Chapter 8: Seventh Verse, Same As The First.

"Hermione? Could you do me a favour?"

"Of course," Hermione said automatically, falling into step beside Harry as she tried to push her Arithmancy textbook into her already bulging bag. "What is it?"

"Well, for a start, stop agreeing to things before you know what they are," Harry said, grinning at her and taking the bag away. "This weighs a ton, Hermione..."

"Then let me carry it."

"No, it's fine." He hitched it onto his free shoulder, wincing. "Anyway, we've got a Quidditch practice this afternoon, but there's a storm on the way. Would you mind distracting Ron while I'm gone? Giving him some help with his homework and stuff?"

"Of course." Hermione winced. "How bad is it?"

"Do you see him coming with us to Transfiguration?" Harry said pointedly. "He was already limping when he came out of Potions this morning. He had lunch in the common room and McGonagall said she'd run him through Transfiguration tomorrow afternoon."

"I'll give him a copy of my notes," Hermione promised. "Has he seen Madam Pomfrey?"

"She gave him a potion to dull the pain, but she said there was nothing else she could do." Harry shrugged a bit forlornly. "He's going to be cranky tonight."

He was.

Ron had been badly hurt in the Final Battle (which had actually been two days of constant running skirmishes), having both legs and his pelvis crushed under a chunk of falling masonry. The damage had been repaired, naturally, and most of the time he didn't even limp except when he was tired... but when the weather was bad his joints ached, and when a real storm was coming he could barely stagger.

When the rest of the team - including the substitute Keeper - had trooped out of the common room, Ron sat propped up on a couch, glowering at the window. "It's perfect flying weather," he grumbled. "And it's not that bad, now that I've had the potion. I'd be all right."

"You'd fall off your broom," Hermione said as kindly as she could. "It's not so bad with your legs straight and a warm blanket on them, but if you were out there in the chill, you'd stiffen up in a few minutes."

Ron scowled, opening and eating a Chocolate Frog with vindictive energy. "I didn't even get out of Transfiguration. I have to do it tomorrow afternoon, if the weather's better. It'll be like detention."

"At least you didn't have to go this afternoon," Hermione said, frowning at him. She'd pulled an armchair over next to his couch, intending to keep him company, but she'd learned from experience that if Ron's self-pity wasn't interrupted firmly, it could go on for hours. "I went to all my classes even when I was throwing up three or four times a day."

"Yeah, well..." Ron looked mutinous. "It's not the same."

"I know, I know." Hermione sighed and shook her head. "Look, I'll help you get your homework done. If we get enough done, you might have time to go out and do some extra training tomorrow or the next day."

She managed to coax him through the Charms homework, but then his mood slipped from defiant to morose. "I don't know why I'm even still on the team," he said sadly, looking forlornly at the window. "Harry knows I can't play in bad weather. He should just kick me off and let Baines be Keeper properly. She's good... and she doesn't get nerves."

"Of course Harry won't throw you off the team," Hermione said soothingly. She offered up a quick prayer of thanks to any deity who might be listening that she and Ron hadn't lasted as a couple. As a friend, she could cope with his constant need for reassurance. As a girlfriend, it had gotten very tired very fast. "You're brilliant when your joints aren't playing up, you know that."

"Yeah, but they're not going to get any better," Ron said, heaving a despairing sigh. "The rest of the team are going to hate me, because I only show up half the time. Don't blame them, really. Bet they want Harry to throw me off."

"Throw a genuine war hero off the Quidditch team because of injuries sustained while fighting Voldemort and saving the wizarding world? Don't be silly," Hermione said bracingly. "Between you and Harry, the Quidditch team has never been so cool."

Ron preened. "Yeah, well... I didn't think of that," he said, looking happier. "Hey, you want to play some chess?"

She didn't, really, but it was better than listening to him moan. "If you like. But you've got to promise not to gloat when you win."

"When do I ever?"

They were halfway through the second game when the portrait-hole opened and Ginny clambered through. "It's bloody freezing out there," she said cheerfully. "Good practice, though, overall. Harry's tearing his hair out over the new people, as usual, but I don't think he needs to worry."

"'Course not," Ron said cheerfully, the gloating having put him in a good mood. "We've got a great team this year, especially when the weather's good."

"That's what we said," Demelza agreed, climbing through behind Ginny. "But you know him, he worries."

"Only about Quidditch," Hermione said a bit snippily. Spending an evening trying to reassure Ron instead of getting her homework done was really starting to wear on her nerves. Especially since everyone else in the common room had been giving both of them a wide berth, presumably because they didn't want to listen to Ron feel sorry for himself either. "Everything else he just leaps in with a happy optimism and trusts things to work out."

There was a momentary pause. "Well, we've all had a long afternoon," Ginny said, with what passed for tact among Weasleys, as Coote and Peakes climbed through the portrait-hole, arguing about something. "Ron, how are you feeling? Up for coming down to dinner?"

"I'm still a bit too stiff, I think," Ron admitted, shifting and wincing a bit. "But Madam Pomfrey gave me a potion to help me sleep, and I should be all right again by morning. And McGonagall said I could have a house-elf bring me up something."

Ginny snickered. "And extra helpings of everything, if I know you." Ron threw a cushion at her, which she caught easily. "All right, all right... I should go get changed, we've not got long. Hermione, don't let Harry work himself into a fit while I'm gone." She looked over her shoulder at the shock of messy black hair that had just appeared.

Harry had just made it through the portrait hole, looking very harrassed, when Baines called out from the hallway. "Hey, Harry! There's something out here for you!"

Ginny immediately reversed direction, heading for the portrait hole instead of the stairs. "If it's another pair of knickers from a fan," she said crossly, "I'm going to set them on fire. Honestly, some people..."

Ron sat up, looking interested. "Another pair of... Hermione, go out and see what it is."

"Oh, all right," Hermione said, following Ginny. She was actually quite interested - Harry occasionally got some really odd presents from his admirers. The pink lacy knickers had been entertaining, but the tiny model of a naked Harry posed seductively and carved from (as closely as she could determine before Harry snatched it away) a turnip, had been hysterical.

"Red box and a gold bow," said the lanky Baines, offering Harry the gift. "Just like the last... four? Five?"

"Four. The one before that was gold with a red bow," Ginny said, grinning. "Good size, too, it's probably not another turnip."

Harry blushed scarlet. "Look, I don't need to open it now..."

"Mud! Filth!"

"Oh, God..." Norah Baines moaned, covering her eyes. "Not him..."

Argus Filch had clearly followed the trail of muddy footprints up to the Tower and seemed delighted to have caught them outside the safety of the common room. "What are you up to? Loitering around in the corridor... aha!" Harry had been too slow, and the box was snatched from his hands. "Contraband!"

"It's not contraband, it's just some stupid present from a fan," Ginny said, while Harry blushed horribly and looked down at the floor. "They show up all the time."

"That's what you say," Filch said suspiciously, opening the box. There was a lump of something woolly inside it, in luminescent Chudley Cannons orange. Filch scowled, poking at it with a gnarled finger. "Could be anything in here, could... could be..."

He made a gagging sound, dropping the box. His eyes rolled up and he crumpled to the floor, clawing at his throat.

The Fat Lady shrieked in horror, pressing her hands to her pink satin bosom. There was a babble of nervous voices from the Quidditch team, and Harry stepped towards the fallen box.

"Stay away from that! Ginny, put a shield over that box and keep it there no matter what!" Someone was barking orders. Hermione thought it might be her. "Baines, run and get my bag, it's next to Ron's couch. Harry, you're the fastest... go get Professor Snape now! Mr Filch has been poisoned!"

Harry stared at her for a moment, and then bolted down the corridor, red robes flapping behind him. Ginny was standing over the box, her face pale, and Baines had already disappeared. Hermione knelt beside Filch, who was starting to convulse. "Mr Filch! Can you hear me?"

He couldn't, or couldn't indicate that he did. The seconds seemed to take hours to pass until the Fat Lady's portrait swung open again, spitting out a tide of excited Gryffindors and - thank god - Baines, holding Hermione's bag aloft like a flag. "I got it! I got it!"

Hermione snatched it away, ripping the flap in her haste as she rummaged through it. Come on, come on... there! She ripped the small pocket as well, but came out with a small, shrivelled thing shaped like a bean. "Dean! Hold him!"

Dean knelt beside her, holding Filch's shoulders down so he couldn't flail away from her. Hermione pried his mouth open, getting her fingers chewed a bit in the process, and shoved the bezoar as far back as she could. Filch gulped and choked... and then he went limp, the convulsions fading.

He'd thumped his head against the stone floor several times, and Hermione moved around to pull his head onto her lap. "It's going to be all right, Mr Filch," she murmured reassuringly, as his eyes drifted half-closed. She looked around the crowd, and pointed. "Coote! Run to the infirmary and tell Madam Pomfrey what's happened, and that we'll be there as soon as possible." Coote took off at once, running almost as fast as Harry had. "Peakes, you go and fetch the Headmistress," she ordered the other Beater. He nodded, and trotted off without a word - not as fast as Coote, but at a pace he could maintain all the way to the Headmistress's office.

Filch moaned softly, and she rested what she hoped was a soothing hand on his forehead. "It's all right, Mr Filch," she said, trying to sound reassuring. "Professor Snape will be here soon. He'll know what to do."

The door to his office slammed open, and Severus spattered ink right across a first-year's essay when his hand jerked in alarm. He saw Potter in his doorway and fury propelled him up and out of his chair. "Potter, what do you think you - "

"Professor... 's Mr Filch," Potter wheezed. He was alarmingly pale, drawing in great sucking gulps of air as if he'd just run a marathon. "He's been poisoned..."

Anger could wait. Severus grabbed the antidote kit that was always kept ready, reaching the door in two strides. "Where?" he snapped.

"Gryffindor Tower... front of the Fat Lady," Potter said, chest still heaving. Had he sprinted all the way down from the tower? "Hermione said get you..."

Severus was already racing up the stairs when that penetrated his mind. Hermione had sent Potter down to get him, something the boy had obviously done at a run most or all of the way. Panting could easily be faked, rattling wheezes and greenish pallor took some time and preparation. He'd had no idea she had sufficient influence over the trio's fearless leader to induce him to not only seek out the teacher he loathed most, but to speak to him almost politely. Well, wheeze to him politely.

He was wheezing himself when he reached Gryffindor tower, having left a trail of scattered students in his wake. He'd actually cannoned into two - one had been sent for the Headmistress, one to the hospital wing to tell Madam Pomfrey to prepare for a patient.

Or a body. How many minutes had it been? How fast-acting was the poison involved?

He heard the panicked babble before he was in sight of the Fat Lady's portrait, and scowled, trying to force his aching legs to move faster. Typical Gryffindors, standing around babbling instead of doing something useful...

"Go get me a chair." A voice raised above the babble. "Yes, a chair, Demelza, go get one." Hermione, naturally, as strident as usual. "The rest of you, back up a bit." Then her voice softened, and he would have missed it if the chatter hadn't quieted a little when she spoke. "Mr Filch? Can you hear me? It's going to be all right."

Severus pushed through the crowd, which melted away as they turned and saw him bearing down on them. In the middle of the corridor, Hermione Granger was sitting on the floor, Filch's head cradled in her lap and a small hand smoothing his thin grey hair back gently. Filch's rheumy eyes were half-closed, and there was froth around his mouth, but he seemed quiet. "What happened?" Severus asked, dropping to one knee to examine the caretaker's grey face.

"That." Hermione pointed, and he saw Ginny Weasley standing guard over a box with something orange spilling out of it. "It had Harry's name on it, but Mr Filch insisted on looking inside, just in case. The minute he touched it, he collapsed." Filch stirred, and she made a little cooing noise, touching his forehead. "I gave him a bezoar, and he seems quiet now, but..."

He gave her a startled look, even as he took in the bluish cast to the foam, the faint smell of rotten cherries on Filch's breath, and the tell-tale faint glitter on the orange fabric. "You just happened to have a bezoar on your person?"

"In my bag." She indicated that article, which had clearly been all but pulled inside out in a frantic search. "Ever since Ron was poisoned last year, I've never gone anywhere without one."

"A sensible precaution," Severus muttered, checking Filch's pulse. Weak but steady. "Aqua Nitidus. Not the fastest-acting poison, but very painful." And not common enough for him to have an antidote in the kit... he shoved it into a pocket, where at least it would be out of the way.

"I thought so, from the smell and the bluish foam," Hermione said soberly, still stroking Filch's forehead gently. A smallish Gryffindor... Robbins, that was it... appeared with the requested chair, and Hermione fished out her wand. With a brisk tap and a mutter, the sturdy wood and wool of the chair were transformed into an equally sturdy-looking stretcher. "There. Professor Snape, will you help me get him onto it?"

"Of course." Severus watched her as they shifted Filch's limp body onto the stretcher. She handled the caretaker's body with a gentleness that surprised him, as did her murmured reassurances. He'd been under the impression that Filch was loathed by the students as a whole, and the rule-breaking Gryffindor trio in particular. "I have sent students to notify Madam Pomfrey and the Headmistress of the situation."

"Yes, so have I," Hermione said absently, folding Filch's arms gently across his stomach so they wouldn't hang over the sides of the stretcher. "And Harry to get you, of course. Dean! Seamus!" She pointed imperiously at the stretcher, and the two boys meekly complied, lifting it with a grunt or two of complaint. "Carry him carefully," Hermione said, giving them both a warning look.

Severus had to work at maintaining his usually impassive expression. He knew Hermione could act quickly and decisively when need be - he'd seen it during the War. But somehow it came as a surprise here at school, where she'd always so blindly followed Potter's lead. He'd never seen her take command before. Perhaps there was more to the girl than he'd assumed. He almost offered her a hand, as he rose to his feet and she tried to do the same, feet apparently tangled in her robes... but he remembered himself in time, turning to look critically at Finnegan and Thomas. "Keep the stretcher level and don't jolt him," he ordered sharply. They stared at him. "The infirmary. Move."

They jostled into action as Hermione reached her feet, still swaying a bit. "Someone should really find Mrs Norris," she said quietly - and with no more warning than a momentary catch in her voice, her eyes rolled up and she crumpled.

"Hermione!" He wasn't sure who uttered the exclamation... Miss Weasley, perhaps... but Severus was the one who caught her, startled by how slight her weight was and how easily he held her steady.

"Mum warned me about this." Miss Weasley was at his elbow as he bent to slide an arm under Hermione's knees and lift her into his arms. "Excitement, I mean. She said fainting spells aren't uncommon when someone who's pregnant has a bit of a shock..."

Severus scowled down at the unconscious girl in his arms. Pregnant. Was it impossible for him to go two minutes without being reminded of her current condition? "I will take her to the hospital wing," he said sourly. "Miss Weasley, you will remain here and guard that until a teacher comes to remove it safely, do you understand?"

"Yessir." She moved back to her position by the gaudy box, giving Hermione one more worried look.

Severus hitched Hermione more securely into his arms and followed Finnegan and Thomas... who, naturally, had stopped when they realised he wasn't with them and were standing around looking gormless. "Are you waiting for the hospital wing to come to you, gentlemen?" Apparently his tone made his point for him.

It was only a minute later, as he followed the Gormless Gryffindors, that Hermione stirred in his arms. "What on earth..." she mumbled, and he looked down to see a decidedly bewildered expression on her face. "What happened?"

"You had an extremely inconvenient fit of the vapours," he snapped, hoping his voice sounded annoyed instead of strained. She didn't feel nearly as light after he'd had to support her entire weight for a couple of minutes.

"I fainted?" She blushed furiously. "Oh, dear... I'm sorry, Professor, I really am. I don't know what happened - I never faint. Not normally, I mean."

"According to Miss Weasley, it is not an unusual event for those in... a delicate condition."

To his complete surprise, she made a small, rude noise. "That's a stupid and horribly inaccurate phrase. I'm quite sure it was invented by a male. 'Interesting condition' works... if you mean interesting in the ancient Chinese curse sense... but there's absolutely nothing delicate about it, believe me."

"If you say so." He had to resist the urge to smile at her obvious indignation.

"I do say so." She wriggled a little, and his arms tightened automatically to prevent him from dropping her. When he looked down at her, her eyes were rather wide. "I think I can walk now," she said, in a very small voice. "Thank you."

For one insane moment he was tempted to continue carrying her. She wasn't really all that heavy, and it was... not unpleasant... to have those wide brown eyes gazing up at him. But said wide eyes were situated a short distance above a set of student robes, and the moment passed. He tipped her rather unceremoniously onto her feet, keeping a precautionary hold on her arm. "Any lingering dizziness or weakness?"

"No, Professor." She still looked a bit pale, but she kept pace with him as they followed the stretcher. "Will he be all right? It was at least a minute before I got the bezoar into him..."

"He should be, although his recovery will be prolonged." Severus glanced down at her, surprised anew by her apparently genuine concern. "As you should know, if you have been keeping up your studies."

"I have been," Hermione said earnestly. "But Mr Filch isn't exactly young and healthy, and he's got that persistent cough..."

She'd noticed the cough? "He should recover fully in time. The enforced rest might even do him some good."

Hermione nodded. "I'll have Crookshanks find Mrs Norris," she said absently, rubbing her hands together. "He's good at finding people, or other pets. She'll fret if she can't find him."

He stopped, and reached down to grasp her slender wrist. She froze, staring up at him with wide eyes as he lifted her hand and turned it over. Pink, puffy dints in her flesh showed where teeth had sunk into her fingers more than once, the pink already shading into purple where bruises would form. "You were bitten while getting the bezoar into his mouth?"

She blushed, tugging her hand away and concealing it in the heavy sleeve of her robes. "It's nothing. It didn't even break the skin. You know, I feel perfectly all right now, I really don't need to go to the hospital wing..."

"Probably not. However, Madam Pomfrey would never forgive me if I failed to deliver you after you swooned so dramatically into my arms." He resumed his brisk walk, turning his mind firmly to the antidotes that Filch would need... some he had in his stores, but some had to be brewed freshly. Even as he pondered the problem, though, he couldn't forget the girl trotting along beside him, an expression of sweet concern on her face for the single most loathed man in the school, not excepting even the dread Potions master himself.

"So. Someone's trying to kill Harry again."

"Looks that way." Harry nodded in agreement to Ron's bald statement. "Seems to be the same M.O. as Malfoy was using last year - poisoned presents."

Ron frowned. "Emmo?"

"M. O., Ron. Modus Operandi," Hermione explained absently. Pointedly flouting the rules, they'd all retreated to Harry's bed for some serious plotting, pulling the curtains and casting a sound-blocking charm on them. "The same problem as last year, too... it's too easy to get the wrong person."

"So either whoever it is isn't bright enough to realise that the plan might go wrong, or they don't care," Ginny said, frowning. "How likely is it that they'll stop when this idea doesn't work?"

"Not terribly." Hermione fiddled absently with her hair. "Aqua Nitidus is almost impossible to buy - anyone desperate enough to go around buying deadly poisons will usually go for something faster-acting or harder to identify. It can be absorbed though the skin, of course, but so can loads of others. Offhand, I can only think of one reason to use it."

"Which is?" Harry gave her an inquiring look.

"Any third-year or above can make it if they know how," Hermione said flatly. "Quickly, and with only the contents of his or her standard Potions kit."

"Blimey," Ron said quietly. "It's a miracle Malfoy never used it on one of us, then."

"I doubt he'd know how. Aqua Nitidus is a... a cheap poison. Low-class." Hermione nibbled absently on a fingernail. Madam Pomfrey had healed the bites on her fingers, but they still felt a little stiff. "I read about it in one of the books in the Library... Common Perfidy: A Study. It was all about poisons and hexes used by poor, 'common' wizards and witches last century."

"So it was either someone whose family was low-class last century, or someone who reads. That's a big help," Ginny said, looking disgruntled. "Basically, it could be anyone."

"More or less." Hermione pulled the mangled fingernail out of her mouth and looked reprovingly at Harry. "You don't seem very worried."

Harry grinned at her suddenly. "Well, it's like you said," he said cheerfully. "I've spent my whole life with at least one person trying to kill me. Not having anyone after me was just making me jumpy, anyway."

Ginny and Hermione traded worried looks. That wasn't reassuring. Not at all.

"If it hadn't been for Argus's suspicious nature and Hermione Granger's quick thinking, the attempt might well have succeeded," Minerva said, clutching her delicate teacup as if it were a lifeline. "How could this happen? Now?"

Severus snorted, and everyone looked at him. "You don't seem surprised," Hooch said, her tone even terser than usual. "Expecting something like this, were you?"

"We all should have expected this."

Severus blinked. To his and everyone else's surprise, the words had come from Remus Lupin. Leaning against the fireplace, looking tired and worn as always, the werewolf shrugged. "If we had lost, would we have stopped fighting?"

"Never," Minerva said firmly. "But that's - "

"Different? Of course it's not different." Lupin straightened up. "Most of the werewolves see Voldemort's destruction as the most terrible catastrophe to strike them in centuries. He promised them freedom, and now they have been driven back yet again. I am sure there are... pure... humans who feel the same way."

"There are," Severus said, frowning. "There has been conflict within my House since the day the students returned... as I have informed you, Minerva, more than once."

"Yes, yes, I know." She ran a hand absently over her rigidly confined hair... there were threads of grey in it now. "I am sorry, Severus, I should have done more, but..."

"But what can we do?" Lupin said softly. "We can't expel a child because his or her parents were on what we would consider the wrong side. Half the bodies were lost or too badly damaged to be identified, anyway, and Severus could only name the Death-Eaters themselves, not the lesser servants and allies..."

"I would not suggest that you even try," Severus said grimly, weighting his words with threat.

"Of course we wouldn't," Pomona Sprout said firmly. "Just because there's a possibility that one student might want to kill someone..."

Severus snorted. "Students have been trying to kill other students since the school was founded," he said harshly, and was pleased to see Lupin's eyes drop in shame. "This is merely a more obvious... and more political... attempt."

"Severus, that is hardly helpful," Minerva said, taking off her glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "How is Argus?"

"Recovering. It will be some time until he can resume his duties, however - clumsily prepared Aqua Nitidus is no simple matter to heal, at his age." Severus shrugged. "I have provided the requisite potions, but they cannot heal him in a day."

"I'm glad he will recover," Minerva said, taking a deep breath. "Please tell him to take as long as he needs to recover. Could you learn anything from the scarf?"

"Only that someone knew enough about Harry Potter to be aware of his predilection for a second-rate Quidditch team. The poison could have been prepared by any semi-competent."

"Wonderful." Pomona made a face. "We have a semi-competent assassin wandering about the school... or, possibly, we have a semi-competent accomplice wandering about the school, and the real perpetrator is someone else entirely."

"That's the wonderful thing about Hufflepuffs," Hooch muttered darkly. "They always look on the bright side."

"What do you usually do?"

"Run along behind carrying the antidotes and begging them to be careful," Hermione said sourly. "They don't listen to anyone, Ginny, you know that."

The girls had retreated to Hermione's dormitory after the official Plotting had ended, to discuss the unsettling tendency of the boys to rush headlong and chortling into danger. "Not even you?" Ginny asked, looking worried. "I always thought... Ron always says that you're the one who's always telling them to be careful and coming up with clever ideas and stuff."

"Did Ron say that they were careful or put the clever ideas into effect?" Hermione asked, rummaging around for her knitting. Knitting was soothing, and her nerves definitely needed something.

"Well... now that I think about it, no." Ginny gnawed on her lip anxiously. "What are they likely to do?"

"Attempt to flush out the poisoner. Probably try to sneak into the Slytherin common room again. Take stupid risks and run around with the Marauders Map a lot." Hermione sighed, examining the tiny, slightly lopsided hat she'd been working on. It was pale green. Not that that meant anything. "They usually do."

"Bugger." Ginny rolled onto her stomach, resting her chin on her hands. "How do we slow them down?"

"Threatening to go to the Head of House used to work... sometimes. Stealing and hiding the Map and the Cloak might help, too, if you can manage it. I never could find a good excuse for digging through Harry's trunk, but you probably can."

"I'll think of something." Ginny grinned. "At least there's two of us now, right? It'll be easier to watch both of them."

"That's true." Hermione brightened a little at that. At least she wasn't going to be the only one trying to look after The Boys. "And you can do the running around parts when I start slowing down."

"And if they do anything really stupid, I'll lay on the guilt about 'upsetting Hermione in her condition' and all that." Ginny nodded decisively. "Right. We'll just... have to watch them." She made a face. "How on earth did you keep them alive this long?"

"Sheer determination," Hermione said wryly. "And following them everywhere to protect them when things go wrong."

"I can try that, too." Ginny nodded. "And if all else fails, I'm pretty sure I can distract Harry from almost anything for at least a little while."

"No details, please, no details!" Hermione found where she'd left off and started knitting again. "How are things going at home, by the way? Your mum wrote to me a few weeks ago, but it was all baby-related."

"Pretty well, I think. Fleur and Bill are disgustingly happy, according to Mum... the twins are still the twins... Charlie's going to come home next spring... Dad's been dealing with a spate of cursed shoes..." She shrugged. "That's it."

"Life as usual?" Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "Nothing else?"

"Nope, that's everything. Why?"

"I just wondered."

"How are you, Argus?" Severus felt a little awkward, trying to make small talk, but he and Filch had had a guarded truce since his student days and had been allies of a sort for years. So Severus made time to actually look in on the man, when he brought up a fresh batch of the potions that Filch had to take several times a day.

"Those house-elves are no use at all," Filch grumbled. He looked cleaner than usual (Poppy Pomfrey scrubbed her patients unmercifully, as Severus had found out for himself on more than on occasion), but no less testy. "They keep the place clean enough, from what I hear, but they can't give detentions or scare off those filthy students from making their messes."

"I've been conducting extra patrols," Severus said in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Hufflepuff alone has lost eighty points this week thanks to after-hours roaming."

That seemed to please Filch - he chuckled and nodded happily, leaning back against his pillows and scratching behind Mrs Norris's ears as she curled up on his stomach, watching him anxiously. "Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are always the worst. The Ravenclaws don't usually sneak out, and the Slytherins are hard to catch."

"That's as it should be." Severus examined the potion-bottles on the bedside table, noting which were full and which would soon need replacing. "Do you need anything?"

"Just to get back to work." Filch sighed. "Can't trust those students, not an inch... might burn down the school without me to keep an eye on them."

Suddenly, Mrs Norris's head went up, and she jumped off Filch's stomach. Skinny tail held high, she trotted out of the small curtained-off area and out of sight. Severus watched her go, eyebrows rising. "I was under the impression that she refused to leave your side."

"Only to get her dinner," Filch said, smiling fondly after the cat. "She doesn't like house-elves, see, she won't take food from them."

The curtains parted, and an enormous ginger tom ambled through, giving both men a lazy, disdainful look before jumping up onto the end of Filch's bed. There he sat as upright as a dumpy, fluffy cat could manage, managing to convey the impression of being on-guard. A moment later he was followed by Mrs Norris, mewing shrilly, and a small figure in student robes.

Of course. Who else?

"Hello, Mr Filch," Hermione Granger said brightly. She was carrying a dish of some brown, mushy-looking substance that reeked of old liver and some sort of fish. Severus had never seen anything that looked so nauseating, but Mrs Norris seemed passionately interested in the stuff. When Hermione Granger set it down on the chair beside Filch's bed, the cat leaped up and shoved her nose into it, purring rustily. Only then did Hermione look up and see him. "Oh! Er... hello, Professor Snape."

"What are you doing here?" Severus asked, and then frowned. What she was doing was blindingly obvious. What he really wanted to know was why she was doing it.

"Feeding Mrs Norris," she said, politely not commenting on the stupidity of his question. "Madam Pomfrey said she wasn't eating properly because she was worried about Mr Filch, so I brought her some of Crookshanks' food. She eats that all right, so I've been bringing her some every night."

"Muggle stuff," Filch said, watching Mrs Norris eat with some interest. "Full of... what was it?"

"Nutritional supplements," Hermione said proudly. "For a healthy, balanced diet. It's low-salt, vitamin-enriched and has fish oils in it to make her coat shiny. Crookshanks loves it. He won't eat the wizard kind." She gave the huge orange thing perched on the end of Filch's bed the exact same soppy look that Filch himself had turned on Mrs Norris.

"Her fur does look better." Filch reached out to stroke the thin grey back gently. "And she likes it, this Muggle stuff."

"I'll get some more for you when you're better, if you like," Hermione said, scratching behind a stubby orange ear. "Mum and Dad send it to me for Crookshanks, I'm sure they wouldn't mind sending some extra. She doesn't need to have it every meal, but three or four times a week, combined with fresh fish and so on, should keep her in good shape."

Severus watched this positively friendly discussion with an increasingly unsettled feeling. Filch did not normally converse with students. Students certainly didn't normally converse with Filch, let alone go out of their way to befriend Mrs Norris or put her in better student-hunting condition. Clearly, however, some sort of camaraderie had been built on the basis of their shared love for their intelligent and unattractive pets. "She'd like that, wouldn't you, my pet?" Filch was murmuring, as Mrs Norris licked her saucer clean. "You like the nice mushy food."

Mrs Norris purred, giving her saucer one more lick and jumping back onto the bed. Crookshanks immediately jumped off, clearly considering that Mrs Norris was now back on duty. Duty done, he butted at Hermione's leg, and then ambled over to sniff at Severus's robes with apparent interest. "Shoo," Severus said, glaring down at the cat. The cat gave him a long look, sniffed a little more to show that he wasn't paying any attention to anything said by someone so unimportant, then turned and flipped his tail pointedly at Severus as he walked over to rub against Hermione's leg.

"He's very intelligent," Hermione said apologetically. "But he's a bit rude sometimes."

"Indeed." He scowled. "If I may have a word outside, Miss Granger? I'm sure Mr Filch is tired."

"Of course," she said, as Filch grunted what might have been a farewell, most of his attention on his beloved cat. Hermione waved to him and followed Severus out of the curtained area, looking irritatingly demure even with a particularly ugly cat trotting along at her heels and orange fur all over the bottom of her robes.

He led her to the other end of the infirmary, which should be out of Filch's hearing, and scowled down at her. "Miss Granger, may I ask why you are so blatantly attempting to ingratiate yourself with Argus Filch? I assure you, it will not purchase lenience for you or your friends if he catches you in your next late-night jaunt."

"Mr Filch got poisoned in Harry's place," Hermione said, looking up at him seriously. "We owe him something, for that... and I didn't want him worrying about Mrs Norris. I mean, I have no idea why, but he is awfully fond of her."

"Even so. Poppy Pomfrey could have fed the beast, or the elves could have brought food to Mr Filch to give to the cat." Filch really did love the cat... when the last one had died, at the venerable age of nineteen, he'd given so many detentions for 'looking cheerful' that Dumbledore had had to have a tactful word... and Minerva McGonagall hadn't dared to show a whisker for months for fear of setting him off again. It had been years before he'd been willing to take on a cat again, and Mrs Norris was nearly twelve already. Severus was therefore firmly in favour of anything that would keep the wretched cat alive for longer... except when Hermione was the one doing it.

"I'm hardly wearing myself to a shred in dutiful servitude," Hermione said a bit tartly. "Coming up to the hospital wing every night with a saucer isn't exactly a big strain, and it makes them both feel better. I think. It's hard to tell with Mr Filch sometimes, but he's definitely a bit less rude now."

'Less rude' to a student was practically a vow of eternal friendship from Argus Filch. Severus scowled. "Very well, Miss Granger, if playing Miss Nightingale is so enjoyable, by all means continue."

He strode past her, glad to be out of that particularly unprofitable conversation. Hermione was far too sentimental, that was the trouble. She didn't actually like Filch, she was just indulging her Gryffindor desire to be seen to be a Good Person.

And when had he started thinking of the chit as Hermione? Miss Granger. Miss Granger. He had to remember that.

Hermione,

I was taken by surprise by your note, but it does not follow that the surprise was necessarily unwelcome. I would be happy to arrange a private meeting; if it is acceptable to you, I will meet you in the private upstairs parlour at the Three Broomsticks, at about two in the afternoon. As I'm sure you are aware, there are Certain People whom I would prefer not to run into in Hogsmeade.

Yours, etc.