Hermione wandered the narrow aisles of the library's Restricted Sections, rapidly reading the spines of each book in search of anything Transfiguration-related. She'd been ecstatic about the prospect of receiving unlimited access to the school's rarest, most valuable collection of literature, but nonetheless had found herself too distracted by the start-of-year chaos to utilize it.

Finally, a miraculously open Wednesday evening had emerged, presenting her with the opportunity to explore the mysterious section. She planned to spend hours immersed in exploring the books, selecting a few particularly interesting ones to borrow for the week. Quickly, however, the short stack of books she planned to check-out had grown into a small library in itself. Across the room, an irritated Madam Pince scoffed with exasperation at each additional selection Hermione set aside.

A small grin played at Hermione's lips as she spotted the copy of Moste Potente Potions she'd borrowed her second year at Hogwarts. She recalled the overwhelming guilt she'd experienced at tricking Lockhart into signing a permission slip for the book, but also the immense satisfaction she'd felt at her own cunning. While her character was most commonly associated with the traits of Gryffindor or even Ravenclaw, she certainly had a Slytherin side that made occasional appearances, especially when it came to achieving her ends.

Nearing midnight, Hermione left the library, overjoyed by the mound of books overflowing from her arms. She looked forward to the tranquility of quietly reading each selection by the fire, jotting down important concepts and ideas for her lessons. Nothing quite compared to the pleasure of filling her mind with new little pieces of knowledge.

As she quietly traversed the first-floor corridors toward the staircases, Hermione spotted a small witch walking briskly ahead of her. She quickly recognized the woman to be Professor Sweetleaf, her bouncing blonde curls giving her away.

"Mathilda," Hermione called to the Muggle Studies professor, accidentally startling the unsuspecting witch. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you."

"Good evening, Hermione. I assumed everyone would be asleep by now…"

For a moment, Mathilda looked as if she'd been caught in the act of something. An emotion comparable to irritation had flashed in her eyes, only to be masked by her typical cheerful expression. Hermione, curiosity getting the best of her, decided to engage in some casual prying.

"I got a bit caught up in the library. Why are you up and about so late?" Hermione asked nonchalantly, catching up to her colleague at the moving staircases. Mathilda, unprepared for the sudden interrogation, seemed to sputter out the first excuse to pop into her head.

"Leg cramps," she explained with an awkward chuckle, voice noticeably higher in pitch. "They'll keep me up all night if I don't walk them out."

Hermione nodded, the lame excuse further convincing her of the woman's suspiciousness.

"Well, I best be off to bed," Mathilda declared, making a flustered break for the stairs. "Goodnight, then!"

Hermione matched her pace, joining her in her ascent to the next floor. "I'm actually headed in the same direction. Mind if I join?"

Mathilda, for a brief moment, looked sickened by the thought of the company. However, as quickly as Hermione noticed the slip of character, the professor was her happy, bubbly self once more.

"Oh no, silly me! I've forgotten something in my classroom!" Mathilda cried with a forced laugh, swiftly reversing her direction on the staircase. "Go on ahead! Goodnight, Hermione!"

Before Hermione could protest, the little witch had dashed away, leaving her to contemplate the oddness of the interaction. She couldn't ignore Mathilda's distraughtness upon being discovered, as well as the momentary lapses of her usual personality. Although she didn't know the new professor particularly well, the brief exchange was suspicious enough to raise some red flags.

Arms shaking from the heaviness of her library books, Hermione headed to her quarters to retire for the night. She couldn't think of anything immediate to be done about the discomforting exchange, so she opted to get some much-needed sleep before her classes the following morning. Nevertheless, she certainly wouldn't hesitate to keep an eye on Mathila Sweetleaf in the coming days.

The following evening, Severus traced his slender fingers over the bite-shaped scar on his neck as he watched Hermione enter the Great Hall for dinner. She looked exhausted, the dark shadows beneath her eyes revealing that she likely hadn't slept. Even her hair, which she'd attempted to tame each day since working at Hogwarts, had returned to its natural bushiness. Any rejuvenation she'd achieved over the Summer holiday had been lost to the stress of the school year.

As the young witch wearily approached the High Table, Severus prepared himself for a conversation he wished nothing more than to avoid. After a week of inner-conflict and indecision, he'd finally decided to confront Hermione about the incident at Tomes and Scrolls, as well as at the Shrieking Shack three years prior. He couldn't continue to live with the onslaught of emotions the woman stirred within him at every glance.

Taking a seat at the opposite end of the table from him, Hermione silently poured herself a bowl of soup, staring blankly ahead as she took small sips. Severus knew that they weren't on the best of terms, especially after the outburst he'd let slip following their duel at the bookshop. If he wanted the discussion to occur that evening, he'd have to swallow his pride and go over to her.

Leaving his untouched plate of food behind, Severus moved from his seat to fill one of the open spots next to Hermione. Absolute dread filled him as the young witch noticed him approaching, the emotion of her gaze unreadable.

"Professor," Severus began casually, careful to remain unmoved by her stare. "Good evening."

Hermione appeared unsure of how to respond, instead choosing to take a hardy swig of butterbeer. Severus turned around to check that the other professors weren't listening. Sure enough, each of them was animatedly engaged in conversation, completely oblivious to his abrupt switch of seats. He needed to act quickly.

"I trust that the week has treated you well?" Severus asked calmly, pouring himself a glass of his favorite elf-made wine. Hermione continued eating, allowing her silence to speak for itself. She was making her frustration quite conspicuous.

Severus took a quiet breath, preparing himself to force out a few words of thanksgiving. "Professor Granger, I–"

"This is quite unnecessary," the witch deadpanned, not bothering to offer a moment of eye contact. She stood from her seat, hastily collecting her things, and retreated from the staff table. Severus watched her in astonishment, shocked by her slicing use of his own words.

Defeatedly, the wizard took a long sip of wine before standing to leave the hall without a bite to eat. Of all of the outcomes he'd imagined, he hadn't foreseen the woman blatantly refusing to engage with him. While he understood that he'd been harsh to her, the Hermione he'd grown to know had always sucked up to him regardless of the way he'd treated her. Apparently she'd grown a backbone over the years.

Pushing through the grand wooden doors of the Great Hall, Severus made for the dungeons, seething with irritation.

"I should've known," he huffed as he traversed the cold, stone corridors toward his office. "Gryffindors must make everything difficult."

Thank you for reading! I've really appreciated all of your kind words and investment in this story. Much love, friends.