A couple of hours later, Hermione awoke to find herself in the common room next to the roaring fireplace with the sounds of people waking drifting down from the dormitories. She rubbed her eyes and pulled out a notebook, waiting for Neville and Ginny to emerge. Neville appeared rather quickly, likely due their first lesson Herbology class. He was grinning widely, clutching his bag in one hand, and a pair of dragon hide gloves in the other.

"Morning Neville," Hermione smiled weakly. "You're up early this morning. Looking forward to class?"

"Oh, yes!" he chirped. "We're going back to the Venomous Tentaculas today, and we'll be getting really close up, and it's going to be so useful for my research project! Gran even sent me these gloves! She said she's proud of me!"

Hermione gasped. "Professor Sprout offered you a research project? Damn, Nev, why didn't you say anything?" She pulled him into a hug and squeezed him tightly. He friend blushed as they pulled apart, and scratched at his head awkwardly.

"She spoke to me after class last week - the thursday session that you missed, you know? She was impressed with my observations on the Venomous Tentacular and offered to help me research further and publish my observational findings. Of course, I'm going to get a lot closer to the plants themselves, being that I'll be studying them, so Gran thought I could do with the right equipment."

Soon, Ginny joined them and the three wandered down to breakfast, the two young women trying desperately to keep up with the research proposal of their excited friend. They were both incredibly happy for the boy, and yet Hermione couldn't help but feel a sinking in her stomach. She wanted it to be her. She wanted to prove that she had the knowledge, and that she was good enough. She wanted people to recognise that in some areas, she wasn't inferior.

But of course you are. Who on earth would want to work with you? They'd be tying their name to a mudblood. Even if you're good at potions, Snape would still choose Draco over you. Draco is a real wizard, he actually commands some respect.

If she became quieter throughout the meal, her friends didn't notice as Neville filled the silences with his enthusiasm.

It was incredibly useful to her to be working with him in potions, although guilt rose high at the thought that her abilities in their class would be carried by her companion, and so she tried to absorb as much of the information as she could. Although she found the true understanding and free-thinking to be utterly beyond her, she was at least confident that she would pass her NEWT highly. In fact, she would pass all of her NEWTs with reasonable grades, but could she settle for reasonable? Panic shot through her quickly, and she scratched at her arm, biting her lip as she watched Neville dissect a leaf in front of her, explaining the internal intricacies of the plant. A glance around the room made it apparent that all other pairs were merely noting down the size, shape, colour and texture, and looking for variances, while Neville had drove in headfirst with the keen eye of Professor Sprout constantly appearing at their table to provide useful hints, and to gush over Neville's findings.

By the time the lesson ended, despondent was a mild term for how Hermione was feeling. In fact, she was on a hair's edge, and it didn't take much to tip her over.

The Slytherins were already outside when she arrived for potions, checking the time and finding that there was five full minutes until the lesson was due to begin. They smirked as they saw her arrive, and the group slowly began to approach her, stalking like predators towards their lone and vulnerable prey. She gulped, glancing behind her, but seeing no one there to provide relief. So instead, she lifted her chin and kept her pace, moving into the throng to stand by the door, ready to enter the moment her Professor opened the door to the classroom.

A tall male grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her backwards.

"Tut tut," he grinned. "Shouldn't a mudblood like you learn your place? Real wizards first, you can crawl in at the end."

Another boy chuckled. "On your hands and knees, like the animal you are."

Pansy laughed loudly. "Mudblood! Shouldn't even be here. Isn't that right, Draco?"

Hermione glanced at the pale blonde boy, standing slightly back from the crowd. Her honey eyes focused on his, silently begging him to help her, and he glanced around quickly at the group around him before sauntering into their midst and standing before her.

"We shouldn't even be talking to her? It's not like she's worthy of our presence," he proclaimed haughtily.

Pansy moaned. "I can't believe you're stuck with her in this class, Draco. I don't know what Professor Snape was thinking, to pair the unworthy bitch with a pureblood such as you." She placed a hand on his arm, and gave him a look so sympathetic that Hermione couldn't doubt that it was real. She sucked in a quick breath, and slowly took a step back.

Blaise stalked her, pushing her back against a wall and immediately panic shot through the girl.

Not again. Please, not again. I can't take it. I can't take this. They're right. I shouldn't be here. I don't deserve to be here. I'm a mudblood. I should be with my kind.

She scratched at her arm, feeling the letters rise up on her flesh once more.

Mudblood.

He moved his face in, his body blocking her from escape, and she let out a whimper, sinking to the floor and curling up into a tight ball. The Slytherins all laughed, raucous laughter, and several of them patted Blaise on the back.

"Well done, Zabini!"

"You've certainly put that thieving whore back in her place!"

Whore.

She rocked forwards, and relief shot through her when the door to the classroom opened, and their forebidding teacher leaned against the door frame.

"Get in. All of you."

The crowd removed themselves from her, and all Hermione could do was to shoot a distressed cry at her Professor as she rose to her feet and fled, as quickly as she could with tears blurring her vision.

She stayed in her chambers the rest of the day, staring at the fire that she asked Spiffy for. The elf was a picture of mothering concern, and Hermione was grateful as he appeared at regular intervals to provide her with pots of tea and plates of sandwiches. She couldn't eat. She nibbled the corner of one sandwich, the rest staying on the table as her tea was drank and refilled. She didn't spare a thought to the classes she'd missed, or the knowledge she'd need to catch up on. She didn't look once at the open research on her desk.

She watched the flames. She drank the tea. She gave Spiffy a wan smile. She used the bathroom. She repeated the actions.

At some point in the evening, a knock arrived at her door, and Hermione blinked to realise that the room was in darkness save for the still burning fire. She lit several candles around the room with a flick of her hand, and rose to answer the door with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, hoping beyond hope that the intruder wasn't one Albus Dumbledore.

It wasn't. Instead, it was the other teacher that she would really rather not see. At this point, she would almost prefer the Carrows, the ones that didn't have her trust and didn't even bother to hide their hatred of her. With this stern man, she never knew what to expect from him, or what he was truly thinking at all.

He scowled. "May I come in, or are we just going to chat in the hallway?"

She froze for only a moment before stepping aside and allowing her Professor into her chambers. He immediately strode over to her sofa, settling comfortably and grabbing a sandwich from the plate on her table.

She sat timidly on the chair beside him, moving her blanket to cover her legs.

"I would like to know why you didn't turn up for our Occlumency lesson," he told her neutrally, and Hermione felt tears prick her eyes once more at his cool demeanor.

She took a deep breath. "I was feeling quite unwell. I apologise for not letting you know in advance."

He scoffed, and took a bite of his snack, swallowing before speaking once more. "Really? If you're unwell, then why haven't you been to see Madam Pomfrey?"

Somehow, he knew, and she dropped her gaze to her lap. "I'm sorry. I had an altercation before Potions today," she whispered.

"I saw. Doesn't explain the absence from our 'detention'."

She frowned. "Aren't you angry that I skipped Potions?"

"No. That, Miss Granger, was understandable. 10 points from Gryffindor, by the way."

She shot him a look, and his lips twitched.

"Your absence this evening, however, is something that I will not tolerate in future."

"Sir! I-"

He quieted her with a glare. "I am taking my own time away to do you this favour. And it is a favour, Miss Granger, not an obligation. So if you wish me to continue being so kind as to help you, then you'll respect our agreed meetings. I can assure you that there won't be any other students present during these."

Maybe that was a problem, her mind whispered. After that dream last night.

Can't let her infect us with her filth.

She cringed, and he leaned towards her. "What happened?"

"I had another dream last night."

"Well I didn't think they were unusual for you."

"They're not. But this one involved you."

"Involved me how?"

She shook her head rapidly, passing him a pleading glance and he let out a sigh.

"Do you genuinely think I would hurt you, Hermione?"

The use of her given name made her start, but the informality helped in its own way. This was the man who had protected his students thoroughly throughout the years, from everything other than his own caustic attitude. The number of times that he had helped Harry and the Order…

"No," she said surely. "I trust you."

"You do know that dreams aren't real?" he asked her, as if speaking to a small child, and she felt irritation shoot through her.

"Yes," she snapped. "You do know that belittling someone doesn't make them feel better?"

He shrugged. "It makes me feel better."

"Being belittled or doing the belittling?"

He snorted, and Hermione's lips twitched.

He grabbed a napkin and wiped the crumbs from his hands. "Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked.

"Please."

"Spiffy," she called, and the elf appeared in front of her with a smile.

"Yes Missy? You have company!" he squeaked. "Is Missy Granger doing better?"

She smiled back at him. "Yes, thank you Spiffy. Would you mind bringing some more tea, for Professor Snape as well as myself?"

"Of course, Missy!"

"He seems to like you," Severus noted. "I guess you didn't scare him off with your ridiculous cause?"

She hissed. "It wasn't ridiculous! They've got some form of Stockholm Syndrome, most of them. Maybe he's grateful."

Spiffy reappeared with a pop.

"Spiffy," Professor Snape addressed the elf. "Are you happy serving Miss Granger?"

"Oh yes, Professor sir! Missy Granger is very kind to us elves!"

"Were you here when she tried to sneak socks to you all?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Professor sir! I spoke to Master Headmaster, and he said that if I were to be given a sock or such like, I'd still be able to stay at Hogwarts, that us elves wouldn't have to leave if we were freed! He even pays wages to those of us who want them, and I put mine aside for any future children!"

Snape smiled a genuine smile, and patted Spiffy's hand. "I'm very pleased that you are happy with your employment, Spiffy."

The elf vanished once more, and Hermione stared at her Professor, dropped jaw and all.

"Well, you didn't think I'd treat him cruelly, did you?"

"Well most of your k-" she broke off with a flush, and shrunk with embarrassment. "I mean, most real wizards are happy to keep them as slaves."

"Most real wizards, Miss Granger?"

"You know," she trailed off and finished with a quiet murmur. "Half bloods and purebloods, you know? Most people who belong in the wizarding world are quite used to elves…"

"Don't EVER let me hear you say that again," he hissed venomously. "There is no such thing as a 'real' witch or wizard based on blood. "Anyone who thinks otherwise is an absolute fucking idiot."

Hermione sniffed. "Even the Ministry are promoting the anti-muggle movement. Just look at our curriculum."

He snorted. "The Ministry is corrupt."

She gave him a wan smile. "But does that mean they are truly wrong? You can be both corrupt and correct."

"They're wrong," he told her firmly. "And if I hear you mention blood status as a way of hating yourself, then you'll lose so many house points that your remaining time here will be a living hell."

The girl scoffed. "As if it isn't already."

He reached awkwardly for her hand before dropping his arm limply to his side at the last moment. "This war is hell, for some of us more than others. Having suffered doesn't mean you must continue to do so."

"You speak as if I can control how people treat me," she stated bitterly. "You know I have no control over the deep-rooted beliefs of others. I have no control over how people see me, what they want to do to me. I cannot stop my own suffering."

"You can," he snapped. "You can't stop the pain, you can't always stop the events, but you can carry on living. Not this ghostly imitation. You've given up, and I'm here to tell you that things will get better. You will find people, even where you least expect them, who will want to support you and share your goals and your cause."

Like you.

She smiled at him and nodded, before her joy soured. "Like you and Professor Vector?" she asked softly.

"That is one example. I understand that you've sent your parents away?"

She nodded. "I had to," she tried to explain desperately.

"I know," he replied shortly. "You may not have family here anymore, but you still have friends, no matter how idiotic and vapid they may be."

"My friends are not idiotic or vapid! Neville was always afraid of you, and Ginny is just insecure! It's a phase!"

He lifted a hand. "I have absolutely zero interest in your friends, Miss Granger. I'm simply saying that the family we choose if sometimes better than the family we were born with."

The words were tinged with bitterness, and Hermione felt herself warm towards the man. "Is Professor Vector the family you chose?" she asked quietly.

"In some ways, I am lucky," he mused. "Septima is both the family I was born with, and the family I chose."

"Family?" she frowned. "You're related."

"You're feeling nosy," he muttered. "She is my cousin on my mother's side."

Hermione thought it through, and then let out a small elated laugh. "How could no one have guessed?" she giggled. "Dark hair, pale skin, stern attitude…"

He glared fiercely. "I think that's enough for tonight. Get some rest. I'll have to spend my Friday night with you instead."

"I am sorry," she said. "Thank you for freeing up your time for me."

"You're welcome." She shot from the room without a backwards glance, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Hermione kept grinning, her hands tight around her warm teacup. He wasn't with Vector. She didn't know why that made her happy, and she didn't want to analyse it. Still, the sound of her name on his lips… it made him more human. It made her feel less alone.

Hermione.

She cleared away, and made her way to Gryffindor tower with a lighter heart.