Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.


Chapter Four

Hermione felt like she had barely slept for an hour, before the cold, grey dawn of Friday was peeking in between her curtains. Down at breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry and Ron were too preoccupied with the following day's Quidditch match to notice the dark circles under their best friend's eyes. Ron's sister, however, was more perceptive, and noticed the older girl's pasty features.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" she asked, midway through a bowl of steaming hot porridge. Hermione was lost in thought again and didn't answer for a moment.

"What? Oh, sorry Ginny," she said belatedly. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Where were you last night?" the younger girl persisted. "I came to your room just before curfew but you didn't answer."

"I was, uh," she faltered, "taking a bath. I mustn't have heard you knocking."

The younger girl studied her friend curiously, before accepting the explanation and turning back to her food. Hermione directed her attention to the Head Table, and was relieved to see an empty seat between the Headmaster and Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher.

She didn't want to face the Potions master before it was absolutely necessary. The thought of double Potions that afternoon was worrying enough. He would be completely apoplectic at Dumbledore's decision the previous night, and she knew he wouldn't miss an opportunity to belittle her in front of his favourite Slytherins. She also knew, though he had no choice but to favour the students of his own house, it was clear he enjoyed it.

Still, if six years of Potions had taught her one thing above all else, it was not to take his insults at face value. True, the derisive tone he used every time he mocked her over-achieving manner hurt, but she took pride in the fact he could find nothing in her work to criticise instead.

She knew her potions were always perfect, her essays thoughtful and intelligent. The fact that he could find nothing other than her apparently endless knowledge to mock pleased her as much as any praise she had ever received from another Professor.

She sighed, resolving not to think on the subject any longer... until that afternoon, at least. She had other classes to worry about that morning, including Medicinal Magic, the newest addition to Hogwarts' N.E.W.T. curriculum.

With the threat of Voldemort looming closer every day, Mediwizardry was a highly sought-after occupation. Normally, students were unable to study the subject until after graduation from Hogwarts, however the previous year, the Headmaster had recognised the need for young witches and wizards to be trained in the art.

The new class had been a roaring success from the outset, with most of the N.E.W.T.-level girls signing up, as well as a handful of boys. Harry and Ron had passed up the extra class to concentrate on Quidditch, but Hermione had jumped at the opportunity.

She had enjoyed the class so much last year, she was seriously considering Mediwizardry as a career. It was no surprise she was the brightest student in the class, but even Madame Pomfrey had been surprised at the ease with which she grasped each new healing charm.

This year, the class was decidedly tougher, the Mediwitch lecturing on some of the uglier hexes and brews known to wizard-kind. Recognition of these was essential to diagnosis and treatment, and Hermione left each lesson both fascinated and disturbed, but also determined. All the signs in the wizarding world pointed to her needing these skills sooner rather than later.


After lunch, Harry and Hermione parted with Ron in the Entrance Hall and make their way down to the dungeons for the last class of the day.

Moments after they had taken their seats, the door banged open and the Potions master strode into the room, whirling around to face the class as he reached the front.

"Polyjuice," he barked, waving his wand at the board where a list of ingredients appeared.

"Can anyone tell me the purpose of this concoction?"

Hermione kept her eyes to her desk, willing anyone else to venture a guess. Harry knew the answer, but his raised hand would be overlooked as surely as hers had been every lesson past. That was, if he ever voluntarily chose to answer a question in a Potions class.

"Miss Granger?"

She looked up to see Snape watching her with one eyebrow raised expectantly, no trace of malice beyond his usual contempt. That's odd, she thought. Then again, he's a spy; he has to be good at covering his emotions, right?

"Miss Granger, perhaps you'd care to join us here in the classroom?" he smirked, as the Slytherins in the room snickered loudly. "Ten points from Gryffindor for not paying attention. Must I repeat the question?"

She sighed inwardly. At least he wasn't spitting mad. Yet.

"Polyjuice Potion allows the drinker to temporarily assume the shape of another person," she said.

Snape paused for a moment, as if expecting her to expand the definition further, as was her usual habit. When he realised she wasn't going to say any more, he replied, "Adequate, Miss Granger, albeit incomplete," and proceeded to lecture the class on the uses and misuses of the potion.

By the end of the lesson, each member of the class had extensive notes on the month-long project, and had each been assigned a partner. Hermione was thankful not to be partnered with Neville, for once. He had barely scraped into the class with the insistence of Professor Sprout that Potions went hand in hand with Herbology, and though he grasped the theory astoundingly well, he was still a walking disaster within six feet of a cauldron.

Her partner was Susan Bones from Hufflepuff, a quiet girl with a good hand at Potion-making and a genuine interest in the subject. She hoped to become a Mediwitch after graduation, and medicinal potions were essential knowledge in the field of study. Not all Mediwitches were as lucky as Madame Pomfrey, having a Potions Master at their disposal.

Harry hadn't been so lucky. Snape had taken particularly vicious pleasure in partnering him with Malfoy, although for once the Slytherin Head Boy wasn't smirking at Harry's misfortune. At the end of the lesson the two boys were sitting as far away from each other as physically possible while working at the same table, and eyeing each other with equal amounts of apprehension and loathing.

Hermione waited for Harry at the back of the classroom, if only to stop him hexing Malfoy the minute they stepped out into the corridor. She could tell from the tension in his shoulders he was absolutely incensed at Snape's choice of partner for him, and his temper was worse than usual as of late. Hermione and Ron put it down to the stress of NEWTs and the ominous threat of another confrontation with Voldemort, but Harry didn't hesitate to take out his frustrations on other people, especially Slytherins.

Malfoy brushed past her without a glance, and Harry joined her a moment later. They had just stepped into the corridor when, "Miss Granger, a word if you please."

Hermione looked down the corridor, past where Harry had stopped to wait for her. The momentary distraction had allowed Malfoy to disappear down towards the Slytherin Common Room.

"I'll see you at dinner," she said to Harry, and muttered under her breath, "if I'm still alive."

Harry obviously heard the comment, because he stopped and fixed her with a worried look.

She waved him off with a short, forced laugh and stepped back into the classroom, preparing to face the wrath of the Potions master. As soon as she was clear of the door, it slammed shut. Snape had not moved from his desk, but he looked up and beckoned her to sit across from him.

"Miss Granger, are you familiar with the theory of the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Sir?" After all her worrying, all he wanted to talk about was a potion?

He sighed impatiently. "Wolfsbane, Miss Granger," he bit out impatiently. "You are no doubt aware of my reasons for making the potion. Can I assume you understand the theory of the brew?"

"Yes, Professor," she replied. "The most common mistake in--"

"I didn't ask for you to recite a textbook," he snapped. "Knowing the theory by heart, and understanding how it must be applied to practice, are two completely different things. You must understand the properties of each ingredient, as well as the ways in which they will react with one another--"

He was interrupted by a whoosh of green from the fireplace, and a moment later, the Headmaster's head appeared in the dancing flames.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said, "I wonder if I might have a few words?"

"No doubt it shall be more than a few," Snape said. "I will be through momentarily, when I am able to relieve myself of Miss Granger's presence."

The Headmaster looked to Hermione and nodded by way of acknowledgement. The look in his eyes was meaningful and suddenly everything fell into place.

That explains why Professor Snape has been so... normal, she thought. Nice didn't exactly cut it, but he hadn't been any nastier than usual to her that afternoon. Dumbledore obviously had the foresight to wait until after her last Potions class of the week to inform Snape of her newfound knowledge. She wouldn't have to see him for almost three days, and by then the worst of his anger toward her would have hopefully passed.

As Dumbledore's head disappeared, she turned back to the Potions Master and waited expectantly.

"Wolfsbane Potion, Miss Granger," he stated. "Do you feel capable of brewing it?"

Brewing it? Was he going to give her the chance to do so? Her heart began beating wildly at the excitement of such an opportunity.

"I, uh, of course, sir," she stammered. "That is to say, I understand the theory, although I've obviously never had the chance to put that knowledge to practical use. I feel confident that with-"

"Yes or no will suffice," he cut in.

"Yes," she said, adding belatedly, "sir."

"Very well," he said, ignoring her disrespect. "The Wolfsbane needs to be brewed tonight, and as I may be called away, the Headmaster has recommended I call upon a competent student for assistance."

Any pride Hermione might have felt at being considered for the task was dulled with the realisation she would have to see the Potions master merely hours after his meeting with Dumbledore. She fought the impulse to flatly refuse the invitation, but her academic mind wouldn't hear of it. He was offering her a wonderful opportunity, not only to observe him brewing the potion, but possibly the chance to contribute herself.

"Make no mistake, Miss Granger," he sneered. "Had it been up to me, you would be far from my laboratory and the werewolf could go begging for his tonic. However, considering you are already aware of both Lupin's condition and... how did you put it, my extracurricular activities... you are the logical choice for the task."

Her stomach dropped as she understood the meaning of his words. She would be there to observe and learn. The only reason she would be taking over the brewing herself was if Voldemort summoned Snape.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "I'm grateful for the opportunity even to observe the process."

He looked slightly surprised by her obviously sincere thanks, but covered it well with another sneer. "As I said, Miss Granger, I had little choice in the matter... however I believe you will make a... satisfactory... assistant."

It took all her composure not to grin broadly at the closest thing to a compliment she was ever likely to receive from him. He took in her expression and for an instant she thought she saw his eyes glint with something other than malice or hatred. Amusement, perhaps? Or understanding?

No matter, for in the next instant, he was standing and ushering her out of the classroom. It wouldn't do to keep the Headmaster waiting any longer than necessary.

"Seven o'clock," he said, as she reached the door. "Do not be late."


It was blatantly obvious when Hermione arrived at the Potions classroom just before seven o'clock that Snape knew everything Dumbledore had told her.

The cold anger that blazed behind his eyes as he looked at her was more terrifying than if he had shouted. The tension in the air was palpable as he spoke a single word to her, "Come."

He spun on his heel, not bothering to see if she was following. He led her into the office connected to the classroom, and then pulled out his wand. She watched with wide eyes, wondering whether he was going to hex her or kill her, until he turned to a wall of bare stones and tapped them in a precise pattern.

She drew in a deep breath. If she wasn't so terrified, she would have laughed at her absurd presumption.

The stone wall melted away, and again he beckoned for her to follow him. The dark, dank corridor they entered gave way to an equally dark and narrow flight of stairs. She followed the Potions master closely, lest she lose him in the dark, yet not close enough to risk bumping into him, should he suddenly halt.

After an indeterminable number of stairs and a whispered password, she found herself in a windowless room similar to the Potions classroom; the Potions master's private lab.

Long, wooden workbenches split the room into several rows, and each was set up with cauldrons of every imaginable size and material. The far wall was lined with shelves of jars, each containing odd shapes held in a viscous-looking liquid. To her right were a series of cabinets, presumably containing potions ingredients. To her left, the wall was bare, but for a desk piled high with books and parchments, and another wooden door like the one through which they had just entered the room.

"Sit," he said, startling her from her inspection of the room. He was pointing toward an uncomfortable-looking stool at the end of the nearest table.

She complied, and he went to the cabinets, gathering the ingredients for the potion. She sighed. If he was going to talk in monosyllables, this was going to be a very long evening. Surely, he could put aside his anger for just a few hours. While the potion wasn't exactly crucial to the war effort, failure to make it properly would result in one of the Order members being out of service for at least a week; something she knew they couldn't afford at this time.

"Now," he said, placing both hand flat on the workbench and leaning across the table until his face was inches from her own. "I do not have to explain to you the importance of making this potion promptly and correctly, do I?"

She shook her head, trying desperately not to flinch away from his closeness.

"While we are in this laboratory, our sole purpose is to make potions. I will not stand for mindless chatter or ridiculous questions, and most of all," he leant even closer, and for the second time that week she saw herself reflected in his eyes, "I do not want to hear mention of anything that meddling old fool thought to show you last night."

She nodded.

He withdrew across the table and she sighed with relief. He was still terribly angry; she could tell from the jerkiness of his movements and the tightness in his jaw. She was relieved, however, that he didn't seem to blame her for the Headmaster's forwardness.

Moments later, all the ingredients were laid out across the workbench and, back in teacher mode, he explained the properties of each ingredient and their purpose in the potion.

She watched, mesmerised by his hands, as he chopped, shredded and sliced the plants and animal parts into precise portions. The potency of the potion, he explained, depended as much upon the exact preparation of the ingredients as on the brewing itself.

She asked a minimum of questions, but he answered all of them concisely, without the impatient bite his voice so often held in the classroom. She realised that tonight, in this lab, he wasn't treating her as another dunderhead student. Stunned at the thought of Severus Snape considering anyone his equal, let alone a Muggleborn Gryffindor, she realised he was staring at her expectantly.

"Sir?"

"I asked you a question, Miss Granger," he bit out, and at her blank look, "given the consequences of you failing to brew this properly, it would do you well to pay attention when I am speaking."

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, chastened. He snorted and turned back to the final ingredient, which he was dicing expertly. So much for equal, she thought wryly. For a moment there, she was beginning to understand Dumbledore's intentions.

A sudden hiss of pain startled her, and she looked up to see blood oozing from Snape's hand where the knife had slipped. He dropped the offending instrument quickly on the table, but instead of tending the wound, his right hand reached to clutch his left forearm.

Hermione understood in an instant, and had to quell the sudden, somewhat disturbing urge to reach out to him.

"There is more knotgrass in that cabinet," he said, gesturing over his shoulder and quickly banishing both the bloodied knife and spoiled ingredients with a flick of his wand. "Complete and bottle the potion, except for a goblet-full, which you will promptly deliver to Professor Lupin. I trust you are capable of cleaning up and leaving the room as you found it?"

She nodded her acquiescence as he disappeared through the door near his desk. She glanced through and saw a glimpse of what appeared to be a sitting room. She realised it must be part of his private quarters and wondered what Harry and Ron would say if they knew she'd seen them.

She giggled as she imagined the look on Ron's face, but composed herself a moment later as Snape reappeared, scowling, and wearing the same heavy black velvet robes as when she had met him in the Entrance Hall earlier that week. He slammed the door behind him, and she saw the dull blue shimmer of wards activating.

Striding past her to the fireplace, he threw a handful of powder into the flames and called for the Headmaster. Dumbledore's face appeared seconds later, his face changing from a smile to a frown as he noticed Snape's robes.

"I've been summoned," Snape said shortly. "I'll report to you when I return."

Before the Headmaster could respond, Snape turned away from the fireplace and, without a backward glance in her direction, headed for the door that led back to the Potions classroom.

"Be careful, sir," she called to his retreating back.

He paused momentarily, one hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn around. A slight tensing of his shoulders was the only other sign he may have heard her, and then he was gone.


To be continued

Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed!

This story is also posted at the On-line Wizarding Library. Updates are one chapter ahead of this archive. See my author page for the link:)