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


Chapter 7

The following afternoon saw Hermione and most of her classmates out at the Quidditch pitch for the highly anticipated Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game. This year, with 'the famous Harry Potter' in his final season, Gryffindor wanted the Quidditch Cup more than ever, having lost to Slytherin the previous year in a vicious final match. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were, without a doubt, the two best teams in the school this year, and it was assured to be a great match, despite the inclement weather which had rolled in overnight.

An icy wind was whipping through the Hogwarts grounds and by the time the match had been in progress for an hour, the wind was accompanied by freezing snow and sleet. Even the warming charm Hermione had cast on herself wasn't enough to keep out the biting wind, so it was with chattering teeth she cheered Harry, Ron and the rest of the Gryffindor team.

Even in the foul weather, it was plain to see the teams were evenly matched. The scores were level and though the Chasers were fighting the wind each time they attempted a shot at goal, the Keepers could barely see the Quaffle in time to block it. The spectators and players alike knew the match would come down to which Seeker caught the Golden Snitch.

Squinting up into the driving snow, Hermione could just make out Harry, hovering well above the play, searching for the Snitch. Orla Quirke, Ravenclaw's star Seeker, was on the move, zooming around the outside of the pitch at play level.

Hermione bit her lip worriedly. On a fine day, Harry's strategy of sitting above the play and scanning the pitch for a sign of the tiny golden ball was sound, but in this weather he hadn't a hope of spotting the Snitch from up there, short of it whizzing directly past his face. Down one end of the pitch, Ron was obviously thinking the same thing. He was gesturing wildly at Harry to come down, but his waving was blocked by another flurry of swirling snow.

Gazing around the crowd, Hermione could just make out the teacher's box directly across the pitch from her, and the dark form of Severus Snape in the front row. He looked as drab as the weather, his usual robes accompanied by a thick black scarf wrapped around his neck. Even his face, the only colour in what looked to Hermione like a black void amidst the sea of red, gold and blue, was obscured as the wind whipped his black hair across it.

Strange, Hermione thought, that he would be wasting time at a Quidditch match when his House wasn't even playing. After all the work he was doing for the Order and Voldemort in additional to his teaching duties, Quidditch seemed quite trivial compared to his other tasks. Perhaps Dumbledore insisted upon it, Hermione mused. Heads of Houses were supposed to set an example, after all. Still, under the circumstances Dumbledore should have realised there were more important things than open displays of inter-House camaraderie.

Inter-House bare tolerance, she corrected herself, remembering who she was thinking about.

Her attention snapped back to the match at a sudden "Ooooh!" from the spectators on the far side of the stands. The snowstorm had eased up in the last few minutes, and she could see the Ravenclaw Seeker ducking and weaving, low to the ground, obviously hot on the tail of the elusive Snitch.

Hermione, along with the rest of the crowd, searched the sky for the other Seeker, and gasped as a blur of red and gold Quidditch robes plummeted toward the ground at an impossible angle.

"It's the Wronski Feint!" yelled Dean Thomas, who had taken over Quidditch commentary when Lee Jordan left Hogwarts the previous year. "But this is no joke! Potter is closing on Quirke fast!"

Hermione and her fellow Gryffindors screamed themselves hoarse as Harry pulled out of his dive level with the Ravenclaw Seeker. They streaked across the field, a blur of house colours, neither having the burst of speed required to snare the Snitch.

All play had stopped to watch the Seekers as they drew near to one end of the pitch. The stands were dead ahead, just behind the goal posts, and the snitch was going to turn left or right. Whoever anticipated the move could trap the golden ball and win the match.

Harry, on the left of Quirke, jostled with her, trying to throw her off course, but it was no use. They were mere metres from the solid wall of the stands.

The crowd had gone completely silent, making the howling wind seem even louder than before. Everyone was holding their breath. Even the teachers, Hermione noticed, Snape included, were leaning forwards in their seats for a better view.

She watched in amazement as, at an impossibly late moment, Harry performed a one-handed Sloth Grip Roll and veered under Quirke's broom. At the same instant, the Golden Snitch swerved sharply to the right, and when Harry righted himself on his broom, the Snitch was clutched firmly in his outstretched hand.

A roar erupted from the Gryffindor side of the stands, and Hermione clapped until her hands were stinging, even through her gloves. Down on the pitch, Harry was mobbed by a team group-hug, before extracting himself to shake Quirke's hand. The Ravenclaws were gracious in defeat and as the snow became heavier again, the Gryffindors trooped back to their common room for a party to remember.


Very late that night, Hermione left the common room after finally, and with the help of a happy but irate Professor McGonagall, convincing Harry, Ron and the rest of the team to go to bed.

The celebrations had been long and loud. Hermione barely had time to be thankful Fred and George were no longer at school, when the Common Room fireplace flared and the objects of her thoughts Flooed in. Arms laden with bags of Honeydukes goodies, and boxes of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, they claimed the party needed livening up, before promptly setting off the first of many rounds of their fireworks.

The students were wise enough to steer clear of the Canary Creams, but the Weasley twins had been rather busy since they left school and no one was spared. All night, people had been sprouting fur, feathers and extra appendages, much to the delight of the crowd. They all laughed along with one another, and even Hermione couldn't escape, accidentally eating a Chinese Misfortune Cookie. Everything she said for the next ten minutes sounded like babble to everyone else, although she thought afterwards Fred and George had inadvertently created the perfect solution to the Department of International Magical Cooperation's shortage of interpreters.

She closed the heavy oak doors of the Entrance Hall behind her, made her way across the courtyard, and sat on the low surrounding wall with a view across the lawns away to the Forbidden Forest.

The earlier storm had blown itself out and the night, though icy cold, was clear and calm.

BANG!

Not calm, she amended, looking around for the source of the noise. She sighed with relief when she realised it was only one of Fred and George's fireworks, still floating around the grounds after escaping from one of the windows of Gryffindor Tower.

She watched as it floated idly across the courtyard, spelling out 'Ravenclaw sucks' in bright blue letters. Fred and George certainly knew how to liven up a party, that was for sure. Professor Flitwick, the Head of Ravenclaw, wouldn't be too impressed if that firework was still proclaiming its message in the morning, but Hermione knew better than to attempt to vanish one of the Weasley's fireworks.

A movement near the edge of the Forbidden Forest caught her attention and she peered at a dark shape moving through the trees. She shivered, realising how late it was and how alone she was out in the castle grounds. Perhaps she should go inside.

She saw the movement again and this time the figure emerged from the trees. In the light of the half-eaten moon, she recognised the person as none other than Professor Snape, and breathed out a sigh of relief. That relief was almost immediately replaced with concern, though, as she wondered where he was coming from in the middle of the night. Had he been summoned again?

She was halfway toward him across the snow-covered grass before she even realised she'd moved at all. He was carrying a small package in one hand, and she was almost relieved to see the angry look in his face when he saw her coming across the grounds toward him.

"Miss Granger," he said through clenched teeth. "What in Merlin's name are you doing out here at this time of night?"

"Just clearing my head," she replied, and at his questioning glare, clarified, "I was on duty in the common room until the, uh, celebrations concluded."

"Ah, of course," he smirked. "Victorious yet again."

She studied him for a moment. He didn't appear to be injured, or on edge, like the last time he'd returned from Voldemort's side. Then again, he was good at disguising it. Last night she wouldn't have even known he was injured if Dumbledore hadn't enquired.

"What about you, sir?" she asked. "What brings you out in the cold at this time of night?"

He smirked at her roundabout enquiry, but conceded to answer nevertheless. "No, I was not summoned," he said, amused at her contrite expression. "If you insist on being so inquisitive, I was in the Forbidden Forest collecting these."

He unwrapped a corner of the package in his hands and held it up for her to examine. She peered at the contents, which looked vaguely like clumps of dirt. As she leaned closer, however, the smell told her otherwise.

"Animal droppings?" she questioned, screwing up her nose.

Snape rolled his eyes and moved so he was standing next to her rather than facing her. "Not just animal droppings," he said. "These are from a moonfilly."

The shadow his body had been casting over the package was gone, and the moonlight spilt across the exposed contents. She gasped as the dropping suddenly took on an ethereal glow, shining silver as thought they were reflecting the very moonlight cast upon them.

Moonfillies, she knew, were incredibly rare, and highly prized by Healers and Potions masters for the healing properties of their blood and hair. Aside from being notoriously hard to catch, their blood and hair could only be used if willingly given by the creature, and then only when harvested on the third night of the waxing moon. But droppings? I hope they're not going into a potion, she thought, grimacing.

"That's amazing," she finally said aloud, as he carefully rewrapped the droppings and tucked the package under his arm. "What are they used for?"

"Come, Miss Granger," he said, favouring her with a sarcastic look. "Don't tell me you haven't read all about the magical healing properties of the moonfilly?"

"I have, sir," she said quickly. "I just wasn't aware the animal dropping had any medicinal value."

"On the contrary, Miss Granger," he said, moving off toward the castle and beckoning her to walk with him. "The excrement of the moonfilly, while not the most potent of its contributions to medicinal magic, is the only one which can be taken without the consent of the creature. It is simply a matter of being able to collect them at the right time."

"There are moonfillies in the Forbidden Forest, then?" she concluded.

"Moonfilly," he corrected. "Just one."

"That's sad," she murmured. "Don't they live in herds?"

Snape shook his head. "The moonfilly is a solitary creature, seeking the company of its kind only to procreate once in a lifetime. I have an... understanding, if you will, with our resident donor. An adequate supply of droppings when I need them, in exchange for solitude, and a promise never to ask for the other gifts a moonfilly carries."

"Its blood or hair."

Snape nodded.

It was strange, Hermione mused, to think of Snape communicating with a shy, gentle creature of the Forest, and coming to an understanding with it. Perhaps the image was so foreign because she'd never been able to imagine him communicating with any person on an equal level. His was a persona of intimidation and domination; a persona from which most animals would shy.

Two nights ago, though, when they'd made the Wolfsbane Potions, and again in the past few minutes, now she thought about, he'd been speaking to her as an equal. Maybe this was the side of him the animal saw, and was drawn to, as she was. He, too, was a solitary creature. Perhaps it was the sort of understanding that passed only between kindred spirits.

They walked in silence back to the courtyard outside the Entrance Hall, until Hermione thought to ask, "What do you need the droppings for?"

Snape looked around, as he had the previous night, to ensure they were alone, before answering. "I believe it might be the key to an antidote for the potion."

He didn't need to elaborate for Hermione to know which potion. The potion. The one he was making for Voldemort.

"You've created a counter-potion?" she asked.

"This is the final ingredient," he replied. "Theoretically it works, but it will have to be tested. I have yet to discover the correct dosage."

"You have to drink it!" she said incredulously.

He smirked at her. "It's only a bit of excrement, Miss Granger."

"Ugh," she said with a shudder. "I think I'd rather let the effects of the original potion wear off naturally."

He didn't respond and after a moment she looked over at him. His face was unreadable, as usual, but there was a tightness in his jaw that belied the sudden tension between them. Obviously the potion Voldemort was having him brew was a nasty mixture with horrid effects. She realised it was wrong to make such a generalised statement without knowing the effects of the original potion.

"What does the original potion do?" she asked quietly.

"Ah, I wondered how long it would take you to ask," he said shortly, "however this is not the time or the place to be discussing such matters. Perhaps you have an hour to spare tomorrow, and we can discuss arrangements for your new duties."

She sighed. The cold mask seemed to have slipped back into place, as it did each time she thought she was getting to know the dark Professor a little better.

"Yes, sir," she said. "How about straight after lunch?"

"That is acceptable," he said. "Until then, Miss Granger, I suggest you-"

BANG!

Hermione and Snape both jumped, startled, as the rogue firework floated into the courtyard again, still professing 'Ravenclaw sucks' in large blue letters. Snape raised an eyebrow at Hermione and she returned the look innocently.

"A product of the Messrs Weasley, I take it," Snape muttered, withdrawing his wand from his sleeve.

Hermione watched interestedly as the Potions master cast evanesco at the slow-moving writing.

BANG!

She had to work very hard to keep a straight face when the firework changed from blue to green and proclaimed 'Slytherin sucks'.

Snape cleared his throat irritably and attempted another, more complicated vanishing spell.

BANG!

Hermione couldn't hold back a giggle when the firework stated 'Slytherin really sucks'.

"I am not amused, Miss Granger," he said in a biting voice, "however if you find it entertaining, perhaps you might like to try to rid us of its presence yourself."

Hermione knew it wouldn't work for her any more than it had for him, but she pulled out her wand and cast evanesco at the glittering green letters anyway.

BANG!

"If it's any consolation, sir," Hermione said, barely holding back her laughter, "last time this happened they were gone by morning."

Snape looked from Hermione to the firework. For a moment, she got the strangest impression he was about to laugh. Instead, he strode to the nearby castle door and opened it, beckoning her to follow him inside.

Once the door closed behind them, he said, "Until tomorrow, then," and disappeared in the direction of the dungeons.

Hermione made her way slowly to her own room, more confused with and yet curious about the Potions master than ever before. Once in the Head Girls rooms, she made a point of closing her curtains to block out the waning green glow of the firework, which was now floating higher around the castle, declaring 'Slytherin still sucks'.


To be continued…

A/N: Anyone who is re-reading this story may notice a slight change in this chapter, concerning the magical creature Snape and Hermione discuss. The original creature, the mooncalf, appears in /i Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them i , and while I took and expanded upon the uses of its dropping from there, I also failed to take into account the physical appearance of the creature as described by the author. I had already developed my own idea for the creature's appearance, and for that reason, decided to alter the name to one of my own creation, the moonfilly. I apologise for any confusion resulting from this re-work. All chapters have been fixed simultaneously, and are now consistent with my own ideas, as well as canon.