The scrape of metal stools against the stony dungeon floor made Professor Snape's head pound. He was suffering a constant headache as of late, and he knew enough to attribute it to the muddling batch of dunderheaded 7th years before him.

He stood to drawl his greeting, which was really a series of poorly masked insults, but as he positioned himself at full height before them, he had a better idea. A flick of his ebony wand set the lone piece of chalk by the blackboard scribbling out instructions faster than he could've spoken them. When the chalk dropped back into the tray, he spun to face his unfortunate audience and spoke only a word.

"Begin."

-BREAK-

Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched with bated breath as the Bat of the Dungeons returned behind his desk, his robes swirling around his ankles characteristically. They were awaiting the tongue-lashing they were treated to at the start of every class.

Ron's spirits soared when a few moments passed without the Bat uttering a word. "That's it?" he exclaimed, clapping Harry on the back and rummaging within his backpack. "Must be in a good mood today."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "That's why none of your relationships work out, Ron. You think silence is a good sign."

Harry guffawed loudly enough for the Professor to raise a brow at them while Ron's cheeks colored to match his hair.

"I'll be happy to more thoroughly explain these instructions in detention, Potter, if they are not clear to you now," drawled Snape, his eyes going back to the parchment he was scrutinizing with red ink.

Harry shook his head, controlled his laughter, and went to gather the prescribed ingredients. His companions followed suit. The classroom was silent save for the hum of simmering cauldrons. When only a few moments remained in the class period, Snape roved through the rows. His mood lightened considerably when he was met by cauldrons filled with cerulean broth and the scent of vanilla pervading the air. That is, except for—

"Longbottom," Snape breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose simply so that his hands were too busy to wring the boy's neck. "You do know what the color blue looks like, am I correct?"

Neville sunk low in his stool beside Hermione, and nodded. Hermione burned with indignation. Poor Neville—Potions simply wasn't his forte.

"So you do know that what you've produced is quite far from the color blue? As a matter of fact, it's possibly as far from the color blue as you are from being intelligent."

The Slytherins in the room whooped delightedly; this was like sport to them. Snape, to his credit, kept his face smooth like he hadn't heard them. Neville continued to stir his pot of murky brown poison for lack of other options.

"Five points from Gryffindor, for your classmate's irreversible foolishness," Snape breathed, as if this was a chore for him.

Perhaps the coffee she'd drunk that morning was a little stronger than normal, or perhaps her course load was finally wearing on her nerves. Whatever the reason, Hermione didn't realize she'd stood until she heard the clatter of her upset stool against stone.

Snape turned towards the commotion and cocked an eyebrow. What an unexpected turn of events. "Something to add, Miss Granger?"

Hermione glanced around and shrugged to herself. Hey, she'd come this far, right? "Leave him alone," she spat.

Snape folded his arms defiantly in front of his chest as Neville tugged on Hermione's robes fruitlessly. "Why, I'm sorry Miss Granger, I wasn't aware you'd been granted a teaching license! Because that is the only thing that would give you any say in this matter."

Hermione mimicked him, and crossed her arms tightly. Matching his tone, she murmured, "Perhaps I'll try to acquire one, then. Can't be that hard to come by. They gave you one, after all."

The room, which had been full of excited whispers, presently hushed in awe. Snape's expression told her she'd stepped in it deeply, all right, but seven years of the same garbage made it very difficult for her to care.

He leaned in towards her, his face dangerously blank, and spoke slowly. "One of the perks of being a teacher, Miss Granger, is the joy of assigning detention. And I daresay, you've just earned yourself a week's worth."

Hermione tried to be chastised, or even angry, but the adrenaline rush still buzzed in her veins. She gathered her things when he dismissed the class and traipsed out behind Harry and Ron, both of whom couldn't contain their admiration.

"I mean, we've always loved you, Hermione, but that? That was bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, punching the air.

"I've never felt closer to you," Harry muttered, still slightly in awe.

Hermione was quite sure she'd regret her actions when she actually had to report to detention, but for the moment, she reveled in their praise.

-BREAK-

Seven o'clock came around much too quickly for Hermione's liking. Before she knew it, she was packing away her homework and climbing through the portal to the tune of the boys' sympathies.

The trip to the dungeons was frigid and her trepidation grew with each step. It wasn't often that Hermione Granger received detention; she wasn't sure how to go about this. She knocked on the door to his office and entered as his grunt of a greeting.

Snape sat in a stiff wooden chair, bent over a pile of papers that wobbled precariously. At the sound of her footsteps, he sighed heavily and gratefully pushed the papers away.

"I swear," he murmured, "the writing gets worse as they get older."

Coming to the conclusion that he was speaking more to himself than he was to her, she kept silent and deposited her bag into a corner. "What'll you have me do tonight, Professor?"

He turned and considered her as she faced him, awaiting punishment. "You have two options, Miss Granger," he murmured, "but tell anyone about this special treatment and it'll never happen again."

She cocked an eyebrow but nodded, inviting him to continue.

"You can choose to spend this week scouring cauldrons from 4 pm when classes end to 6 pm when supper starts, or you can assist me in restocking the Hospital Wing's medicinal stores, the disadvantage being that I'd require your assistance from 4pm until curfew. We'll break for dinner, but otherwise, your attention is mine."

Hermione nearly laughed. She could scrub dingy pots, or actually spend the time testing her mind. "The latter, most definitely," she muttered. "I appreciate the option, and I'll keep it to myself."

He nodded, and retrieved his outdoor cloak. He glanced at her, clothed in merely her school robes, and produced a second cloak, which he tossed her way. "Tonight will be spent gathering supplies in the Forbidden Forest, then; there isn't enough time until curfew to brew, anyway."

She nodded again and shrugged on his cloak. It smelled of spices and, curiously, sawdust and very nearly drowned her, but it sufficed.

The trip to the forest was filled by Snape's explanations of the ingredients they were hunting. Hermione catalogued each item described and was determined to prove her competency by not forgetting a thing. Snape saw, and appreciated, this determination; it would come in handy.

The forest grew denser and denser every few minutes or so and several miles in, Snape pushed Hermione to walk in front of him. "The wards protecting the castle end right around here, and I'll not be responsible for any magical mishap. Stay where I can see you."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his assumptions that she was as careless as many of the other 7th years, and fought the urge to compare him to her father. Instead, she nodded, and set to work collecting wild flowers, weeds, insects, small creatures, etc.

Perhaps a half hour passed before they both grew weary of such tedious work. The basket Snape had taken was laden with more ingredients than he expected to find, and he was just finishing patting himself on the back when his left forearm seared with pain.

He halted and, sensing the change, she turned to face him. She caught a glimpse of the dark mark she'd only heard rumor of; it writhed on his arm before he shook down the sleeve of the cloak, and Hermione diverted her gaze to his face, unsure of how to proceed.

Snape cursed under his breath. He now had thirty seconds, and counting, to Disapparate or there would be hell to pay with the Dark Lord. Seeing Granger back to the castle would be impossible. Curse the timing of these meetings.

He muttered something to the affect of, "Bugger off," before taking a calming breath and facing his student. "It is very important for you to do two things now, Miss Granger," he said, as though he faced situations like this daily. "You must forget what you've seen, and return to the castle as quickly as possible. Keep your wits about you in the forest, and wake Hagrid to take you the rest of the way once you reach his hut. Do you understand?"

Hermione withdrew her wand, and that was confirmation enough for him. He spun on the spot and his world swooped and then shifted, but at the last second, his foot caught on something dense, something heavy…must've been a boulder.

He landed on gravel and, though disoriented, managed to remain upright. The circle of Death Eaters had already formed by the time he'd arrived; he was last, as always.

The Dark Lord spun in the center of the circle at the sound of his arrival. "Ah, Severus," he hissed, his translucent lips spreading in a gruesome grin, "how nice of you to join us."

Snape bowed deeply, nearly kissing the ground, his hatred for the man locked in a reserve deep within his mind. "My Lord," he whispered.

When he straightened, he became aware of strange looks being shot his way. The Dark Lord himself approached and peered around Snape's shoulder. "What is this, Severus?" the Dark Lord hooted. "You've brought us a treat?"

Snape, thinking the man had finally lost it, furrowed his brow beneath his mask and glanced over his shoulder. He was met by a pair of horrified chocolate eyes.

Behind Snape, the Dark Lord cackled.

"I do love a Mudblood for dessert."