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


Chapter 10

The Hospital Wing was deserted when Hermione stepped quietly through the double doors On closer inspection, she found Madam Pomfrey in her office, taking inventory of the medicinal potions cabinet, a parchment and quill poised in the air next to her recording her murmured notes.

Hermione knocked lightly on the wooden doorframe and the Mediwitch, upon seeing the Head Girl, signalled silently for her to wait a moment. She finished cataloguing the last few bottles of the cupboard, and tapped the hovering parchment lightly with her wand, muttering 'finite tabula'. Quill and parchment inanimate on her desk, she turned to Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger," she said briskly. "What can I do for you?"

"I seem to have hurt my shoulder," Hermione said wryly. "I think I may have been trying to carry too many books in my bag."

The Mediwitch tutted her disapproval and ushered Hermione out of her office and over to the nearest bed, drawing the curtain to shield them from the door. Taking Hermione's arm gently in one hand, she manoeuvred the appendage in much the same way Snape had done earlier, and also reached the same conclusion.

"Just a strain, my dear," she said. "Easily fixed."

Hermione didn't move.

"Well, come on, Miss Granger," she huffed impatiently. "Off with it. Can't expect me to heal it through all those layers, can you?"

Hermione blushed, realising why Snape had seemed vaguely uncomfortable when she'd asked him to demonstrate the charm on her. She removed her cloak, jumper and, with the Mediwitch's help, managed to extract the offending arm from her blouse sleeve.

Hermione watched interestedly as the Mediwitch pulled out her wand, but instead of directing it at her shoulder, Madam Pomfrey placed the tip to her own hand and incanted, 'curare tendére', then switching wand hands, repeated the spell on the other.

"Turn around," the Mediwitch instructed, and a moment later Hermione felt cool, bony hands carefully massaging the sore joint of her shoulder. She was surprised to feel the pain in her muscles receding with each prod of the Mediwitch's cold hands.

"That's an unusual spell," she commented. "I've never heard of one where the magic is focused on the caster rather than the receiver."

"It's actually quite common in the lesser Healing spells," Madam Pomfrey told her, taking her arm and twisting it in various directions again. Satisfied that there was no pain, she helped Hermione back into her shirt while continuing her lecture. "It's a lot more comfortable for the patient to be healed by one's hands than a hard wandtip. You'll be learning such spells later this year, although it takes a lot out of the healer. The spell I cast at the beginning merely directs the caster's magical energy to their hands; a very high level of concentration is required to channel ones magical powers out through anything but a wand."

Hermione was fascinated. "I'll look forward to trying it," she said. "I'll be sorry to miss the rest your Medicinal Potions classes; they're sure to be just as interesting. Did Professor Dumbledore speak to you about the new arrangement?"

"He did," the Mediwitch said, bustling back into her office. "I must say it's a shame to lose you for even half my classes, but I don't doubt your capability to complete your alternative assignment. Professor Snape has always supplied me with exemplary potions, and I have every confidence you will do the same."

Hermione followed her into the cluttered room and Madam Pomfrey handed her the scroll she had charmed to catalogue the cupboard earlier.

"What's this?"

"An inventory of the current medicinal potions supplies," Madam Pomfrey replied. "Current stock on hand, projected requirements for the next six months based on the previous six months' usage and dates by which I will need replenishments of the perishable potions."

Hermione unravelled the scroll and looked down at the list. It was huge.

"Wow," she murmured. "I didn't realise the school went through so many supplies. Does Professor Snape usually make all of these?"

"He does indeed," the Mediwtich affirmed. "It was a stroke of luck Dumbledore hired a Potions master still willing to do the menial tasks most delegate to their apprentices. Ordering some of these by Owl Post used to be an absolute nightmare."

"The last teacher didn't make them?" Hermione asked interestedly. It seemed absurd to have to order potions from outside a school that taught the art of potions making.

"No," she replied. "Pompous old so-and-so was adamant all his time outside the classroom should be spent on his research, which wasn't worth the trouble, if you ask me. Couldn't hold a candle to young Professor Snape's achievements in the field, and he has still managed to stock my infirmary for nigh twenty years."

Hermione had never thought much about her teachers' academic achievements, although she supposed now it was naïve to think their contributions to their chosen fields stopped in the classroom. She knew from discussion with her own Head of House that the Transfiguration teacher had played a significant role in the introduction of new Animagi laws, and warding spells to detect the presence of a witch or wizard in disguise. It would make sense that Snape, the only fully qualified Master of all the teachers, had made noteworthy contributions to the field of Potions. She made a mental note to ask him about it, if he was in a conversational mood on Tuesday; and if not, she would do a little extra research in the library.

The Mediwitch was still speaking. "Although I must say, I'm glad he's finally decided to take on an apprentice. I couldn't think of a student more deserving of the position than yourself."

"Oh, uh, I'm not an apprentice," Hermione corrected hurriedly. "More of an assistant, I suppose."

"You call it whatever you like, Miss Granger," the older witch said with a knowing smile. "I wager you'll learn more from Severus in a week than in all your years of Potions classes. He doesn't have much patience for teaching those who don't want to learn."

You can tell, too, Hermione had the urge to say aloud. It would be frustrating, though, teaching students who were only in a class because they had to be. If Potions was an elective subject, the teacher would take pride in cultivating the talent of the students who had a genuine desire to be there. Then again, his reputation precedes him, she thought. If Potions was an elective class, there probably wouldn't be a class.

She said nothing of this to the Mediwitch. Instead she thanked her for healing her shoulder and tucked the list in a pocket of her robes. She informed the Mediwitch she was meeting with the Potions master on Tuesday afternoon, and would start work on the supplies as soon as possible.

Now to the next dilemma, she thought, leaving the Hospital Wing. She had no idea where Harry might be, or whether in the time she'd spent in Snape's office, he and Ron had already talked and resolved the situation.

She checked Gryffindor Tower first. Neither were there, but Neville and Seamus, who were having a half-hearted game of chess, had been there earlier when Harry had stormed up to the boys' dormitory, and stormed out again, broom in hand.

She headed out the deserted Quidditch Pitch, spying a lone figure circling the stadium high above the ground. Climbing to the top row of the stands, she sat and watched for a while, until Harry finally spotted her and came down, hopping easily off his Firebolt as the tail skimmed the seats.

He sat down next to her and they both stared into the distance for a while before she spoke.

"He didn't mean it, you know."

"Oh, I get it," Harry sneered. "You've already talked to him and now he's sent you out here to make his peace for him."

"No," Hermione said firmly. "I haven't talked to Ron. I told him after you left the Great Hall he needn't bother talking to me until he's apologised to you first."

"What, you think apologising is going to make it all better?" he spat bitterly. "It's not the first time he's said something like this, and you can be sure it's won't be the last."

People on the outer might see Harry as the Boy-Who-Lived, confident young man and star Quidditch player, but Hermione knew how little faith he had in himself, especially lately. Ever since Sirius' death eighteen months earlier, Harry had been loathe to trust his own instincts, or rely on his own skill and ability as a wizard. His overconfidence had cost his godfather his life, and he wouldn't fail any more of his friends.

Ron's comment would have hurt at any time, but now, when Harry had so little confidence in himself already, it was like a stab in the back from one of the two people who had always believed in him, and always stood by him no matter what.

Hermione sighed, searching for the right words. "Ron just... he says these things in the heat of the moment. He doesn't think before he opens his mouth... and I know that's no excuse," she added hurriedly as Harry opened his mouth to retort. "He just doesn't think about how his words will affect others. It was directed at me; he didn't mean to insult you."

"I know that," Harry said quietly. "I just... I feel like he's jealous sometimes, that I'm the one who gets all the attention, that I'm the one who is going to either defeat Voldemort or become a dead martyr in the process-"

"Don't say that."

"-I'm the one who is supposed to save the whole bloody world," he said, sounding almost hysterical. "He doesn't realise I hate all of this. I hate being the centre of attention, I hate having these expectations on my shoulders. Sometimes I feel like I just want to walk away, disappear in the middle of the night and never return... but I can't, because the prophecy says it has to be me who strikes the final blow."

Harry broke off and ran his hands through his hair before turning to Hermione.

"What if he's right, Hermione?" he said, his green eyes pleading for her to answer. "What if I can't defeat him? What if Voldemort wins?"

"He won't," she said firmly. "Ron was just being an idiot when he said that."

"He's not the only one, though," Harry said. "I've seen the way people watch me when they think I'm not looking. I heard the Order talking about me over the summer, about whether I can defeat him or not. D'you know what they said, what Dumbledore said?"

Hermione shook her head.

"'He has to'. Not, 'he will' or 'he can'. If Dumbledore doesn't believe I can do it, how can I believe it myself?"

Hermione's heart went out to her friend, and she searched the corners of her mind for words to comfort and reassure him. She'd had the same doubts herself, after the last two confrontations Harry had with Voldemort, but she put it down to fear and uncertainty, and now certainly wasn't the time to confess her worries. Now was the time for a show of faith, however blind it may be.

"Harry," she said, turning to him and taking his Quidditch-gloved hands in her own. "I don't think it's a lack of faith in you and in your ability. I think after Voldemort was defeated for the first time and then returned, people are afraid to do anything but assume the worst. It's not that they don't think you can do it, they just don't dare hope you will."

Harry nodded, but she could see he wasn't totally convinced.

"Have you talked to anyone about this?" she asked gently. "Dumbledore? I'm sure he'd be upset at how you've misinterpreted his words to such a bad end."

Harry snorted. "How can you not misinterpret what he says? He speaks nothing but riddles and half-truths as it is."

Hermione bit her lip. She knew Harry had never quite forgiven Dumbledore for all the information he kept from the young man up until the end of their fifth year; only divulging it when his silence had already cost a life. They'd been spending a lot of time together lately, though. Harry was often seen entering the Headmaster's office during free lessons or study time. She thought that had been getting on well, and she said as much.

"Hardly," Harry scorned. "How can I trust anything he teaches me when he never, even now, gives me the whole truth. I just feel like I'm being manipulated into doing exactly what he wants, regardless of how I feel about it."

"You're not the only one," Hermione muttered, thinking of herself and Snape. They'd certainly been manipulated, although she liked to think it was for the better, so far.

"What?"

"Oh, this thing I'm doing with Professor Snape," she explained. "It was Dumbledore's idea we work together... or his orders, I should say."

"Did he tell you why he wanted you to work together?"

She shook her head.

"See!" Harry exclaimed. "That's exactly what I mean. It's like we're all just pawns on his chessboard, and only he knows the next move. It's not right. He expects me just to fight when required, without knowing how or why I'm doing it."

"I really think you should discuss this with him, Harry," Hermione said gravely. "The two of you are the most important people in the war, and you can't work together without trust. Just tell him how you feel. He'll understand."

"Don't count on it," Harry muttered darkly.

"Just try," she insisted, "and if that doesn't work... maybe you could go to someone else."

"Who?"

"Professor Snape," she suggested evenly.

"Sorry, Hermione," he said. "Just because you get along with Snape doesn't mean I've suddenly decided to like him. He's still a nasty piece of work, as far as I'm concerned."

"I'm not asking you to like him," she assured her friend. "I just... you've got more in common than you think. He knows what it's like to be manipulated by Dumbledore. You can trust him."

"Can I?" Harry said sarcastically. "That's another think Dumbledore won't tell me; why he knows beyond any doubt that Snape is on our side. If I had all the facts, maybe I could trust the git myself."

Hermione wasn't about to divulge what she knew about Snape's true loyalties, or the fact that Dumbledore had told her while still keeping the information from her friend.

"Harry, do you trust me?"

He looked at her, startled. "Of course I do!"

"Then believe me when I say Snape is truly on our side," she implored. "Don't ask me why, or how I know. I just do. If Dumbledore won't listen, then talk to Professor Snape. You don't have to like him; I know he doesn't like you," she said with a wry smile which Harry returned, "but you can trust him, okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'll think about it. Thanks for listening. I guess I just needed someone to listen while I blew off steam."

"Anytime," she said, giving his hands another squeeze.

They both sat in silence again, watching as the last of the weak winter sunlight peeked through a gap in the clouds near the horizon. She shivered, wishing she, too, had thought to wear gloves.

"Come on," she said, standing up. "Let's go inside and talk to Ron."

Harry scowled and said, "Let him come and talk to me. He started it."

Hermione almost laughed at Harry's tone. He sounded like a petulant child. "Don't be so petty," she scolded. "He's probably scared to come near you in case you hex him."

At the look on Harry's face, she added, "I was joking."

"No need to go inside, anyway," sighed Harry, pointing down the pitch below. In the dull haze of dusk, she could just make out the lone figure of Ron, gazing hesitantly up at their position in the stands.

"Let's go down there," she said, pulling a reluctant Harry after her.

They met Ron in the shadows of the stands, fidgeting uncertainly as he tried to gauge their reactions. Harry plonked down on one of the hard wooden benches near the entrance to the change rooms, and Hermione and Ron followed suit.

"Look-"

"Harry, I-"

"Let's-"

All three of them broke off and laughed nervously.

"Let me go first," Ron said, and Harry sat back, feigning disinterest.

"There's no excuse for what I said at lunch, but I'm really sorry. I was being a prat to you, Hermione, and in doing so I inadvertently hurt you as well, Harry."

"Yeah, you did," Harry said roughly. Ron looked crestfallen.

"I guess I just feel a bit useless," he continued, "and being spiteful is my way of dealing with it."

"It's a pretty poor way," Hermione murmured.

"I know," Ron replied earnestly. "It's just that... everyone seems to be doing something towards the war. Everyone except me. Mum and Dad and my brothers are all in the Order, Harry's the cornerstone of the whole mission and Hermione, I don't know what you're doing with Snape, but I can't imagine it wouldn't have something to do with the war, right?"

She nodded.

"And no one can tell me what they're doing, either," he said bitterly. "I just feel like I'm being kept in the dark, and because if it, I can't do anything to help."

"So you'd rather play an important role in the war," Harry asked lightly. "You'd rather be the one who has to kill Voldemort or be killed yourself?"

"No!" said Ron, horrified. "That's not what I meant, Harry, and you know it. I'm not jealous of what you have to do. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes for anything. I just want to be able to help you when the time comes, and right now I don't feel like I'll be able to do that."

"You want to help, but you don't exactly seem interested in anything serious," Harry said, exasperated. "It's all Quidditch this and Quidditch that. I love it too, but there are more important things to think about these days."

"I don't discuss the war with you because I figure you get enough of that from everyone else," Ron replied. "I thought you'd just want to talk about something normal; forget the war, even if it's just for few minutes while you argue with me over who's going to win the Premiers Cup this year."

Harry and Ron looked at each other. Hermione could hear the sincerity in Ron's words and knew he wasn't just trying to make up for his earlier actions. He was genuinely concerned about Harry.

Ron turned to her. "And 'Mione, I'm sorry for what I said before, I really am. I hardly see you guys these days, either of you," he said, looking from Hermione to Harry, "and I just want to make the most of it, you know?"

He watched them hopefully.

"I'm sorry, too," Harry said eventually. "I have been keeping you in the dark. Dumbledore has asked me not to reveal what happens in our meetings to anyone, but that hasn't stopped me before this year, has it?"

Hermione and Ron both shook their heads, amused.

"I guess I should have learnt by now that keeping people in the dark only puts lives in danger, and I'd be stupid to risk my friends' lives by making the same mistake Dumbledore made with me. But I can't tell you everything," he said, looking at Ron. "You understand that, don't you?"

Ron nodded.

"But I'll tell you what I can... after you've conceded the Brighton Bombers are way better than the Cannons this season," he finished, smirking.

Ron laughed, a loud chuckle of nervous tension finally released, as he realised his friend has forgiven him. Hermione laughed, too, and a moment later all three of them were laughing.

It took them a few minutes to stop, after Harry wondered aloud what exactly they were laughing at, which made them laugh even more because none of the trio could remember.

"So, we're all friends again?" Hermione asked, looking between the two boys.

"I hope so," said Ron. "I promise never to be a prat again."

Hermione and Harry both snorted with laughter, earning a wounded look from the red-haired boy.

"Well, maybe not never again," he amended. "Just never to either of you."

"That's better," Harry said. "And I promise never to keep my friends in the dark."

"I promise..." Hermione began. "Hang on, I don't have to promise anything!"

"You can promise never to knit another hat," Harry stated.

"Yeah!" Ron laughed. "Or never to buy us another diary planner."

"Or never to read Hogwarts: A History again!"

"Or never to write more than the required length for an essay!"

"Or never check out more than four books at a time from the library!"

The good-natured banter continued as the trio made their way back up to the castle through the darkness, the moon obscured by heavy, snow-laden clouds.

Hermione felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She hated fighting with her friends, and Harry would need all the support they could give him in the next few months.

As they reached the gravel path leading up to the main entrance of the castle, the heavy wooden doors opened and a beam of light was thrown across the immediate area.

The tall, dark figure that stepped out, closing the door behind him, was instantly recognisable to the three of them.

"Shhh," Hermione said softly, pulling Harry and Ron off the path and behind a large tree nearby. "We're not supposed to be out in the grounds after dark."

They stood silently listening to the footsteps of the Potions master as he drew closer and passed them. Hermione chanced a fleeting look around the thick tree trunk and saw he was yet again wearing those heavy velvet robes.

They watched as he took the right fork of the path, towards the main gates and Hogsmeade.

"Come on, 'Mione," Ron whispered, pulling her back towards the castle.

"I wonder where he was off to?" Harry mused aloud.

"Hogsmeade, maybe," Ron guessed. "The Three Broomsticks for a nightcap or two?"

Harry snorted. "I think a Potions master could make his own nightcaps."

"True," Ron conceded, then snickered. "Maybe he's got a date. What d'you think, 'Mione?"

"I think I recall you promised not to be a prat," Hermione snapped.

"Oh, come on," he said affably. "I was only joking."

She gave him a look to let him know she didn't find it amusing, and they continued on their way up to the castle, minus the speculation about their teacher.

The very thought of Snape going on a date was absurd, although Hermione thought she would distinctly prefer it to where she knew he was going tonight.


To be continued...

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. I apologise profusely for the lack of Snape in this chapter, but it was necessary for the story to move forward. I promise never to neglect the Potions master for an entire chapter again! pleads forgiveness

Also, allow me to beg forgiveness for my butchered Latin:

Finite tabula: finish recording

Curare tendere: to heal with touch/massage

If you haven't read author's notes from previous chapters, this story is also posted at the Online Wizarding Library – owl dot tauri dot org – the next chapter is already posted there, and if you have a question, I can respond to reviews left on that site!