It had been a rough summer so far. The number of muggle deaths was alarming. The bridge had collapsed, Death Eaters had torn through the West Country and Dementors were so numbered in London that there was a freezing mist in the middle of summer. And there were the hideous murders of Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance. And reports of Inferi. The welfare of the Order members was never far from her mind, one Order member in particular.

On a slightly different note, at the start of the holidays she'd had her ritual catch up with her muggle neighbour Sean; they'd been friends since the beginning of Primary School. This year, what with the stress of the War, the stress of exams and the stress of her feelings towards a certain Professor, she hadn't turned down Sean's advances within the first two minutes of conversation. Quite the opposite in fact. He'd made the suggestion, just as he always did, she'd opened her mouth to say "no" once again when a little voice in her head she had a suspicion was a bit of a slut, had whispered "fuck it" in her ear. And she'd listened. And she'd fucked him. Several times. He was rather more experienced than her so she'd ensured he'd taught her everything he knew and as usual, she'd excelled. Hermione was most certainly not a prude any longer.

She was at the Burrow now, she'd arrived about 2 days ago and the disappointed look on her parents face when she'd told them she was leaving after less than 2 weeks was still fresh in her mind. She sighed. She knew her chances of seeing Snape here were about 0 as well which made her even more melancholy. The Weasley's were lovely though, and it was hard to be sad when there were so many of them bustling around. And Harry would be arriving soon. She felt a tiny smile take over her face. Thank God he hadn't had to spend too long with the muggles.

*"Wuzzgoinon?"

"We didn't know you were here already!"

"Ron, don't hit him!"

Harry's hand found his glasses and he shoved them on.

"All right?" Said Ron, grinning.

"Never been better," said Harry, rubbing the top of his head and slumping back onto his pillows. "You?"

"Not bad," said Ron, pulling over a cardboard box and sitting on it. "When did you get here? Mum's only just told us!"

"About one o'clock this morning."

"Were the Muggles all right? Did they treat you okay?"

"Same as usual," said Harry, as Hermione perched herself on the edge of his bed, "they didn't talk to me much, but I like it better that way. How're you, Hermione?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said Hermione, wondering whether Harry was ready to talk about Sirius yet.

"What's the time? Have I missed breakfast?" He asked quickly.

"Don't worry about that, Mum's bringing you up a tray; she reckons you look underfed," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "So, what's been going on?"

"Nothing much, I've just been stuck at my aunt and uncle's, haven't I?"

"Come off it!" said Ron. "You've been off with Dumbledore!"

"It wasn't that exciting. He just wanted me to help him persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name's Horace Slughorn."

"Oh and Dumbledore's going to be giving me private lessons this year," said Harry conversationally.

Ron choked on his bit of toast, and Hermione gasped.

"You kept that quiet!" said Ron.

"I only just remembered," said Harry. "He told me last night in your broom shed."

"Blimey ... private lessons with Dumbledore!" said Ron, looking impressed. "I wonder why he's ... ?"

"I don't know exactly why he's going to be giving me lessons, but I think it must be because of the prophecy."

Harry's face was set and Hermione felt her fingertips go very cold.

"You know, the one they were trying to steal at the Ministry."

"Nobody knows what it said, though," she said. "It got smashed."

"Although the Prophet says - " began Ron.

"The Prophet's got it right," said Harry, looking up at them both. "That glass ball that smashed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore's office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said," Harry took a deep breath, "it looks like I'm the one who's got to finish off Voldemort... At least, it said neither of us could live while the other survives."

The three of them gazed at one another in silence for a moment.

"Harry, oh, Harry..."

A bubble of panic rose in her stomach.

"We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry … Obviously, we didn't want to say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this. ... Oh, Harry . . ." She stared at him, feeling her own fear coursing through her, then whispered, "Are you scared?"

"Not as much as I was," said Harry. "When I first heard it, I was ... but now, it seems as though I always knew I'd have to face him in the end..."

"When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he might be telling you something or showing you something to do with the prophecy," said Ron eagerly. "And we were kind of right, weren't we? He wouldn't be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner, wouldn't waste his time. He must think you've got a chance!"

"That's true," said Hermione. "I wonder what he'll teach you, Harry? Really advanced defensive magic, probably. Powerful countercurses ... anti-jinxes ..."*

And then things just went back to normal between them, as if they hadn't just had confirmation that it was down to Harry to kill one of the most evil wizards of all time. Still, in a way Harry was right, it did sort of feel as if this was how it was always meant to be. She pushed her worry to the very back of her mind.

The next few weeks would have passed pleasantly enough if the days hadn't been interspersed with stories of disappearances and even deaths with increasing frequency. The war was in the open now. Harry's 16th Birthday celebrations were somewhat marred by the raggedly form of Remus Lupin announcing more Dementor attacks and the discovery of Karkaroff's body. Would Snape have been found in the same state if he'd run? Her stomach tightened. She wondered where he was, how he was, what his summer had been like... She missed him. It was stupid really, but she just … missed him. Missed his black robes and his sarcasm and his hair and his sneer and that wonderful depth to him that she'd only caught glimpses of. She missed Snape. If she was truly honest with herself, she knew that her feelings were more than just a crush. She'd had crushes before and they'd never felt … they'd never … never stolen all the air from her lungs, never made her hurt inside like a wound, never made her fingers drip moisture and her stomach flip quite so brutally. But then what did that mean? She didn't think she was in love with him. So what did that leave?

On the morning they were heading back to Hogwarts, Hermione woke early. She would be turning 17 this month. Of age. An adult in the wizarding world. The thought was somehow unsettling. She would be seeing Snape today. Her face went hot. She couldn't wait to see him, it had been so long and she'd been so worried … and today she would finally see him.

It was hard to say which was causing her the largest amount of worry; Snape's absence from the Great Hall, or Harry's. Harry's absence would usually trouble her more, but she'd been so geared up to see Snape, she'd entered the Hall all pounding heart and trembling hands and he hadn't been there. It had felt like someone had suddenly grabbed her intestines and given them a squeeze.

Then when Snape and Harry both entered she felt first a huge rush of relief that they were both alive and present, and then a wave of horror as she took in their appearances. Harry's face was covered with blood. Snape looked … traumatised. Even from this distance she could see the dark shadows under his eyes, the stiffness in the way he walked and the tension radiating from him. Her heart twinged. His summer must have hell. The Death Eaters had caused havoc and surely he would have had to have taken part to maintain his cover…

*Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly.

"The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.

Dumbledore's right hand was as blackened and dead-looking.

"What happened to his hand?" she gasped.

She was not the only one who had noticed. Whispers hit the room; Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold sleeve over his injury.

"Nothing to worry about," he said airily. "Now ... to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you ..."

"His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer," Harry whispered to her. "I thought he'd have cured it by now, though ... or Madam Pomfrey would've done."

"It looks as if it's died," she said, an ominous feeling in her stomach. "But there are some injuries you can't cure... old curses … and there are poisons without antidotes..."

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor Slughorn"— Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waist coated belly casting the table into shadow — "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed resume his old post of Potions master."

"Potions?"

"Potions?"

The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered wheel they had heard right.

"Potions?" said Ron and Hermione together, turning to stare Harry. "But you said —"

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," said Dumbledore, raising voice so that it carried over all the muttering, "will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."*

Snape got the Darks Arts job. She quickly hid her smile as the majority of the Hall looked outraged. Maybe that would cheer him up a little.

The next morning she ran into the man himself down a secluded corridor on her way to Ancient Runes. They were alone.

"Congratulations on getting the Defence post sir." She said quietly, offering him a timid smile and trying to get her heart rate under control. He looked worse close up. It wasn't anything you would really notice unless you were paying attention. His jaw was tense. The lines around his eyes looked deeper. His skin had a grey tinge. His posture was … different somehow.

He said nothing, just looked at her and she immediately felt awkward.

"Are you … how are … how bad was your summer?" She asked hopelessly, trying to fight the blush that was threatening to take over her cheeks.

"You will be late for class Miss Granger." He said, with no hint of a sneer, no hint of malice or sarcasm or warmth or anything … just … nothing. Emotionless.

But there was something stirring in the depths of his eyes and she found she couldn't look away. Hermione took a step closer.

"Are you hurt?" She whispered, hearing the beating of her heart so loudly she was sure it should be echoing around the corridor.

Snape continued to look at her. He opened his mouth for a second, then shut it again without uttering a sound.

"Professor please," she murmured, starting to feel really worried at his lack of anger or annoyance or … anything, "what's wrong? What's happened?"

Still he said nothing, just stared into her eyes and she felt sure she would be unable to look away, even if she wanted to.

She took another step closer, without breaking eye contact and found herself standing almost underneath him, their bodies were inches apart and she felt her breath stutter. Something hideous had happened to poor Snape over the summer; that was the only logical explanation, he seemed … in shock or … something.

"Professor Snape?" A lump had formed in her throat and made her voice hoarse. Still Snape said nothing, only looked down at her with a storm in those endless black eyes.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her hand moved from its place at her side. Slowly it rose through the air beside them and began to reach towards Snape's face, a millimetre at a time and still neither of them broke eye contact.

Her chest hurt.

And then, just when she had the faintest impression of soft skin beneath her fingertips … he was gone. Gone in a rustling of robes and a slight waft of air.

Hermione stood in the corridor, panting for breath, her hand trembling as she lowered it back to her side.

She was very late for her first class.

*"We got so much homework for Runes," she said anxiously when Harry and Ron joined her by the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. "A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and I've got to read these by Wednesday!"

Homework. Focus on that. Not on Snape. Don't focus on him.

Why. Why did she have to have a lesson with him straight after what had happened this morning?

"Shame," yawned Ron.

"You wait," she said resentfully. "I bet Snape gives us loads."

The classroom door opened as she spoke, and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair. Silence fell over the queue immediately and her insides seemed to vacate her body.

Once the class was settled, Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking in a low voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view.

"The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."*

There was a caress in Snape's voice that unsettled her. But she knew he had … respect … for the Dark Arts; that was a bit of a given seeing as he had become a Death Eater. And a sallow skinned, greasy haired, unwashed, unloved little boy with an extensive knowledge of, and interest in the Dark Arts who was bullied by Sirius popped into her head.

*"Your defences," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures" - he indicated a few of the grotesque images as he swept past - "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" - he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony - "feel the Dementor's Kiss" - a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall - "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" - a bloody mass upon ground.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" said Parvati Patil in a high pitched voice. "Is it definite, is he using them?"

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," said Snape, "which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now... "

He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, they watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him.

He was such an impressive figure, especially in this setting, with the curtains closed and the flickering of the candles.

She'd touched his face.

"... you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air automatically and she immediately wished it hadn't. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he had no choice, before saying curtly, "Very well - Miss Granger?"

She felt her cheeks heat as he said her name.

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," she said, proud of her steady voice, "which gives you a split-second advantage."

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six," said Snape dismissively (over in the corner, Malfoy sniggered), "but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some" - his gaze lingered maliciously upon Harry - "lack."

"You will now divide," Snape went on, "into pairs. One partner will attempt jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."*

He was pretending nothing had happened earlier. Good. She could do that too.

But what had made him act like that? What had happened that was troubling him so?

She didn't particularly care when he ignored her success; she hadn't made a fool of herself. That was the main thing.

*"Pathetic, Weasley," said Snape, after a while. "Here - let me show you -"

He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry seemed to react instinctively and he yelled, "Protego!"

His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. She was halfway towards going to help him when she remembered herself; she could not possibly do so in front of so many people, she'd nearly done something incredibly dangerous. The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?"

"Yes," said Harry stiffly.

"Yes, sir."

"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor."

That had been totally uncalled for. Snape actually hadn't provoked Harry at all that time. Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively behind Snape's back and she felt a stab of anger.

Boys.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," said Snape. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter ... not even 'the Chosen One.'" *

She tried to wait around after the lesson to see if her Professor was alright, in more ways than one, but he quickly exited the classroom and disappeared into his office leaving her scowling and worried.

But then they were speculating about what Harry's first lesson with Dumbledore would consist of and she happily allowed her mind to drift away from that troubling man.

*"It's supposed to smell differently to each of according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and -"

Snape.

Oh God.

It smelled like Snape.

Just … him … maybe a little of potions ingredients and … something earthy….

She felt herself turn slightly pink and did not complete the sentence.*

Snape.

He continued to avoid her and she saw him only in lessons over the next few weeks, and even then he paid her almost no attention. It was horrible.

She turned 17.

She was legally an adult.

Not that it made much difference to anything.

Dumbledore was more absent than he was present. There were frequent reports of more attacks, more disappearances, more deaths and a particularly horrible incident where Hannah Abbott was pulled out of class to be told her Mother was dead. Hermione hadn't seen her since.

And there was something about that damn Prince's textbook that really troubled her, it wasn't just that she thought he was bad, or she was jealous, it was something deeper than that. She had a feeling similar to when you enter a room with a purpose, and then immediately forget what that purpose was. It was really quite irritating.

Half way through October they were heading back from a snowy and disastrous Hogsmeade trip, when she noticed Katie Bell and her friend arguing in front of them. She barely had time to feel curious when the girl *made to grab hold of the package Katie was holding; Katie tugged it back and the package fell to the ground.

At once, Katie rose into the air, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly. Yet there was something wrong, something eerie... Her hair was whipped around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression. They all had all halted in their tracks, watching.

Then, six feet above the ground, Katie let out a terrible scream. Her eyes flew open but whatever she could see, or whatever she was feeling, was clearly causing her terrible anguish. She screamed and screamed; Leanne started to scream too and seized Katie's ankles, trying to tug her back to the ground. Harry, Ron, and Hermione rushed forward to help, but even as they grabbed Katie's legs, she fell on top of them; Harry and Ron managed to catch her but she was writhing so much they could hardly hold her. Instead they lowered her to the ground where she thrashed and screamed, apparently unable to recognize any of them.

All she could do was stare in horror feeling as frozen as if by the cold.

"Stay there!" Harry shouted over the howling wind. "I'm going for help!"

It seemed a long time before Harry came back. Hermione had read so much about Healing … she ought to know how to help … but she just didn't.

"Get back!" shouted Hagrid. "Lemme see her!"

"Something's happened to her!" sobbed Leanne. "I don't know what —"

Hagrid stared at Katie for a second, then without a word, bent down, scooped her into his arms, and ran off toward the castle with her. Within seconds, Katie's piercing screams had died away and the only sound was the roar of the wind.*

It was afterwards that the whole incident scared her. She was okay when it happened, ok during the discussions that followed … but then in the evening, after they'd eaten, she'd headed for the Library alone… And then… The enormity of what had happened hit her over the face like a sledge hammer. She didn't even know if Katie would live, if she was still alive.

Hermione walked over to the nearest window and slumped onto the window seat, instantly becoming absorbed in her thoughts.

"Miss Granger it is 4 minutes past curfew." Said a cold voice behind her and she turned to face Snape blinking in confusion. She'd had over an hour when she'd left the Hall.

"Oh." Was all she could manage to say as she stared at her Professor. He looked utterly exhausted.

"Well go to bed." He snapped.

"Sir, do you know how Katie Bell is?" She asked him, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

He sighed.

"Professor McGonagall mentioned you were there." He said, almost to himself and then indicated she should follow him into an empty classroom. He closed the door behind them with a snap. "She should live, it appears she only touched the necklace with a very small amount of skin, that made the curse easier to break but it still did a huge amount of damage. She's been transferred to St. Mungo's."

"But she'll be ok?"

"I believe so."

She felt the corner of her eyes prickle and blinked crossly.

"You helped." Hermione said quietly, remembering Madam Pomfrey telling her that Snape often aided in serious injuries.

"I know considerably more about the Dark Arts than Madam Pomfrey." He muttered, his tone bitter.

"Well that was certainly a good thing today." She answered, the conviction in her own voice startling her. Snape's eyes snapped up to hers and he frowned.

Silence settled between them but Snape did not ask her to leave.

She drank in the sight of him, feeling as if she'd been starved of his presence, then frowned. He was perched on an empty desk, his hands gripping the table a little too tightly, there was a hint of stubble on his face and his eyes were almost bleary. Again she had the feeling that something terrible had happened to him.

"Tell me about your summer." She said suddenly, hoping that he wouldn't get angry and make her leave. He was staring at her oddly, looking almost as if he was having some sort of argument within his own mind, but she did not look away, silently willing him to talk.

He didn't speak for so long that when she finally heard his voice she almost jumped.

"You read the Daily Prophet?"

She nodded, trying to hide her confusion.

"Then you know what the Death Eater's have been doing?"

Again, she nodded.

"Then you know about my summer." He finished simply.

All those disappearances, all those attacks, all those … deaths…

"You killed people?" Her voice was steady; she'd already considered this possibility many times.

"As good as." He answered, his expression defiant … but also … resigned.

He expected her to run.

"What does that mean?"

He stared at her for a long time, so long that she almost started to wonder if she should run, but no, she trusted Snape. Even if he had killed people, that was awful. Awful for him too. That was what he had to do to maintain his cover. For Dumbledore, for the Order, for all the lives he would save with such valuable inside information. Hermione wanted to see Voldemort defeated with everything she had, but could she live his life? Was she strong enough? He was so, very brave.

Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face because Snape's expression had changed; he looked confused and a little worried now.

"I watched people die. Muggles, muggleborns, squibs, blood traitors. I sat there and I watched." His voice was low and his eyes seemed to have darkened. "Some Death Eaters just love killing. So they are allowed to kill. Others prefer torture and so they torture. Some prefer rape. Are you getting the picture now, Miss Granger? Is that in depth enough for your know-it-all tendencies or would you like more details?" He hissed.

She ignored his questions and his tone for the time being, trying to process what she'd just learnt. Far from scaring her off, which she was sure had been Snape's reluctant intention, she just wanted to … hug him. How terrible that he had to go through so much, and so much alone.

"And what about you?" She asked him quietly.

His brows furrowed and he looked rather taken aback.

"I take it you don't love killing, or torturing, or … or raping. So what is it that you do?"

He blinked, swallowed, and then turned his head away from her, his hair curtaining his face.

"My speciality is the Imperius curse." He answered, his voice barely above a whisper. "But don't delude yourself into some ridiculous notion of me. I force ordinary people to do hideous things, things you couldn't possibly begin to imagine Granger. And if other … activities … are required of me, I do them too."

"You don't have a choice." She whispered, her throat tight, as she thought of what he must have suffered.

"There is always a choice." He responded, his voice desolate.

She moved around the room until she was in his eye line and then she stepped closer to him.

"Is that what's making you so very sad, Professor?" She asked cautiously, and knowing her suspicions were correct when she saw the fleeting look of mingled surprise and panic on his face.

He stood from the desk rather quickly but Hermione took a step closer to him once again.

"Please don't run." She implored, trying not to focus on how very close they were now.

He flashed her a glare but sat slowly back onto the desk. Hermione did a victory dance in her head. Silence settled between them again and it seemed that Snape would not answer her. His eyes were downcast and his whole demeanour seemed … defeated. Now she'd named the emotion that was plaguing him, it seemed entirely obvious that he was sad. Terribly sad. It seemed to be coming off of him in waves. Sadness and … something else, but to a lesser degree.

"It is not what I've done." He said slowly, what seemed like a long time later. "Yet."

She frowned.

"It's something you're going to do then?" She asked, his flinch at her words confirmation enough. "Don't do it." She said, hating seeing her Professor this way, feeling her own chest hurt for him, for his terrible sorrow.

"I must." He whispered, his eyes fluttering closed momentarily.

"There is always a choice." Hermione said quietly, echoing his words from earlier.

He looked up at her then, and when his cold black eyes seemed to soften, she felt a weight in her head and then despair and dread and an overwhelming fear that tore at her heart, before he looked away again, leaving her panting and desperate to help him.

"This is the exception … I have no choice." He said, his voice forced and empty.

He'd turned away from her again and she took one last step closer to him, hesitantly resting her right hand on his shoulder. He jerked away from her initially, but she gently put her hand back and he didn't move away this time. Their eyes met once more, and he sent her a look heavy with so much emotion she thought she might suffocate, and do so willingly, it if would help him. Then he dropped his head and slumped forwards, seemingly overwhelmed by whatever it was to come.

Hermione squeezed his shoulder, wishing she could do something for him, anything. The top of his bowed head was very close to her. It would be so easy for her to lean forwards and … kiss it… No. No. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a lump form in her throat. She mustn't. The last thing she needed now was to scare him off.

"Will you ever tell me what it is?" She asked, her voice a hoarse whisper as she desperately sought to control her emotions.

"I cannot speak of it." He said quietly, talking to the floor. "I should not have even spoken this liberally, you must not tell anyone, this is - this must remain - "

"I won't say anything, to anyone, ever, I … I promise." She said quickly, and he seemed to relax ever so slightly at her words.

"Go to bed, Miss Granger."

But she couldn't just leave him … not like this… She tightened her hand on his shoulder, and then she did something incredibly reckless.

Slowly, she moved herself even closer to him, so close their bodies were almost touching, and then with her left hand, she guided his bowed head towards her, bringing him to rest with his forehead on her right shoulder. This lack of resistance seemed to Hermione to be a testament to how much turmoil he was in. She brought her hand to the back to his head, her fingers revelling in the feel of his soft hair, and her heart aching.

Hermione never knew how long they remained that way, his head on her shoulder, their bodies treacherously close, but when she finally returned to the Gryffindor Tower, there was almost no one left in the Common Room and Lavender and Parvati were both asleep in their dormitory. What had finally made her leave her Professor had not been the cold, or her tiredness or his anger. He'd said "Go now." in a hushed, calm voice, followed by a gentle "Please." And she'd obeyed. Never in her whole school career had Snape ever said please to her before. She'd run her hand over his hair, given his shoulder a final squeeze and stepped away from him, instantly feeling more cold, and more tired and more … alone. They'd regarded one another in silence, his face softer than usual, but quite expressionless, before she'd offered him the smallest of smiles, and quietly exited the room.

So here we go, another chapter! I am SO sorry it's been so long since I posted - I worked that fun but mental event I mentioned last chapter, then at my usual job they needed my to do full time hours for 10 days, plus extra time, then a day after that finished I was supposed to move back out of my parents house so I had mental packing and moving problems. But anyway I'm in my lil uni house now and here we are. I won't leave it as long between chapters again (at least I'll try very hard not to), but now I'm studying I won't have as much free time, so updates will be a bit less frequent than they used to be.

Still, this chapter is my longest so far (I think) and it's highly Snermione orientated so I hope that makes up for my absence a tiny bit :)

Also from now on, anyone who reviews as as guest (as in, without a logged in fanfic account) I'll respond individually on the next posted chapter. It's really bugged me that I haven't thanked anyone for taking the time. So if you've reviewed without an account before I'm so sorry I haven't responded but I will from now on, it would just take too long to go through all the previous ones and I'm a bit short on time. It would make it easier for me if you could leave some sort of a name rather than "guest" or "anon" just so I can leave a little note for you on the next chapter. That will make these end notes a bit longer but I really want to be able to respond in some way :)

Thanks for sticking with me.

*Text in between asterisks* from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince - J.K Rowling