled middle-aged man in a tweed suit, (odd how her mind had decided it was a male) with a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. Brow knitted in concentration as gentle brown eyes perused the text, probably on some nefarious ancient being or other that was after her head.

Her mouth quirked in a wry smile. How ironic to be included in the ranks of those whom she admired so ardently. Slipping off her bed, she pulled on her socks and shoes, straightened her clothes and scraped her now more manageable and considerably less frizzy hair into a French braid.

She was not a vain creature, but she knew just as well as anyone else that first impressions played a major part in relationships, platonic, professional or otherwise. If she was to be working with that man or woman for the rest of her life, surely it wouldn't hurt to make a good first impression.

Note in hand, she left her chambers, headache and exhaustion forgotten.

"Let's see..." she muttered to herself. "Start in the Entrance Hall...fine...turn right, climb the flight of stairs...walk seventy-four paces—climb that stairs right up to the third floor...fifty paces, turn left—this route seems familiar—sixty-three paces, left again—honestly—twenty-seven paces...and here we are." She stopped and looked up at the wooden door with a plaque that bore the words 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' No wonder the way was familiar. Really, if her Watcher was the DADA professor, all he had to do was say it. Why bother with all the secrecy?

Perhaps it's the infernal lemon sherbets he consumes in such liberal amounts, a mischievous voice suggested at the back of her head. Sugar rush and all that. Suppressing a smile at that, she took a deep breath and grasped the knob, feeling the chill of the cold metal bite into her skin. "Well, here goes nothing," she whispered and turned it, pushing the door open at the same time.

The classroom beyond was pitch-dark, the heavy drapes at the windows preventing any moonlight from entering. A thread of uncertainty gnawed at her mind as she shut the door behind her and moved further into the room. "Hello?" she called, voice shaking from a combination of nerves and anticipation. "Professor Hannigan?" (A/N: Yes, LilacDreams, you may laugh)

A movement from the corner of her eye made her spin around, instinct making her raise her arms in a defensive stance. She did not question the reaction no more that she doubted her parentage. It did not occur to her to pull her wand out from her sleeve. "Professor, is that you?"

"Miss Granger, may I ask what are you doing here?"

Today's one of my closest friends' birthday, so this chapter is dedicated to him. (and no, in case you are wondering, he's just a friend)

Another thing I was wondering: The book said that Muggle contraptions go haywire around Hogwarts. If so, how do watches like Harry's (before it broke down in GoF) function

mira: thank you for finally reviewing :P (Sorry if my nagging pissed you off)

Piper of Locksley: Thank you for reading. Here's a new chapter :)

Angel-wingzz: Here's the new chapter! Please don't kill me for not revealing the identity of the Watcher outright, I'm going to do it in the next chapter :P

Hayley: Great minds think alike! Sign your review this time, and I'll have a look at your fic!

Kail Ceanni: Lol, don't worry, dear, I'm most certainly not going in that direction. I don't think I'll have the patience (and money) to source for DVDs of all the episodes of the series to do that!

Galixia: If you're reading this, I'm so sorry. I've given serious thought to your suggestion, but um, I was never quite with the Buffy-Spike thing, if you know what I mean. Please don't be mad at me for that!

If anyone can guess who the Watcher is, tell me and I'll see about a reward (LilacDreams and mira, you guys are banned from this challenge, muahahaha)