Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

Any dialogue you recognize comes from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Most is changed at least a bit though to fit right.

Also, sorry no lemons this chapter, just minor revelations. Next one though…

I'm not J. K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

Ch 11: Best Mates, Always

"Did…," Hermione trailed off, unable to finish her sentence. The room was closing in on her, the walls shrinking inward as the ceiling sunk rapidly. She couldn't catch her breath. A vacuum had sucked all the air from the room.

"Get dressed," Snape ordered, tossing the pants she'd worn at her from near the foot of the bed. "Take the Floo to my office then head to the hospital wing from there."

The hospital wing.

She needed to go to the hospital wing.

Because Ron had been poisoned.

Ron.

No. No, it couldn't be.

"Snape, did she say Ron?" Hermione asked, voice cracking and high enough to wake the dead.

"You know she did. Now quite acting like a fool and hurry up," he barked, shucking her sweater at her as well. That one landed on her head, and she absently tugged it down, yanking a fistful of hair with her in the process. The stinging in her scalp helped her focus.

She needed to get dressed. She needed to see Ron. To see if he was…

"You'll help him?" she demanded, jumping a bit to pull her pants up.

"I promise that he –"

"Don't make promises you don't know if you can keep. Don't lie to me," she hissed, relying on the sudden adrenaline rush she felt coursing through her to get ready and not break down.

If she let herself fear the worst, she'd shatter like so much blown glass. But not fearing the worst didn't also mean burying her head in the sand and being willfully naive. There was no way he could guess at the extent of the damage. No way he could know from so few words that Ron would pull through. She didn't think she could forgive Snape if he gave her false hope. Not if Ron –

No. She couldn't even consider the possibility.

Oh! Why on earth had they even been mad at each other in the first place? As though any of it mattered in the face of all they'd been through together! He was her best mate. Had been for years, and always would be.

It wasn't as though she hadn't always known he was a git from time to time. It was an essential aspect of his personality.

"I need to assess the situation, Granger. I will do my best to help your boyfriend," he corrected, brusquely stating his prosaic intentions.

"He's not my – oh, never mind that now," she huffed, finger-combing her wild curls into some semblance of order to at least partially conceal what they'd spent the morning getting up to. His look clearly said that he could care less if Ron was her boyfriend or not, and that it wasn't the time. "Yes, thank you," she muttered, not up for pushing the debate further just then.

She followed him into the main room and watched him grab a few items off one of the top shelves she'd not yet dared to investigate, then grabbed a handful of Floo powder off the mantle and departed without another word to the man tasked with saving her best mate. She wasn't entirely sure she was capable of speaking anyways.

Ron might be dying. They hadn't spoken in weeks – months really – and now he could…

Those thoughts ran on a continuous loop the entire time she hurried along corridors and down staircases, ducking behind tapestries to take shortcuts on autopilot. The portrait of a family picnicking caught her eye on the second floor near the Transfiguration classroom, and a painful lump formed in her throat. She couldn't imagine how she'd deal if she lost Ron so soon after her mum's death.

Hermione hurried faster, racing down the final staircase and swallowing convulsively to banish the knot of anxiety blocking her airway. As she turned the final corner, the sight of Harry pacing in front of the closed doors of the hospital wing came into view.

"Harry!" she cried, running towards him. "What happened?" she asked shrilly.

"Ron got a hold of cauldron cakes spiked with love potion meant for me. He was really bad off, so I took him to Slughorn for an antidote," Harry explained hastily.

"A love potion? He was poisoned by a love potion?" she gasped, shaking her head and blinking rapidly as she processed the irony of such a thing.

"No, Slughorn fixed that all right. But afterwards, Slughorn poured some meade that he'd been saving as a gift for Dumbledore, but when Ron drank it, he collapsed and started convulsing. I gave him a bezoar, and he was breathing easier, but Madam Pomfrey isn't letting me in to check on him," Harry finished relaying concisely. She much appreciated his way of explaining over Ron's, considering he was in the habit of embellishing.

"He's breathing?" she asked, needing confirmation.

"Yes. I don't know how the poison got in there. Do you –," he broke off staring at something behind her. "Ginny!"

Hermione barely listened or paid any attention as he explained the situation for the second time. Rather, she let the words wash over her like dipping beneath the water in the bath. Pressure weighed her down, holding her submerged as breathing became near impossible and the world fell away. Then the only sound she registered was that of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Lub dub. Lub dub.

Poison. Ron had been poisoned. By Slughorn apparently. Poisoned meade meant for –

Malfoy. It had to be. Hadn't she recently discussed the necklace with Snape? Malfoy had been trying to smuggle in the cursed necklace to use to kill Dumbldore. Now a bottle of poisoned meade had found its way inside the school for the headmaster.

Unfortunately, there were too many variables, and the cursed items weren't reaching their intended target.

Sloppy. Malfoy's efforts were sloppy. If he kept it up, he'd inadvertently kill someone else.

Malfoy was dangerous. Dumbledore might think he could be saved, and he might be correct, but only if they got a handle on him. These desperate, half-arsed schemes needed to stop. Immediately.

Was that one of the many tasks Dumbledore had laid at Snape's feet? If it was, Snape didn't appear to be having much luck. Though that was hardly surprising. Given everything else he was handling, she was surprised he could find the time. Especially with her taking up some of his precious time each week.

"Hermione, what do you think?" Harry asked.

Blinking, Hermione's lips parted and she frowned. Think? About Snape? No. Harry couldn't even begin to guess at what she'd been contemplating.

"Hermione?" Ginny prodded.

Not having followed their discussion, and not caring enough to ask, she shook her head at the pair watching her and slipped back into her own thoughts, like taking a quick breath before submerging again.

Would Snape be able to help Ron? Probably, thanks to Harry getting him a bezoar in time. Clever really. Sometimes Harry proved he was smarter than she typically gave him credit for. Though he'd always been great at thinking on his feet. This time had been no exception. Without that bezoar, well, Hermione didn't really wish to consider the alternative. All of their fighting seemed so petty and ridiculous now. He could have died without them ever having made up.

As soon as Ron woke they would put things straight. Hermione valued their years-long friendship too much not to.

"Oh, Ginny, Harry, Hermione, you're all here," Mrs. Weasley gasped, having approached their group without Hermione's notice. She was clutching a sodden handkerchief in a strangling death-grip and was sniffing loudly, her face blotchy and eyes red-rimmed.

Mr. Weasley and Dumbledore were only a step behind her, and while the sight of Mrs. Weasley's obvious distress made Hermione's heart skip a beat before taking off at a gallop, the relief radiating from the other two had her abused organ slowly again just as quickly.

Hermione and Dumbledore exchanged meaningful glances as Harry repeated his tale for the Weasley's benefit. So he understood as well that Malfoy was behind the morning's events.

"Mum, they aren't letting us in," Ginny complained once Harry concluded his tale.

"Of course not! You'd just be underfoot, Ginny. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape are in there now, and they don't need you lot pestering them with questions while they're trying to look after Ron," Mrs. Weasley huffed impatiently.

Ginny crossed her arms mutinously, but didn't protest further when her parents followed Dumbledore inside and their little trio was left to wait in the hall.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Harry returned to debating why this had happened in the first place, partially to distract Ginny from her worries, but also because he had a habit of becoming fixated on an idea to the exclusion of all else. His ongoing suspicions of Snape were a perfect example.

Snape. He was always secretly working behind the scenes. Protecting Harry. Saving Ron. Spying for Dumbledore. What would they do without him? He was such a valuable asset. No wonder Voldemort had recruited him.

How had that happened? Given the actions of the man, Hermione didn't understand how he'd ever even been tempted to join the ranks of Death Eaters.

What she wouldn't give to be able to ask him! They were getting on better, certainly, but that topic felt a bit too personal. Perhaps one day though…

It was near dinner before they were finally allowed in to see Ron. His parents had left with Dumbledore to discuss matters more in the privacy of his office. Part of Hermione was surprised that he was even around that weekend, but she was grateful given the events that had transpired.

The twins had arrived minutes after they'd been let in, almost as though they had a source telling them it was finally time to visit so they didn't have to leave their new shop for longer than necessary.

Hermione watched Ron as they discussed the details of what had transpired for the upteenth time. He looked very pale, his skin nearly translucent with the spider webbing network of blue veins clearly visible just beneath the surface. Purple still tinged the corners of his lips and the tips of his fingers too.

He could have died.

Without Harry, he would have.

Thinking of both boys made it dawn on her that she would feel the exact same if it were Harry lying motionless in the hospital bed. Precisely the same.

And she thought of Harry as a brother.

When had Ron transitioned into the same category for her? She'd realized that it would be impossible for her and Ron – because of Snape and their own personalities. But when had he become a brother to her? Had it been a gradual process or was this a sudden revelation? And what had triggered it?

Just as the last thought filled her head, Snape swept into the room. He looked awful. His usual limp, greasy hair was more lank than ever, hanging in damp, tangled curtains shielding most of his face. And he was flushed and sweaty as if from a run, though Hermione suspected it was actually from slaving over a simmering cauldron for the last few hours. The idea was supported by the scent stirred up in the breeze created as he walked briskly towards Ron, charcoal, ethanol, and mandrake if she had to guess. Maybe a bit of mistletoe berries too.

No one spoke as he slowly and carefully poured the contents of an entire goblet of dark liquid down Ron's unprotesting throat.

The two wizards were so completely different. It was such a startling contrast to see them beside one another right then. Snape had none of Ron's charm or outgoing humor. Instead, he was all clever jests disguised as snark and jabs. If Ron was a broadsword, all show and blunt directness, then Snape was a rapier wielded with finesse and finely honed skill.

And Merlin, did he have skill! It was hard to believe that only a few hours earlier, she'd been spread out before him, his tongue licking her core. Just recalling how he'd had her begging for him made her wet and aching for a repeat. Not to mention hot.

Trying to banish her wayward thoughts and cool off, Hermione busied herself with pulling her hair up into a bun on top of her head.

"Is that soot on your cheek, Hermione? Just there, by your ear," Harry said suddenly, gesturing to her face.

"What? Oh, probably," she muttered, scrubbing at the area he'd indicated. Damn Floo.

"How'd you manage that?" Fred asked, smirking a bit. Of course he'd assume it was something untoward. Actually, in this case, for once, it was.

Shocked, Hermione glanced at Snape, her eyes flicking over of their own accord. He was tensed, hand hovering, frozen just above the empty goblet he'd set aside. He avoided turning to look at her as she stuttered, "I, uh, there was a salamander in the fireplace and I dropped my Transfiguration homework too close."

Harry gave her an odd look, and George elbowed Fred meaningfully.

Soot. The Floo. Snape knew there was a way she could have left immediately after they were together and remained discrete, yet he'd not suggested it until it'd been required. What did it mean? How had she not put the pieces together sooner?

"Do you think he'll be all right?" Hermione asked quickly, nodding at Ron.

"Er-my-knee," Ron mumbled at precisely that moment, her name coming out slurred and broken.

Everyone turned to look at her, the twins grinning mischievously and Snape staring blankly. "I should go get Lavender. She should be informed," Hermione said awkwardly, wanting to get away from their sudden scrutiny, and only then realizing no one had thought to inform Ron's girlfriend.

"But he's asking for you," Harry said, frowning at her.

"She's his girlfriend. He'll want to see her when he wakes," she insisted, backing up towards the exit.

"Hermione," Harry began, but she cut him off.

"Stay with him, yeah?"

With that, Hermione turned and headed towards the Great Hall where she could hear the majority of students gathered for dinner. Lavender was easy to find, seated beside Parvati at the end of the bench closest to the doors. She spied Hermione the second she walked in and frowned, arching her neck to see if anyone else was with her. Probably, she was checking to see if Ron was with her.

"We need to get to the hospital wing. There was an incident involving Ron," Hermione said quickly.

"Ron? But…" Lavender began, jumping from her seat and wringing her hands together.

It was easy to hear the tender, concerned way she said Ron's name. It made Hermione wonder if all of the Won-Wons were just for show. She also felt a bit guilty for assuming Lavender was only interested in Ron because he played Quidditch.

"Come on," Hermione urged, leading the other girl out.

"Why did you come get me? I wouldn't have expected you to…" Lavender said, trailing off uncertainly.

"He was asking for you…in his sleep. I thought he'd rather see you than Madam Pomfrey or Professor Snape when he wakes," Hermione replied, noting the genuine panic affecting the other girl.

"Thank you, Hermione," Lavender said sincerely, emotion thickening her voice. All of a sudden Lavender came to a stop, stating, "You're not crying."

"He's going to be fine. Professor Snape brewed a potion that will help," Hermione promised, feeling guilty over all of the unkind thoughts she'd had about Lavender in recent months. It was obvious that whatever her faults, and there were more than a few, she truly cared about Ron. "I'm sorry I didn't think to come get you sooner. Only his parents were able to see him before."

"Listen, Hermione, about after Christmas –"

"It's fine. Really," she insisted, waving off whatever explanation or excuse the other girl was intending to make.

"I thought they should know. You didn't talk to me, and I saw how upset you were. I thought they might be able to help since you do normally talk to them," Lavender continued, ignoring her.

"I haven't spoken to Ron in months," Hermione said dully, regretting that immature decision in light of recent events.

"I know. That's my fault, isn't it?" Lavender asked in a small voice while she watched her foot toeing the floor.

"No, actually. It's Ron's. He wasn't being a very good friend," Hermione said frankly.

"I was jealous of your friendship. I thought maybe you wanted him for yourself now that he's so interesting. I might have encouraged him to stay mad at you about it," Lavender admitted, owning up to what Hermione had already suspected, but never thought the other girl would actually admit aloud.

"Ron's seventeen. He's old enough to make his own choices. But I can assure you – nothing will ever happen between Ron and myself. You have nothing to worry about," Hermione promised emphatically. Something about her tone must have rung true for Lavender, because the other girl stared at her with wide, blue eyes.

"Truly?"

"Maybe…once…but that time has gone, and we are both probably better off for it. At least this way we have a shot at remaining friends after school," Hermione confirmed, starting to walk again and grateful Lavender got the hint and moved with her.

"I love him. He's so funny, and talented, and – and handsome," she gushed. Not really the descriptors Hermione would have chosen – infuriating, challenging, stubborn – those were a much better fit in her opinion. And Lavender didn't wait for a response or any sort of acknowledgement from Hermione before she rushed on, continuing, "I just want to swoon every time he smiles at me or takes his shirt off. Plus, he's so smart. I mean – this is weird. Should I not be talking to you about this? I don't really know where we stand."

Hermione cleared her throat, not sure how she felt or where that left them either, but regardless, said, "It's fine, but you should probably lay off with the whole Won-Won nickname. He's not too fond of it."

"Oh. I thought he would think it clever," Lavender said, flushing a brilliant scarlet that probably matched Ron's hair.

"Not so much," Hermione muttered, wincing at the very idea that anyone in their right mind would ever think such a thing.

"Hermione –" Lavender said, voice barely above a whisper as she hesitated outside the hospital wing, looking frightened of what she was about to walk into. Hermione opened the door for her, nudging her forward.

Only Harry and Ron were still in the room, the two boys quietly talking. Ron looked confused, and Hermione imagined Harry was telling him about how she'd left to get Lavender when he'd called for her.

"Ron," Lavender gasped, rushing to his side. She fidgeted slightly, then sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, not displaying any of her typical overdramatic interactions with Ron.

Hermione wondered if Lavender had just been insecure and was trying to stake out her territory in the only way she knew how. Sort of like the whole Won-Won nickname.

Ron looked from Lavender to Hermione, a flash of hurt crossing his features before he was able to mask it. She partially smiled in response and nodded before slipping back out.

"Hermione, wait!" Harry cried down the hall, chasing after her.

"Yes?"

"I don't get it. Ginny said, but I thought… Well, what was that?" Harry demanded, face scrunching behind his round spectacles.

"Leave it, Harry," Hermione said wearily, the stress of the day catching up to her.

"But that was your chance! You heard him – he wanted you," Harry insisted, grabbing her arms and shaking her slightly as though she was being slow.

"Our chance, as you put it, already came and went," Hermione said softly, smiling slightly to ease the words.

Harry looked momentarily confused before he tried again, saying, "I know he hurt you before, what with Lavender and all, but you know how he can be, Hermione. You've always forgiven him in the past for being thoughtless. Or showing the emotional range of a teaspoon, as you put it."

Hermione was slightly pleased that Harry remembered her words. He'd obviously paid attention – more so than he did in class to what the professors said.

"I'm not mad at him anymore. But I'm also not interested as I was," Hermione explained, knowing it had taken Harry a while to adjust to the idea that his two best mates might one day become romantically involved. Now he was learning that they wouldn't. It always took him a bit of time to come around to changes like that. Probably, it was why it took him six years to figure out he was in love with Ginny.

"You're really not?"

"No. I don't fancy Ron anymore. I'm not willing to risk getting hurt again next time his ego needs inflating, nor am I willing to lower myself to do the inflating. Besides, think about what's going on," Hermione explained, hoping that helping him understand her reasoning would ensure they didn't need to discuss the topic ever again. Except he looked completely confused. Sighing, Hermione elaborated, "We need to help you defeat Voldemort. If we spend all of our time and energy fighting each other, who's going to look out for you?"

"But you wouldn't be fighting anymore if you were together," Harry said, though he looked uncomfortable. Probably, he was slightly unsure of his role in that scenario. Or he suspected that he was wrong about that.

"You don't really believe that, do you? We always fight. That's just how our personalities clash. A relationship wouldn't change us fundamentally. Can you imagine how exhausting it would be? And what happened afterwards? When we inevitably breakup, do you really think Ron would want to stay friends with me, or –"

"He'd never manage it," Harry said faintly, looking a bit ill at ease just considering it.

"One of us needs to be practical, and I'm much better at it," Hermione said, letting a note of finality enter her tone. "This is in all of our, and the wizarding world's, best interest."

"You're set on this then?"

"Yes, I am."

"It's what you want?" he asked, seeking additional confirmation.

"It is," she repeated, amused at the evidence of his protective streak for his friends.

"Then you have my support. I'll let Ron down gently for you," he offered, smiling weakly at her.

"Oh! Harry, thank you," she cried, throwing her arms around him in gratitude and holding onto him fiercely.

Snape walked past them, briefly meeting her gaze over Harry's shoulder. And was it her imagination, or had that been a flash of rage in his eyes? How much had he heard? And did any of it matter to him at all?

"Snape," Hermione called, slipping into his room shortly before curfew. She and Harry had grabbed a quick dinner before he'd decided to check on Ron a final time before turning in for the night. Hermione had spent the whole time debating on whether she should thank Snape in person immediately or let it go.

Ultimately, she wanted to see him too much not to go to him.

He was standing in the middle of the room wearing nothing more than a pair of sleep pants. She walked right over and hugged him, wrapping her arms securely around his bare, lean torso. He stiffened, but she didn't immediately release her hold, running her hands slightly over his back. He'd become so much less intimidating since she'd begun getting to know him.

"There is no need for the theatrics. I was merely doing my job," he said snidely.

"Thank you," she whispered, reluctantly letting go and stepping back.

"Seems I spend the majority of my life rescuing you or one of your idiot friends from one disaster or another," he grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked shattered. Utterly exhausted. It dawned on Hermione that he'd not been to bed the night before because of his work as a spy for the Order, then he'd spent all day preparing potions to save Ron.

"What would we do without you?" she whispered half to herself, deciding to ignore his tone. If she took offense to every time he was short with her, they'd never get anywhere. Not to mention she'd spend entirely too much time huffing before storming off in a rage.

"I believe you can deduce the answer for yourself," he said, lips thinning as his nostrils flared slightly. Somehow her words seemed to anger him.

Tentatively, she said, "About the conversation you heard between me and Harry…"

"I do not care who you fraternize with," he snapped, turning his back on her and moving to light a fire in the cold grate.

"I'm not. With anybody. There's no one," she said anyways, flushing at how stupid she sounded. He'd never asked, and probably didn't care if she was.

"Granger, if you didn't come here because you actually need something, I would appreciate it if you would take your leave. I have not yet slept, if you'll recall, and I cannot do so with you blubbering and babbling," he said tersely, poking at the fire with more vigor than was strictly necessary.

Hermione tensed, prepared to argue with him over the sharp dismissal, but he was correct. She'd just thought as much herself.

Swallowing back her stinging pride, she softly replied, "Of course. Enjoy your rest, Snape."

"Where'd you go?" Harry asked, having managed to beat her back to the common room.

"Just needed a moment to myself. Today was…intense," she lied.

"I'll say," Harry muttered, reclining back against the couch.

"Is Ginny still with Ron and her family?"

"Yeah. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came back after you left. Hagrid too," he said, sitting forward suddenly, anticipation lighting his face.

Oh, Merlin.

"Well go on then, I can see that you're dying to tell me what new secret Hagrid shared," Hermione suggested, internally groaning.

"I'm not sure it was exactly a secret," Harry said, shifting uncomfortably at her pointed look. "You know he doesn't mean to share as much as he does."

"Yet he does all the same. One of these days, him not keeping his mouth shut around the wrong people is going to get us in trouble," Hermione warned, pursing her lips in disapproval.

She loved Hagrid, and knew he meant well, but he had such a bad habit of speaking without any forethought. Hagrid liked to talk to anyone that would listen, and Dumbledore trusted him with more secrets than most. How many times had he let something about the staff slip to her or Harry over the years? And how many times had he drunk too much and shared vital information about security measures at the castle?

"'Fraid it already has more than once," Harry agreed, laughing lightly at some memory or another of Hagrid doing the very thing she was worried about.

But she wasn't laughing – a fact Harry quickly picked up on. His laugh tapered off abruptly, and he rushed on to share what he'd learned.

"Anyways, Hagrid overheard a conversation between Dumbledore and Snape –"

"He was spying on them?" Hermione demanded, startled and a little afraid. What if Hagrid heard them discussing her situation with Snape? Others might learn of it. That could be disastrous…

"No, he was working and didn't want to interrupt," Harry denied, though the spots of red tinging his cheeks belied his words. Even Harry didn't believe that was true.

"Right," Hermione huffed, frowning.

"That's not the point though. Listen, he said they were fighting. Dumbledore is mad at Snape," Harry announced smugly.

"Why?"

"Said Snape didn't want to do something he'd already agreed to do. And, he's not been doing enough to investigate Slytherin to find who's behind the necklace and now Ron," Harry said quickly, watching her eagerly for some sort of reaction.

Questions swarmed her mind, each fighting to be first to be answered. Dumbledore already knew Malfoy was behind what happened, so why would they be fighting over Snape investigating it? Or was Dumbledore upset that Snape hadn't yet stopped things? When had they fought? Was that why Snape had been in a mood when she visited – not that he wasn't normally? Didn't Dumbledore understand that there was only so much Snape could do? There was only so much time in the day – between teaching, spying, being with her, his duties for the school, assisting with potions. It was enough to overwhelm anyone!

"Well? What'd you think?" Harry pressed, interrupting her thoughts and sending them scattering.

"You know what I think, Harry," Hermione said firmly, reminding him, "Dumbledore trusts Snape."

"Yeah, but –"

"No buts, Harry. Hagrid didn't hear any specifics. Their conversation about not doing enough could have been referencing a dozen different things," Hermione said practically, despite knowing it would make Harry defensive.

"Oh, come on, Hermione! Give me one example that doesn't have to do with Snape protecting a guilty Slytherin," Harry challenged intensely, believing that he had her.

"As you saw today, Snape is basically still doing Slughorn's job, despite transferring to DADA. He's probably fed up with having to continue stocking the hospital wing with potions when that's not his job anymore," she answered immediately, grinning triumphantly at Harry's crestfallen expression.

"All right, so you came up with one. That doesn't mean –"

"Harry, don't you think Dumbledore would tell you if he didn't think you should trust Snape? He's spending all this time preparing you for what's to come – including telling you that he trusts Snape. Why do you insist on doubting him?"

"You just don't get it, Hermione. It's impossible for you to think less of a teacher," Harry said, sounding almost pityingly as he sighed and shook his head at her.

"I don't think very highly of Trelawney," she reminded him crossly.

"True. But she was the one to make the prophecy about me, so you know she's not a complete fraud," Harry pointed out, biting back a smile in his anticipation of her reaction.

"Harry, I think you need to stop looking for problems where there aren't any. You've got enough to worry about without adding to it," Hermione said sternly, adopting the lecturing tone she often found herself taking with the boys when they weren't doing what she considered best for them.

"But, Hermione –"

"No! Just no, Harry! You are always wrong about Snape. Year after year. And it's never what you think it is. I wish, just once, you would stop assuming the worst about him simply because he didn't like your father! Merlin, would that really be so hard to do?"

Immediately, Hermione regretted her outburst. The last thing she wished to do was make Harry suspect that she held tender feelings for the man. Because she didn't. Of course not. They were merely bound under cover of darkness out of necessity.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, back off and holding his hands up in surrender. Hermione groaned internally, wondering if Snape's cold reception to her earlier was what had her so on edge and ready to go off. "It's been a long day, yeah? Let's get some sleep, and I'll see you in the morning."

"Hmph," she snorted, but nodded her head all the same, knowing it was the best course of action.