VERY MUCH UNWANTED

This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.

Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.

WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.

Hermione pushed her wild hair off her damp face with one sweaty hand and glared down at the dark greasy head bent over a small pile of parchment. Professor Snape was methodically examining her list of the restricted texts she'd skimmed, occasionally interrupting her to ask about any of particular interest. He didn't look up at the sudden pause.

"Go on, Miss Granger. Unless you're exhausted already?"

She gave an angry huff. She should never have reminded him that he'd promised private DADA tuition. He'd looked her over from head to toe and back, then graciously agreed. Graciously, ha! That should have been her cue to back out. In five and a half years he'd been teaching her, she'd never seen Professor Snape gracious about anything. She should have known better than to think he might actually be beginning to – not like her, of course, he didn't like anyone but Malfoy, though what he saw in that stuck-up manky ferret-face was anyone's guess -

"Language, Miss Granger." He turned another page with his left hand, his wand still loose in his right.

- Of course he wouldn't approve of her, Hermione Granger, Muggle-born Gryffindor, insufferable know-it-all and very much unwanted new colleague –

"Are you jealous of Draco?" he continued. "I'd never have guessed."

"No, of course not, I -" Her mouth dropped open and she shut it with a snap. "You were listening to my thoughts!"

"Sir or professor," he reminded her. "Of course I was. How else did you think I'd been parrying all your hexes without looking at you?" She'd become quite competent at wordless spell-casting after half a year's practice in three subjects.

"You sneered at me our first session for thinking you could do that. You said that Legilimency usually requires eye-contact, which I knew already, actually, but -"

"Usually. But when your thoughts are screaming so loudly -" He finished the last few titles and looked up at last, malicious amusement in every line of his countenance. Her already hot face grew hotter. She scowled at the floor.

"You promised not to pry into my secrets. Sir."

"And I always keep my promises, of course. So, if I promised allegiance to the Dark Lord, then later to the headmaster, I must surely be faithful to both, mustn't I?"

Her hand clenched around her wand. He was toying with her again.

"That's different. You realised it was wrong to be a Death Eater so, of course, you had to stop."

"Did I?" His eyes stabbed hers as she glanced at him. She hastily looked away.

"You must have, sir, or you wouldn't have turned to Professor Dumbledore."

"A bold assertion. Perhaps I was hoaxing him and never turned at all."

"I told you already that I don't believe that. I don't think any of my friends," or me, "would be alive now if you were faithful to – to You-Know-Who." It was almost as hard now to stop herself saying Voldemort as it had been to learn to say it but she knew he'd never stand for it.

"If I saw a rabbit riding a tiger, I wouldn't think the tiger's disposition had changed. I'd assume it wasn't hungry yet." He pushed his chair back and stood up, sharp eyes marking without comment her slight shrinking away. "Let us examine your other point. You suggested that a promise is only valid until your reasoning rejects it. If you realise you were mistaken to make a promise, you are immediately released from all obligation? I didn't know you were such a Slytherin thinker."

He advanced as he spoke and she backed slowly away.

"I didn't mean that! I -"

"So since I now realise that my responsibility as your teacher demands that I attempt to stop any further misdemeanours by a confirmed trouble-maker like you -"

"I'm not!"

"Sir!" he admonished, studying her with patronising disbelief. "Aren't you?"

She took another step back and felt shelves pressing into her back. He had her cornered.

"Well, I – I have broken the rules sometimes, but there was always a really good reason."

He glared down at her, but made no attempt to close the distance of a double arm's-length between them.

"A really good reason? That excuses everything, does it? People always think they have a really good reason to perform acts that other might find questionable. If I heard your reasons, would I find them 'really good'?"

She gulped and looked away. A moment later, she was disarmed and dancing. He watched the effects of his Tarantallegra with a smirk that didn't reach his cold eyes, deftly moving out of her way as she swayed nearer. He didn't stop the spell till she reached her chair.

"You'll have to do better than that," he remarked as he returned her wand. "Never let an opponent distract you from a fight or you've lost before you've even begun."

When she had her breath back, she asked, "If you can duel so brilliantly," there really was no other word, "why were we able to disarm you in the Shrieking Shack and why didn't you stop Harry hexing you in DADA, the first lesson?"

"Even the greatest master – though I stake no claim to that title – even the greatest master may be taken by surprise. I hardly expected the children I'd come to rescue to turn on me, all three at once."

"And Harry?"

A thin nasty smile curled his lips, but instead of answering he motioned her to duel again.

She was still thinking about it that weekend as she sprawled on her bed devouring her daily page of Murchison's Mind-Mastery and a bag of Muggle candied ginger with equal relish. She'd only ever seen him duel once and that had been in second year against that fraud, Lockhart, hardly a challenge. She was still secretly embarrassed to remember that she'd had a crush on the blond then. He'd been like Lucius Malfoy without the shark.

Of course, Professor Snape had crushed him, hexed him halfway across the room with barely a flick of his wand. It had been unforgettable. So unforgettable, in fact, that even Harry and Ron had learnt the spell from that one demonstration and joined her in practising it at the end of the school year. And then they'd used it against him the following year. It sounded horrid put like that, but what else could they have done? He'd refused to listen to anything.

The sound of throats being cleared made Hermione look up. Lavender and Parvati, who'd been whispering together on the latter's bed, nodded as one and turned towards her.

"He was never your boyfriend," Parvati opened the conversation. Hermione choked on a piece of ginger and coughed till her eyes were swimming.

"What?" she said faintly. They were talking to her again? She could tell already that it had been better when they weren't.

"You've got no right to be mad at Lav. Or at him. He wasn't your boyfriend in the first place, so what right have you got to be jealous?"

"I'm not jealous." Boiling with rage, fuming with fury, but not jealous as such. If she couldn't see Won-Won and his Lav in a tonsil-clinch without wanting to twist their heads off and punt them out the window so they could continue their kissing at the bottom of the lake where she wouldn't have to see, that wasn't jealousy. Just a reasoned and perfectly understandable distaste for melodramatic displays of false affection.

"Sure you're not," Lavender sneered. "That's why you sent charmed birds dive-bombing to scratch him. Just out of the not-so-goodness of your little heart."

"Don't call my heart little!"

"What else can we call it? You had your chance and you wasted it. If you'd ever wanted him why didn't you ever say anything? He was your best friend, he'd have done anything you wanted. So why are you being such a dog-in-the-manger about it?" Parvati twisted one long dark braid between her fingers as she spoke.

Hermione jumped up.

"Shut up! Just shut up about him or I'll hex you." She closed her book with a snap and slipped it into her pocket. "You want him, you can have him. You two deserve each other, just don't talk to me about it because I couldn't ruddy care less."

She didn't wait for any more. Chest heaving and breath hitching, she pushed past them to the common room. Fortunately Ginny was there, mercifully alone for once. The redhead glanced up and gave a welcoming smile.

"Hey," she said. "What's wrong? You look like you're being chased by a gang of harpies."

"Worse," complained Hermione, slumping into a chair next to her and rummaging in her pocket for the ginger bits she'd – drat! – left on her bed. "The terrible twosome of tragedy and terminal boredom."

"What are they on about this time? Trelawney's teacups? Doom and Divination?"

"Your brother."

"Oh." Ginny's eyes brimmed with sympathy. Hermione sighed and leant her head on her hand.

"I don't even know why he suddenly started fighting with me over nothing. I thought – well, you know what I thought. But then he went off to play tangle-tongues with that – that boy-magnet! And I don't even know why."

Ginny's hands met and twisted in her lap. Her bright hair fell over her face as she stared at them.

"Hmm. I might," she admitted. "Might know why, that is. I think it was my fault."

Hermione looked at her sideways, mouth slightly pursed.

"Your fault? You told him to kiss Lavender?" she asked doubtfully.

"Not in so many words. But he was rousing on me for kissing Dean and I gave him what for. Told him he had no right to talk when he'd never even kissed anyone in his life, the prat! And it was only a few days later that he took up with Lavender." Ginny unclenched her fists and bravely met her friend's gaze. "Are you very mad with me?"

Hermione grimaced. Maybe.

"Was that all you said?" she probed.

"I think so. I don't know what else might have set him off. No, hang on. I told him even you and Harry had more experience than him. Cos Harry kissed Cho and you kissed Krum. You don't think?"

The older girl snorted, her lips thin and her eyes hot.

"I do. Nothing likelier. He was always horrid about Viktor, always sniping and starting quarrels with me about him. I used to think maybe he was jealous but I know better now, of course. He's never thought of me that way."

"Of course he was ruddy jealous. Oh Hermione, I'm sorry. I wrecked things for you," Ginny said.

"Not your fault. You probably didn't say anything he didn't deserve. So what if I did kiss Viktor? That was two years ago and if your idiot brother had even noticed that I was a girl I'd never have given Viktor a second look. And it's really none of his business what I did with – Oh. Harry. I didn't see you come in. Is everything all right? You look a bit blank." He must want something. What was it this time?

Harry loomed over the two girls, shifting from foot to foot.

"No, I'm fine. Umm, I was just wondering though, did either of you get invited to one of Slughorn's parties yet this term?"

Hermione looked at him then. He didn't quite meet her eyes. Typical! She'd told him that buttonholing Slughorn after a lesson was a silly idea. If it were that easy to get the Slytherin to spill the secret, then why would Professor Dumbledore need Harry's help to get it? Naturally, he hadn't listened to her, not when good old Won-Won knew better.

"He hasn't mentioned anything," she said coldly.

"Nor to me," Ginny added "Why? You've been sliding out of them all year. Why d'you suddenly care?"

"No particular reason," Harry denied unconvincingly. "Just wondering."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. Did he really think Slughorn would seek his company after he'd made his prying so blunderingly obvious? And even if he did invite him, did Harry really think Slughorn might be willing to spill undoubtedly dangerous secrets at a party?

"I'm off to the library," she muttered. If she could find out what Horcruxes were, it might suggest a way of approach, at least. "You two talk about Quidditch or something."

Not very subtle, but she couldn't be around them when they were alternatively hiding their faces and shooting each other speculative looks. She wondered how much longer Ginny would persevere at pretending to herself that Dean had any chance of keeping her interest. It was still Harry. It had always been Harry.

By the time Apparition lessons began, a week and a half later, she'd reluctantly admitted defeat on the former subject. Only one book in the entire library mentioned Horcruxes at all and then only to explain that it wouldn't explain. Pity she couldn't ask Snape, but she didn't dare even think the word in his presence in case he "heard" it. It was too secret. She showed Harry the useless tome with decided ill grace.

The weather was as bleak as her mood. The snow had melted to sludge and the crystalline midwinter skies darkened to gloomy grey-purple February rain clouds. Snape was as snarky as ever and positively triumphant at her slow progress in resisting his control during Occlumency training. She might have had more success at clearing her mind if he hadn't perforce filled it with wistful images of making him swallow his words with hot chili sauce on a mouldy bun.

The sixth years went down to the Great Hall that first Saturday morning of Apparition lessons, in loving-couples and pairs and little knots of friends. She went with Harry, of course. His Potions cheating was still a sore point, but the bitterest anger over his bezoar triumph had worn off and she was fed up with being alone. Besides, she didn't have enough friends left to risk losing him as well.

Unfortunately, she wasn't able to enjoy his company for long. As soon as the Ministry teacher, Wilkie Twycross, had finished explaining the theory and told them to make enough space to practise, Harry had darted off, past the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs to stand right behind Malfoy.

Oh, honestly! Couldn't he stop obsessing over ferret-face even for a second? Apparition lessons were one of the most important things they'd do this year. Getting the license was one of the rites of passage that differentiated child from adult member of the wizard world. And he was skiving off to eavesdrop on Malfoy? Lucky for him Professor Snape was too busy directing Goyle to stand a little further away from Millicent Bulstrode to notice him.

She was wondering if she could be bothered to go after him and expostulate when the four heads of houses yelled, "Quiet!" and everybody stilled expectantly.

There was nothing she could do about it now. Resolutely she turned away from Harry to stare into the wooden hoop the instructor had just conjured in front of her, twin to the hoops that had simultaneously appeared in front of every other sixth year. She cast a swift glance around the other Gryffindors, every one of them but Harry with their mind on the task, and took a deep breath.

"Destination, determination, deliberation," the man intoned. It was finally time to learn how.