A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is late - the last few days of November are crazy, for those of us who do National Novel Writing Month, and I just completely forgot to post Tuesday's chapter. So here it is, and Saturday's will be up later today or tomorrow.

Chapter 5: Doing The Research

The first two weeks of school had never seemed longer. At least the questions about 'when' and 'who' were starting to die down now. (It was possible that threatening to hex an impertinent Ravenclaw's ears off had had something to do with it.) Hermione was actually starting to enjoy classes again, especially Arithmancy and Runes, in which only the occasional twinge of nausea reminded her about the baby at all.

Hermione leaned back, frowning at her Potions essay. She'd worked hard over it - carefully pruning it to exactly the two feet specified, researching the subject meticulously, staying exactly on topic all the way through and writing it especially neatly. It was the first one, and she wanted to demonstrate her willingness to work hard and her desire to make this as easy for him as possible.

She'd approached him on their first day to tentatively suggest giving up the class. He'd asserted that he'd like nothing more, but that Professor McGonagall had insisted, and had then slammed his office door in her face. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to have to teach her now, but his reaction had hurt a little all the same.

She rolled up the scroll, sealing it with a tap of her wand so that only the intended recipient would be able to open it. She didn't entirely trust Ron not to peek into it before handing it over since she knew quite well he hadn't done his essay yet. "Ron? Will you give this to Professor Snape tomorrow?"

Ron accepted the sealed scroll, tried to peek into it - he was so predictable - then sighed and shoved it into his bag. "You really are mental, Hermione, it's not even due until Thursday." "I know, but it's done, so I might as well get it out of the way." Hermione pulled her Ancient Runes textbook out of the stack beside her and flipped through to the pink paper bookmark that indicated 'today's reading'. (Blue was for 'needs review', yellow was 'current essay', and red was 'likely to be on the exam'.) Instead of studying, though, she found herself staring blankly at the paper as she thought about the mystery-wrapped-in-a-temper that was the Potions master. She didn't know much about him, really... she'd found what information there was about Eileen Prince, of course, which had at least given her warning that poor eyesight ran in the Prince family, and she'd have to look out for it. Other than that, though, what she knew about Snape was limited more or less to 'Potions teacher, spy, incredibly brave, horrible temper, sarcastic wit, smarter than me'. The odds were therefore good that her baby would be intelligent and have problem hair, with an even chance of needing glasses, but that wasn't really a lot to go on. "Harry?"

"Mm?" Harry was working on his Transfiguration homework, his hair ruffled up more than ever from being clutched at in frustration. "What?"

"Do you still have that Potions textbook?"

He blinked, looking up. There was no need to specify which one. "No. It's still in the Room of Requirement, I suppose, wherever that is when nobody's in there. It can stay there forever as far as I'm concerned. Snape hasn't said anything about it."

"Snape doesn't talk to Harry at all if he can help it," Ron said, frowning. "Loads of filthy looks, though."

Hermione nodded. "Could you get it for me?" she asked tentatively.

Both boys stared at her. "Hermione, you always hated that book," Ron said disbelievingly. "You wanted Harry to get rid of it, right from the beginning. Why do you want it now?"

'Because I want to know more about my baby's father' would not be a good answer. At all. "Because I'm curious," she said, keeping her voice as casual as possible. "Anyway, I can't go to classes for most of this year, if I don't do something, I'll fail my N.E.W.T. for certain."

"Well..." Harry frowned reluctantly. "I don't think it's a good idea, Hermione, you said yourself that some of the stuff in there was a bit... nasty."

"I'm not interested in the little jinxes in the margins, Harry," Hermione said reproachfully. "It's the actual potion notations I want to read, you know, the ones you only took any interest in if they helped you cheat in class..."

"Oh, don't start that again." Harry scowled. "All right, all right, I'll get you the book if you want it. When I've got time. Right now, though, can you explain this bit again? I don't have a clue what McGonagall means about fundamental states of being..."

It took two days, but eventually a slightly battered-looking book was dropped in front of Hermione. "Do whatever you want with it," Harry muttered, turning away. "Burn it, whatever, I don't care."

Harry had never forgiven the Half-Blood Prince for turning out to be Professor Snape. Even the ghost of Albus Dumbledore testifying that he had ordered Professor Snape to kill him, that he was completely loyal to the Order, and so on, had not changed Harry's opinion of the Potions Master. He'd simply downgraded slightly from 'Death Eater, I always knew it' to 'slimy coward who made sure he'd come out all right no matter who won'.

In Harry's defence, it was mutual.

Hermione opened the book gently, smoothing the page marked with cramped handwriting, so different from the spiky, elegant scrawl that Severus Snape used as an adult. Changing your handwriting style was difficult; he must have worked hard at it... and that, in itself, was an insight into the way the man worked. He'd deliberately discarded that semi-legible, tiny writing for something more... dignified? Adult? Slytherin? Interesting.

Harry, she was quite sure, had flicked through, looking for anything interesting in the margins while ignoring the painstaking corrections and emendations to the text itself. Hermione tucked a piece of parchment under her elbow and made sure her quill was sharpened, in case notes needed to be made, and started at the first page.

An hour later she'd completely forgotten about learning about Snape, being far too absorbed by learning about Advanced Potions. And she'd had to find more parchment for her notes.

Severus glared at the inoffensive parchment spread out before him. Hermione Granger had completed her essay two days before it was required. It was precisely two feet long, neither more nor less. Her research was perfect, her logic was flawless and her handwriting was even clearer than usual.

He hated it.

If it had been below her usual standard, he could have told Minerva that she wasn't keeping up. If it had been her usual standard, he could at least have picked at every flaw until it gaped wide, justifying the low mark he wanted to give her. But the damn thing was very nearly perfect. Aside from the usual complete lack of original thinking, but there wasn't a lot of that required in an essay on the uses of foxglove. He was going to have to give her a good mark, damn it.

He scrawled an especially spiky E at the top of the parchment and rolled it up.

Then he unrolled it again. It was lacking in original thinking. All Miss Granger's work was, including her answers in class. They were either quotations or careful paraphrases from assorted textbooks. Nor was it only Potions that seemed to fail to stimulate any enthusiasm - her work in Defence Against the Dark Arts had been exactly the same, although somewhat below her usual standard in Potions.

But Hermione Granger wasn't incapable of original thought, nor of problem solving without help. She had solved his logic-puzzle in minutes, in her first year, and that puzzle had required not only the following of instructions, but also the ability to reason out what was missing from the shape of what was present. And she'd only been twelve then. At thirteen, she'd made an intuitive leap and deduced the presence of a Basilisk when even her teachers had failed to realise the obvious (although she had had information from Potter that they had not).

He'd never given her much thought before. At first she'd been only Potter's annoying, quotation-spouting friend, and later just a competent healer and moderately capable fighter during the war. It had never occurred to him to wonder why the wretched girl lacked a creative spark, although he'd tried often enough to prod her into showing one. But now that she was preying on his mind for reasons quite unrelated to her schoolwork the question had finally presented itself - why would a gifted and intelligent student deliberately fail to apply her creative abilities to her schoolwork?

Frowning thoughtfully, he reached for a blank sheet of parchment, preparing to take notes. Her essays had been returned, of course, but copies of her exams - including her O.W.L. results for Potions - had been put in his records along with everyone else's. Perhaps if he examined her work with more attention than he'd previously paid it, he'd find some sort of explanation...

Two hours later he was hopelessly behind on his marking and growing increasingly frustrated. The pattern was growing more and more apparent, but he couldn't for the life of him work out why the girl was intellectually hamstringing herself. And he needed more blank parchment for his notes.

"I think she's definitely settling back down," Remus Lupin said hopefully, pouring himself another cup of tea. He'd been worrying a lot about Hermione, and had been watching anxiously for signs of improvement. "There's a lot of talk among the students, obviously; there's no avoiding that, and she was a bit nervy for a while, but..."

"She was positively peaky," Pomona said, taking another biscuit. "Some of it can be blamed on the pregnancy, of course - plays merry hell with the emotions."

"She has seemed rather better the last few days," Filius said, leaning back in his chair. "Brighter. More herself."

Saturday afternoons were a pleasant time in the Hogwarts staff room... there was nothing to do that couldn't wait for Sunday, unless there were detentions to supervise, and it gave everyone a chance to catch up on what was going on with the students. Since the beginning of term, Hermione Granger had been a primary topic of conversation.

"Does anyone know why?" Hooch asked cheerfully, helping herself to the biscuits. "Father showing signs of relenting, maybe? Doing the right thing?"

"According to Harry, she's got some sort of research project going on," Remus said, smiling rather fondly. "Up until now, she's had to spend quite a lot of her time doing things for him... finding out about Basilisks and Nicolas Flamel and Horcruxes and so on. It must be nice for her to have time for her own research."

"Girl spends too much time reading," Hooch said firmly. (Everyone called Hooch by her surname. There were rumours that her mother called her by her surname.) "She needs more exercise, especially in her condition."

"I think running up and down stairs to all her classes is probably all the exercise she can take, in her condition," Pomona said. "It's easy for you, Hooch, most of your classes are outside. Do you have any idea how far it is to the Arithmancy classroom from the Entrance Hall?"

"None at all," Hooch said. "Dreadful subject. No offence, Septima."

"None taken," Septima Vector said, looking amused. "Remus, what exactly is she studying? I know she's mentioned taking her studies of Arithmancy further, but I think she would have come to me for advice if that was it."

"I'm not sure. Harry didn't say." Remus sipped his tea. "I imagine Madam Pince would know... apparently Hermione's spending a lot of time in the library." And a Hermione buried to her eyebrows in books and parchment was a happy Hermione, so he could stop worrying quite so much.

"Hermione?"

"Go away."

"It's a lovely day outside."

"It's a lovely day in the library, too."

"It's not good for you to mope," said Ron, proving yet again that decent and loyal though he was, being observant was not one of his virtues.

"I'm not moping," Hermione said patiently. "I'm working. I'm studying. I like studying."

"It's not healthy," Ron said, as he had many times before.

"Come on, it's sunny outside," Harry said coaxingly. "We're not going to get many more days like this, Hermione."

Hermione looked out at the sunlight. "Yes," she said patiently. "It's very nice. I went for a walk in it this morning, at your insistence. Now I'm tired and I'm working. You go... do something on your brooms."

"A little extra training wouldn't hurt," Ginny said. "All right, all right, a compromise... we'll go and leave you in peace if you promise to leave the books alone after dinner and spend some time with us then."

"All right, all right," Hermione said. "Socializing after dinner. I've written it down, see? Now shoo!"

They shooed, already talking about Quidditch.

Hermione waited until she was sure they were gone, then pulled the youthful Severus Snape's Potions textbook out of her bag. She'd read it through several times now, and for the first time she understood why Harry had liked the mysterious Half-Blood Prince so much. He questioned everything; he poked and prodded and picked... he was as stubborn and contrary as Harry was. (If she ever told them they'd been alike as teenagers, they'd both have hysterics, of course.)

And like Hermione, he was a compulsive taker of notes. She'd been concerned, at first, that the book had been some kind of trap or lure for Harry, but now that she'd actually read it, she knew differently. The young Severus Snape had apparently been constitutionally incapable of coming to a conclusion without carefully noting it down somewhere. Unlike Hermione, he'd taken the notes on the book, not a separate piece of parchment, but there was a distinct resemblance all the same.

Except that he consistently, flagrantly and determinedly disagreed with the book, something that Hermione found almost shocking. She would never have dreamed of defacing a book save in the direst emergencies, let alone trying to correct it... although clearly Borage's text was seriously in need of correction. She couldn't test it right now, as much as her fingers itched to, but if Harry's stint with the book was any guide, Professor Snape had improved it quite significantly.

She'd done all she could with the books she had. Now, with a nice uninterrupted afternoon ahead of her, she could get down to some really serious research. Maybe she could find out why Borage's book was used as a textbook, and yet was so flagrantly wrong.

According to the library records, Libatius Borage's masterwork had been the standard text for advanced Potions study since 1912, well before the final exams had gotten a fancy new acronym.

The book had been revised just before his death in 1923 but not materially so.

Potions of the Twentieth Century stated, in Chapter Three, that 'Advanced Potion-Making is the single most complete compilation of modern and traditional potions in both the practical and theoretical aspects in print today. No matter where research leads us, it is with Advanced Potion-Making that we begin.' Important Modern Magical Discoveries referenced Borage as the discoverer of two of the eleven instances in which a platinum-plated cauldron should be used and referred the reader to Advanced Potion-Making for further details.

In Magical Draughts and Potions, Arsenius Jigger mentioned Borage in his dedication as 'the most forward-thinking traditionalist I have ever met - a great man'. (Were any of the standard texts written after 1930?)

She was sitting amid fortifications built of stacked books when she found a reference in Building A New Century: The Witches And Wizards Who Led The Way.

'Libatius Borage distilled a lifetime of accumulated knowledge into his last and most well known book, Advanced Potion-Making. This book, unlike the other two, was written for the use of students rather than dedicated practitioners of the Art of Potion-Making, and thus is written in a slightly different style. In Advanced Potion-Making, Borage sought to create a grimoire for a new age, combining new knowledge with the challenges of the books he had studied in his own student days.'

Hermione read and reread that paragraph, frowning. There was something there, something niggling at her...

She got up one more time, lugging an armful of books back to their rightful places on the way, and headed into the Restricted Section. Moste Potente Potions was in its usual place, and she took it down, handling it gently. She'd originally gotten her hands on it strictly for the purpose of brewing Polyjuice Potion - but it was a book, and she was Hermione Granger. She'd read a lot more of it than the boys had ever suspected. Carrying it back to her desk and propping it carefully against a stack of books, she flipped to the short introductory note at the beginning which had been included by whoever had copied the original, decaying manuscript into a new book before it could be lost. She found the source of the niggle in the last few lines. Thank goodness she could read Latin with reasonable ease, or she would never have spotted it.

Translated, it read simply: 'Being a work intended for private use, and hitherto concealed by its creator, it is mostly free from the deliberate errors and other pitfalls employed by some wizards to preserve their secrecy even within their private grimoires. However, caution is advised.'

Severus was no nearer to finding out what was wrong with Hermione Granger... but he had, disturbingly, noticed a similar trend in the work of two otherwise gifted Ravenclaw students, a boy in the fifth year (Parks) and a girl in the second (Foxwood). One was Muggle-born; the other had a single Muggle-born grandparent. They did not come from similar geographical areas, fiscal backgrounds or even related families. They were all, however, very intelligent but inclined to be lacking in self-confidence.

Reluctantly, he headed for the school library. His own collection of books, although quite comprehensive in the fields of Potions and the Dark Arts, was somewhat thin on the subject of adolescent behaviour. The library would, undoubtedly, be of more help... on the other hand, he and Irma Pince had loathed each other ever since she'd caught him writing in a book (his own) when he was in his twenties.

"Professor Snape," the librarian said icily as he swept into the room.

"Madam Pince," he said coolly. "I am looking for - "

"I do not appreciate the disruption of my library in this wholesale manner," Madam Pince said, sniffing disapprovingly. "I realise that Miss Granger's... condition... makes traditional brewing unwise, but I do not believe that any substitute assignment should require that my Potions shelves be so thoroughly denuded. She is at the table at the end of the Pseudozoology shelves, and I would appreciate it if in future you would advise her to be more moderate in her research."

Severus blinked. "Miss Granger?" he asked, frowning. "I have given her no extra research or substitute assignments. I was aware that she had engaged in some personal project, but I did not know the subject."

Madam Pince tutted, looking more sour than ever. "There's always something with that girl," she muttered, heading for the Pseudozoology shelves. "Books from the Restricted Section, Water Magic stripped completely..." Before she could work herself up further, the library's dusty, dignified silence was shattered. "Oh, you utter bastard!," Hermione Granger shrieked, voice ringing with absolute outrage. "You filthy swine!"

"Silence!" Madam Pince shrieked, in tones of equal outrage, dashing around the corner. Severus was right behind her, wondering what on earth the girl could be shouting about... She couldn't have seen him. Had someone attempted to proposition her? Here in the library? With Pince about? He'd have to be mad...

He rounded the corner hot on the librarian's heels, to find Hermione Granger apparently trying to strangle her Potions textbook.

"I'm sorry for shouting, Madam Pince," she said guiltily, and then looked up at Severus and blushed a delicate pink. "I was... er... I was doing some research, and... uh..."

"Out!" Madam Pince shouted, puce with rage. "I don't want to see you in here for at least a week! Take your things and get out!"

"Yes, Madam Pince," Hermione said prudently, snatching up her books - and a couple of reams of what looked like notes. "Professor Snape, could I speak to you a moment? Er, outside?"

He wanted to refuse, but it would have been foolish to stay in the library now. Pince never let him out of her sight while he was in there, and right now she'd impede him out of sheer spite against the reading public in general. "If you must."

He followed her out, drawing his robes tightly around him. They felt like pitifully inadequate armour, but they would have to do. "What do you want, Miss Granger?" he asked tersely. Maybe he could put her off the idea of talking to him this time, since slamming a door in her face hadn't done the trick. "I do not have time to indulge you in another round of tedious and pointless self-flagellation."

She blinked and a brief flicker of hurt crossed her face before she assumed a calm expression, stuffing her notes and a couple of books into her bag. One of them was Advanced Potion-Making, and he realised with some surprise that she had two copies - one in the bag, one still in her hands. "This is yours, I believe," she said quietly, holding it out to him. "I thought you might like to have it back."

He accepted it, knowing what it must be... yes, the cover had changed, but it was his book, filled with his notes and comments and spells... "How did this come into your hands, Miss Granger?" he asked icily.

"I got it from Harry, as I'm sure you know perfectly well." She lifted her chin, giving him a cool look. "He said you hadn't asked for its return, but I thought you might want it."

"Is there some particular reason why you were screaming curses at it?" he asked, sneering at her. By all means, girl, try to find an explanation that doesn't involve insulting me.

To his surprise, she neither looked embarrassed nor stammered guiltily that she had meant no offence to him. Instead she pointed at the book with a very small accusing finger. "I was cursing at Borage," she said, in tones of righteous indignation. "That book is inaccurate!"

He looked down at the book. "Of course it is," he said, with some surprise. "Surely you'd noticed that by now." He was too startled even to sound properly disdainful.

"But it's a textbook!" she said, apparently shocked to the core by this. "How can you use a textbook that you know is wrong?"

"Because you are supposed to be advanced students!" he said sharply. "If you're incapable of spotting even the harmless and minor misguidance in Advanced Potion-Making, how on earth can you be trusted with older and more dangerous works?"

Her mouth dropped open. "You mean it's on purpose?" she said shrilly. "But that's not fair!"

"In what way is it unfair to present a rudimentary challenge to the intellect to ensure that only the genuinely capable students -"

"It's unfair if you don't tell them it's a possibility; if they try to get things right by following the textbook - "

"If they're so stupid as to fail to realise that some of the instructions countermand what they've already learned - "

"But it's in the book, you're supposed to follow the instructions - "

"Simply following the instructions in most books of Potions will get you killed or worse, you stupid girl, it's common knowledge that most older grimoires are encoded or misleading in some way - "

"And how the hell is a Muggle-born supposed to know that? It's in the book!" she shrieked, small fists clenching.

There was a moment of ringing silence as they stared at each other, both flushed with rage and breathing hard.

Severus drew himself up, forcing his anger back. "Muggle education would seem to be even more pathetically lacking now than it was thirty years ago," he said grimly, but not angrily. "Is that why you deliberately avoid applying creativity in your work? Because you are under the impression that it is necessary to treat the textbook as unquestionably correct in all things?"

She blinked uncertainly. "Uhm... aren't I supposed to?" she asked, looking genuinely bewildered.

Both Parks and Foxwood had attended Muggle schools before attending Hogwarts. The possibility that they might have actually been taught this failing had never occurred to him - what kind of second-rate teacher would actively teach a child not to think, just to regurgitate? "No, Miss Granger, you are not. As taxing as I'm sure it will be, you will have to demonstrate some ability to think for yourself if you have any desire to pass Potions this year."

"But... oh." She looked down at her feet. "I'm... uhm... sorry for shouting," she said penitently. "I just... I always thought..."

"You have always been praised for simply parroting information, and thus concluded that it was the one correct way," he said. "Despite my repeated admonitions to the contrary. How many times have I told you that merely repeating what is written in the book is insufficient?"

She shuffled her feet. "I don't know. A lot," she mumbled.

"Did it ever occur to you to actually listen?"

"No," she said, looking up at him guiltily. "I was so used to it being right. I thought you were just... well... trying to take me down a peg or two."

"You thought? I was under the impression that thinking was what I was chastising you for failing to do." He folded his arms and glared down at her. "Dare I hope that I have finally gotten through to you on that point?"

"Yes, Professor," she said, blushing pinkly again. "I'm sorry for being so dense."

He had been about to use that adjective himself and found himself put a bit off his stride by her apparently genuine humility. Again. "As you ought to be," he said grimly. "Very well, since you have finally come to the painfully obvious conclusion, I will expect three feet detailing the information I have already imparted to you that should have led you to question Borage's text, and for what reason. By Friday."

"Yes, Professor," she said meekly. He nodded sharply, turning on his heel, and heard a tentative inquiry behind him. "Er... Professor Snape?"

He swung back, glaring. "What is it now, Miss Granger?"

"Er... I shouted at you," she said, still meek and quiet. "And swore at you. Aren't you going to take any house points?"

Hell. He'd hoped this would never come up - he rarely took points from Hermione Granger anyway, except when she was being particularly insufferable. "No," he said shortly. "That would not be... appropriate."

"Oh." Seemingly unconsciously, she touched her stomach. "I see. Thank you."

"Do not thank me, Miss Granger, for having a slightly stronger grasp on the proprieties than you do," he snapped. "If you'd managed appropriate behaviour yourself, neither you nor I would have this problem."

He stalked away before she could respond. Damn her. Damn her lack of propriety and her painfully shrill voice and her small, delicate hand that moved automatically to shield the child she carried.

Damn her.