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


Chapter 22

The next morning, it became apparent to Hermione that while the majority of the school was unaware of what had happened to her and her family over Christmas, it was no secret amongst a certain group of Slytherins.

As she entered the Great Hall for breakfast, Crabbe called out loudly, "Have a nice Christmas, Mudblood?"

The group around him snickered loudly, and Hermione grabbed Harry and Ron to stall their movement toward the Slytherins.

"They're not worth it," she said through gritted teeth, pulling her two friends over to the Gryffindor table. She could feel her own anger bubbling just below the surface, but there was no point causing a scene. Still, she hated the fact that they were openly gloating about what had happened.

"I bet you anything his dad was one of them at your house," Ron said roughly, spreading jam onto his toast with such force that he put his knife through the bread.

"Yeah," Hermione murmured, attacking her own toast with a little less gusto.

She glanced up at the Head Table as she raised the toast to her mouth, and was surprised to see Snape present, holding a steaming mug between both hands as he watched the same group of Slytherins. His eyes flickered in her direction with a questioning gaze, but she shook her head slightly and looked away. Further down the Slytherin table, away from the raucous crowd surrounding the Death Eaters' sons, she didn't notice Draco Malfoy looking from Snape to her, and back again.

A short while later, she arrived at the Potions classroom alone, having left Harry in the Entrance Hall discussing Quidditch with the two Gryffindor Beaters.

The classroom door was closed, and the only other student present was Malfoy, lounging casually against the stone wall of the corridor.

"Granger," he said, as she stopped a short distance from him and put down her heavy bag.

"Malfoy," she said stiffly, glancing back down the corridor in the hope that the other students weren't too far away. There was no one in sight.

After a moment of silence, the blonde said casually, "I wondered whether you'd be back this term."

Hermione turned to look at him, eyes narrowed.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Malfoy," she said coolly. "Your father must have been terribly disappointed that he couldn't deliver his intended, uh, what would you call it, Christmas gift?"

Angry spots appeared high on Malfoy's cheeks, but he didn't say anything.

"What, no insult today?" she scorned. "No Mudblood or some other foul variation?"

Malfoy sighed loudly and said, "Honestly, Granger, when was the last time I called you that?"

"I- " The retort died on her lips as she realised she couldn't actually remember the last time he'd called her a Mudblood. In fact, outside a scant few meetings with Dumbledore that required the presence of both the Head Girl and Boy, she couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to her at all. Odd, given how readily he had insulted her in their earlier years.

"Oh, that's right," she said in mock comprehension. "You've probably moved on from insulting Mudbloods. Following in your father's footsteps and killing them instead, are you?"

Malfoy pale face drained of even more colour, and he move close to Hermione, his grey eyes boring into hers.

"I'm not my father, Granger," he hissed. "So don't come to me all high and mighty to talk about prejudices if you can't recognise that."

Hermione stared at him, confused, and he stepped back from her, resuming his leaning stance against the wall.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked finally. "Why the nice-boy act all of a sudden?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it, and Hermione heard a throat being cleared behind her. She turned and followed Malfoy's gaze to Snape, who was standing a short distance away with his arms folded.

"Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy," Snape said calmly. "I do hope the Head Boy and Girl aren't quarrelling in public. That doesn't set a very good example, does it?"

"No, sir," Hermione said. Malfoy didn't answer, and Snape frowned slightly at the Slytherin before moving past both of them to open the classroom door.

"After you, Granger," Malfoy said, a little too politely. Hermione glared at him and strode into the classroom, sitting at her usual table near the back. Malfoy followed and walked past her to his own desk at the front of the room, followed by Snape, who gave her an odd look when Malfoy's back was turned.

She ignored him, but then, when he was seated behind his desk at the front of the room, said, "Sir, are we starting something new today?"

The class had completed the Polyjuice project a week before Christmas, and had spent the lessons after that studying the theory of charmed potions, or, as Hermione jokingly referred to them one night in the lab, 'Potions that do require foolish wand waving'. Snape hadn't been amused.

"Patience, Miss Granger," the Potions master sneered. "Surely you can wait the five minutes until the rest of your classmates arrive?"

Malfoy snickered, and Hermione ducked her head, but not in embarrassment at being scorned by her professor. She did it to hide her smirk at how convincingly he still managed to insult her.

"How were your holidays, sir?" Malfoy asked loudly as the rest of the class started to file in.

Snape's face gave nothing away as he answered, "Acceptable, Mr Malfoy. Time away from idiotic teenagers is always a bonus."

Hermione only just managed not to laugh outright at that veiled insult, and composed herself as the last students, Harry, entered the room, taking his seat reluctantly next to Malfoy, and Snape began a short review of what they'd learnt of charms potions so far.

"The term 'charmed' is deceptive in potions making, as most charms are relatively simple incantations requiring little of the caster's power," Snape lectured, standing at the front of the room with his arms folded. "Charmed potions, however, require much more concentration and the ability to properly focus your magic. The process can be exhausting, even for a fully-trained witch or wizard, and is made only more difficult by the need to incant using your non-preferred wand hand. Can anyone tell me why this is so?"

Hermione raised her hand, as did Malfoy and, to her surprise, Harry.

Snape, too, looked vaguely surprised for a moment, before he said, "Well, Mr Potter, we'll see if you've finally been reading your textbook. Go on."

"You have to use your normal wand hand to add ingredients to the potion," Harry answered, "and some charmed potions require you to add ingredients and cast charms at the same time, so you need to use both hands."

"A partial answer," Snape commented, and Hermione could imagine Harry's glare. It was actually quite a good answer.

"Does anyone have anything to add?" he enquired.

This time, Hermione was the only one to raise her hand, and Snape nodded in her direction.

"Very well, Miss Granger?"

"Ingredients should be added with your wand hand because that is your preferred hand, the one you write with, and is much steadier than the other, unless you're ambidextrous. Charmed potions usually have more complex requirements in terms of adding ingredients, too, such as distributing them evenly, therefore you need the steadiest hand possible. The charms, however, while complex in themselves, need only to be directed into the cauldron, which is possible even with your non-preferred hand."

"A concise explanation," Snape commented, though he didn't go so far as to award points.

"So," he continued. "Because of the precision required in these potions, you will again be working with a partner of my choosing."

Hermione could almost see Harry sink further into his seat, until Snape added, "A different partner from your last project."

Harry sat up straighter as Snape began pairing off the class. As the students moved to sit with their partners around her, Hermione had a sneaking suspicion she was being left until last for a reason, a suspicion which was confirmed when Snape folded the parchment of names and said, smirking slightly, "Miss Granger, you will be partnering Mr Malfoy for this project."

Hermione glared daggers at Snape as she grabbed her bag, book and parchments, and went to sit next to her new partner. Malfoy was glaring at Snape, too, apparently not pleased with his second Gryffindor partner in as many projects.

The remainder of the lessons was spent taking notes on the complicated Indicii Memoria, a potion used to draw the drinker's memories from the subconscious mind to the conscious one for extraction into a Pensieve. The potion was most commonly used to capture repressed memories from a traumatised person in order to aid the capture and conviction of their assailants. Despite its potency, it was not strong enough to extract memories after a properly cast Obliviate, although a hastily cast memory charm could be broken down through prolonged use of the draught.

Despite sitting next to Malfoy, she managed to avoid conversing with him for the rest of the lessons, and left quickly with Harry as the bell rang. He seemed happier with his own partner, Ernie MacMillan, and that only served to worsen Hermione's mood.

After dinner that night, Hermione was still fuming as she made her way down to the workroom. She slammed to door to the hidden passage a little too forcefully, earning a raised eyebrow from Snape, who was sitting at his desk marking essays, red-inked quill in hand.

"Don't you give me that raised eyebrow, Severus Snape," she said angrily. "What were you thinking, pairing me with Malfoy? Has it escaped your mind that his father tried to kill me over the holidays?"

Snape put down the quill and leant back in his chair, regarding her with a frown.

"Draco Malfoy is not his father, Hermione."

She sat, uninvited, in the chair opposite her teacher. "He said the same thing to me in the corridor this morning, just before you arrived."

"Really?" Snape actually looked surprised at her pronouncement. "Perhaps it is doubly true, then."

"Hardly. He was just needling me to find out how upset I was over Christmas."

"Was he?" Snape asked, eyebrow raised again. "Or was he genuinely trying to have a civilised conversation with you?"

She snorted. "That will be the day. The only thing civilised about it was that he refrained from calling me a Mudblood."

"Hmmm," Snape said non-committedly, and picked up his quill again.

"But that still doesn't answer my original question, even if you tried to change the subject. Why do I have to work with him?"

"He and Mr Potter worked admirably well together, given their animosity in the past," Snape commented. "I would expect nothing less from you. Call it another exercise in inter-house relations."

"It's a bit late for that, I think," she muttered. "Working together isn't going to change his attitude towards me, or Muggle-borns in general. He's probably already got the mark on his arm to prove that.

Snape's face darkened.

"Draco Malfoy has not taken the Dark Mark," he stated.

"Yet," Hermione added. "It's only a matter of time."

"And what would you have me do, Hermione? Sit him down for a chat, declare my true loyalties, and tell him there is another way besides the path his father has taken?"

"Of course not," she said. "He'd go straight back to his father and you'd be dead. He's probably acting this way on his father's orders to try to draw you into such a conversation, if Lucius Malfoy is as suspicious of you as you say."

Snape sat back again, rubbing his chin absently with one hand.

"Perhaps," he said slowly. "Although, Draco has made conscious effort since last summer to be civil, if not downright nice, to you; someone whom he has openly hated and ridiculed since your first year. Does it not occur to you to wonder why?"

Hermione snorted. "You actually think his efforts are sincere?"

"Yes, I do."

She stopped then, staring at the Potions master in disbelief.

"Why?"

Snape sighed.

"A feeling, more than anything," he admitted.

"And you would trust your instincts over seven years of insults, hexes and his father's influence on his perception?"

"People change, Hermione," he reminded her. "Even ones who are seemingly set on the road to ruin. It's not easy to turn away from everything you know or have been taught, but it can be done."

She got the feeling the Potions master was no longer referring to only Malfoy.

"I know it can be done," she said pointedly. "I just... I have a hard time believing Malfoy would be someone to do it without a momentous event changing his mind."

"Perhaps there had been such an event," Snape said, and upon seeing her curious look elaborated, "As I said, Draco has not yet taken the Mark, however he was permitted to attend a meeting last summer, and was witness to some of the... entertainment... therein. You know of what I speak?"

She nodded, feeling slightly sickened as she always did when he spoke of such things.

"It is my belief," he continued, "that he was not as smitten with what he saw as he made out to be. Oh, he put on a brave face and applauded his father's creativity, bowed down in the front of the Dark Lord and professed his desire to serve only him, but have you noticed some things have changed since he has returned to school this year?"

Hermione thought back to breakfast that morning, and the crowd of snickering Slytherins.

"He wasn't sitting with Crabbe and Goyle this morning," she mused, and Snape nodded approvingly at her insight.

"Yes," he said. "Nor has he been associating himself with those young men for most of this year, if you'd have cared to notice."

She hadn't noticed, mainly because she shared very few classes with the two lumbering Slytherins, and rarely paid much attention to either them or Malfoy when she saw them outside class.

"But..." she said slowly, as something occurred to her. "You said, when Goyle attacked me in the corridor, that there were two other Slytherins hiding nearby-"

"And you automatically assumed them to be Mr Malfoy and Mr Crabbe," he finished.

She bowed her head, realising her assumption had been hasty.

"Understandable," he commented, "given your history with the trio, however it was also a baseless assumption. No, Draco was not present at the time of your attack. Despite what you may think, he takes pride in his role as Head Boy, and would not be so foolish as to jeopardise that position with such actions."

Hermione sat silently for a moment as the Potions master picked up his quill again. Malfoy had been difference this year; there was no denying it, now she thought about it. She had been too concerned with her own grades, the well-being of her best friends, and now, her work with Snape, to give a second thought to the Head Boy, but he certainly wasn't the immature, name-calling brat she'd known in past years.

"You think he's having second thoughts, then?" she asked finally.

"I don't know," Snape said, continuing to mark angry, red crosses on an unfortunate student's essay. "There really is no way of knowing unless he speaks to someone, and that someone certainly won't be me; not if he's considering a path other than the one he believes I have followed."

Hermione stared at Snape's bowed head, his dark hair absorbing the firelight rather than reflecting it, and a realisation hit her.

"That's why I'm working with him in Potions," she stated. "You're hoping he'll come to trust me and talk to me, if he's looking for a way out of joining the Death Eaters."

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Snape murmured, marking a final, large D on the parchment before putting both it and his quill aside. "He and Mr Potter worked very well together in class, despite their mutual hatred, and I was hoping further association with others outside Slytherin might encourage Draco to consider all his options."

Hermione nodded. It was a good idea, now that she could see the Potions master's reasons. She said as much, adding, "You still could have forewarned me, though."

"Ah, but that petulant glare you gave me was priceless," he smirked.

She huffed and went into the lab, his snort of amusement following her.


Two nights later was New Year's Eve, though, being a school night, very little in the way of festivities had been planned. Most of the students were in their common rooms by curfew, feasting on a special supper courtesy of the house elves while they waited to count in the new year.

Hermione, as per usual on a Wednesday night, was in Snape's lab, brewing a new base for the antidote to the Cruciatus potion he was to deliver to Voldemort that coming Saturday.

Harry and Ron had hardly blinked when she left the common room shortly after dinner to join Snape; they were used to the amount of time she spent with him, and pleased she was able to contribute to the war effort, even from within the school.

Snape, however, was surprised to see her.

"I didn't think I'd see you tonight," he commented from behind a tower of greenish-grey smoke rising from a large cauldron.

"Why not?" she asked nonchalantly, setting up her own cauldron on the next workbench and pouring the base potion from Monday night into it.

He looked at her pointedly. "It's New Year's Eve, Hermione. Those friends of yours will think I'm even crueller than usual, keeping you working on a night such as this."

"Actually, they didn't mind in the least," she said. "After all, it's not like New Year's is something, well, new. All we do is sit around in the common room drinking Butterbeer until midnight, hug everyone, sing those silly songs and then go to bed."

"I think my unsociable tendencies must be rubbing off on you," he muttered, shaking his head.

They worked in silence for most of the night, and Hermione hardly noticed the time pass. By the time she had chopped, sliced, measured and added the ingredients that made up the second stage of the antidote's brewing, it was ten minutes before midnight. Looking over at Snape, she saw him pouring a gelatinous red liquid into his own cauldron, stirring carefully. If she remembered correctly from her brief glance at the brewing method on the weekend, it had to be stirred for five minutes, then simmer untouched for half an hour.

Looking at the clock again, she slipped quietly out of the lab into the sitting room, grabbed a handful of Floo powder and stuck her head through the fireplace to connect with the kitchens. Even though she now recognised the futility of her failed S.P.E.W. project, she didn't like to take advantage of the house elves' readiness to help. This, however, was a special circumstance, and when she pulled back from the fireplace, she was clutching two bottles of Butterbeer.

She re-entered the lab just in time to see Snape step away from the now-simmering cauldron and sit on a nearby stool, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand, as she'd come to notice he did when tired.

She pulled up a stool next to the Potions master and placed one of the bottles on the bench in front of him, popping the cork off her own bottle as he favoured her with a questioning look.

"Butterbeer?" he asked.

"Well," she said defensively. "Just because we're down here doesn't mean we have to miss out on all the festivities, though I won't go so far as to expect a hug from you."

Snape frowned a little, and she worried that she might have offended him, but then his face cleared. He regarded the bottle in front of him for a moment before reaching for it and popping the cork off, sniffing its contents.

"I haven't had Butterbeer for years," he commented idly.

In the silence of the lab, they heard the clock on the mantle in the next room begin to chime, signifying the start of the new year.

"Happy New Year, Severus," she said, raising her bottle towards him.

"And to you, Hermione," he said gravely, clinking his bottle against her own. "Let's hope this one is better than all those that have gone before it."

Before she could raise her bottle to take a sip, though, Snape surprised her, placing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. The hug was awkward, given they were sitting side-by-side at the workbench, but somehow she managed to extract her own arm from between them and place it around his back.

She twisted her head to look up at him, a pleased yet questioning look on her face. It was the first time he'd initiated anything remotely affectionate between them, and she was pleased that he help comfortable enough with her to do so. The corners of his mouth quirked up in half a smile.

"I couldn't have you miss out on the hugging and singing," he quipped, "even with the Butterbeer."

"What, you're not going to sing for me?" she teased, feigning a hurt expression.

"The day I sing, Hermione Granger, will be the day Albus Dumbledore swears off sherbet lemons for life," he said darkly.

She laughed and took a sip of her drink, the liquid warming her insides as it went down. Snape had yet to remove his arm from around her, and she tilted her head to one side a little so it rested lightly on his shoulder. She felt rather than saw him glance sideways at her, but he didn't comment, and they sat there for some time in silence, Snape's long fingers toying idly with one of the corks on the bench.

It will be a better year, she thought to herself. New Year's Resolutions were a silly Muggle custom and something very seldom fulfilled, but the new year was a time for starting afresh, so Hermione made a silent vow to try her best to make Severus Snape's year better, however she could.


Saturday night came all too quickly, and Hermione was in the lab with Snape when his Dark Mark started burning. Abruptly changing direction from the ceaseless pacing he'd been doing for the last hour, he went to retrieve his cloak from the other room, then returned to gather the flasks of the completed Cruciatus potion.

Hermione watched him fearfully as he shrunk the flasks to small phials, and place them in an inner pocket of his heavy cloak. He shoved his wand up the sleeve of his frock coat, and then glanced over at her where she sat, nervously twisting her quill over and over in her hands. She'd actually come down to the lab to use some of the Potions master's extensive library, but between his pacing and her nervous anticipation of his summons, she'd made very little headway on the essay.

"Don't wait up," he said with a half-hearted smirk.

She didn't laugh, thinking of the last time he'd gone before his former master, and her distress must have shown on her face, because he crossed the room to her and said, "I'm just delivering the potion, Hermione. It works; it's exactly what he asked for. There's no reason for him to be displeased."

She nodded and he placed his hand on her shoulder briefly before he left the lab. A minute later, she heard the noise of him Flooing away from the sitting room.

She sighed and turned back to the textbooks she'd plucked off his shelves early, trying unsuccessfully to concentrate. It was no use, and she was distracted further by the same scratching sounds she'd heard twice before, coming from the other side of the room. Why does it always happen when he'd not here? she thought, making a mental note to tell him about it when he returned. Surely a lab with such sensitive ingredients would be warded against vermin like rats and Doxies?

She sighed, resigned to not being able to get any work done, replaced the books on the shelf and packed away her parchments and quills.

Despite his quip before leaving, it had only been just under two hours when she heard the noise of the Floo again, and a moment later Snape appeared in the doorway.

She hopped off her stool and moved toward him, a quick appraisal showing her that he seemed to have returned in the same condition he left; tired but unhurt.

"Are you okay?" she enquired gently.

He nodded and beckoned her into the sitting room, where he pulled off his heavy cloak and sat in one of the armchairs, conjuring a teacup. She took the seat opposite, but declined his offer of tea, and watched him expectantly.

"It's done," he said. "The Dark Lord has the potion, and I've just been to inform the Headmaster that I'm none the wiser as to what he plans to do with it."

Hermione felt her stomach drop at the news. "He didn't tell you anything?"

"Not a thing," Snape confirmed heavily. "I delivered the potion, he tested that it worked, demanded double the quantity next Saturday, and dismissed me."

"Who did he test it- wait, he wants double next week?"

Snape nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose again. "I don't know who he tested it on; a Death Eater he was displeased with, I think, but not someone I recognised. Possibly a new recruit."

"What did the Headmaster say about all this?" she enquired as Snape leant forwards resignedly to rest his chin on his hands, elbows on knees.

"The Headmaster thinks whatever casualties ensue will be worth the benefit of my continued position, though what benefit he sees in it now, I don't know. As it stands, I'm simply delivering weapons of mass destruction to the Dark Lord and returning with nothing."

Hermione didn't know what to say, for she, too, had wondered at the Headmaster's wisdom in continually supplying Voldemort with the potion, despite the alternative being Snape's exposure as a spy. At least, if that occurred, the Potions master could remain at Hogwarts in relative safety, and be freed from the burden of providing Voldemort with such a powerful yet clandestine means of killing.

"I suppose the Headmaster wants to keep you in the Dark Lord favour for as long as possible," she commented. "Having him discover your true loyalties during a final confrontation with Harry might just be the element of surprise and distraction needed to cast the final blow."

"That's exactly what Albus said," Snape returned with a sigh, getting up to pace in front of the fireplace. "Which is all very well, but he doesn't seem to consider the lives it will cost along the way. What if this so-called final confrontation isn't for six months, a year? How many people will have died by then? People who would have been helping us to win that final confrontation? The Dark Lord has been strategically targeting Aurors and Order members in these latest attacks, and I doubt he'll deviate from that plan with the potion. If a potent enough dose is delivered, half of Dumbledore's supporters could permanently residents of St Mungo's before the end of June."

"What about the antidote?" Hermione asked, stricken by the picture he was painting with his words.

He chuckled bitterly. "The antidote that can't be used outside the walls of Hogwarts in case the Dark Lord gets wind of it and knows I've been working against him?"

"Not even at St Mungo's?"

He shook his head. "Hospitals are rife with gossip, especially between Healers and Mediwizards when new medicinal developments are afoot. Information escapes that place more readily that it does the Ministry."

"So, what are you going to do?" she asked, moving to stand beside him at the window, where he'd ceased his pacing.

"Nothing," he said, glancing at her, dark eyes filled with a mixture of anger and helplessness, before turning his gaze back to the darkened grounds through the window. "Dumbledore has spoken, and I'll do as he has asked."

Again, Hermione didn't know what to say, so she settled for resting her hand gently on his folded arm, near the crook of his elbow. He seemed to take comfort in the gesture, because his shifted his opposite hand to cover her own; it was cold, despite the warmth of the room. Time seemed to stand still as they stood side by side, Snape staring out across the landscape, Hermione watching the profile of his face as a myriad of emotions crossed the angular surface.

Despite her vow at the turn of the new year only three days prior, she had the unpleasant feeling this year was going to get much worse before it got better, particularly for Severus Snape.


To be continued

Many thanks to hobbittabby for the distractions, suggestions and beta while writing this chapter, as well as the chapter title!

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. I'm very happy to find so many of you are still reading a 'seventh-year fic' after Half-Blood Prince, and that you all seemed to enjoy the slightly different direction the last chapter took at the end.

This chapter is actually the first half of what was to be one long chapter, but it got a little too long for my liking. On the bright side, the next one is partially written, so the next update shouldn't be too many days away – and it's up already at OWL, anyway!