A/N: Hello again! Welcome, followers and newcomers! Thank you for taking the time to read my little story, it warms my heart to see all of you visiting this page! The last chapter felt rather rushed to me, so I tried to slow this one down a little bit. I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe and characters.

Chapter 3 – Potions

Hermione bent over the work table, shredding the boomslang skin into fine bits before sprinkling it into the cauldron. She stirred – thirty time clockwise, twenty six times counter clockwise – and added in the knotgrass. A sigh of contentment escaped her lips. Professor Snape had finally given her some space, and she had allowed herself to relax into the comforting motions of brewing. Ever since she had first set foot in a potions classroom, she had fallen in love with the art; how it was possible to save someone or cause their demise, to heal or hurt, the sheer power that could be harnessed by the right ingredients and a patient mind. She added the lacewing flies carefully and stirred the Polyjuice, internally jumping in victory. The potion was growing extremely thick and the color of mud, which was absolutely perfect.

"Well," Hermione announced, "all it needs now is to stew for twenty one days. Is there anything else you'd like me to do?"

"Hmm?" Snape shook his head. He had been deep in thought over a particular cauldron, and Hermione noticed that he seemed to be making up this potion as he went along. "Fine, yes. Come here and crush this unicorn horn into a fine powder."

Hermione did so, her hands trembling slightly. This was by far one of the most expensive ingredients she had ever worked with, and she didn't want to imagine what Snape's rage would be like if she ruined it. The heat of the potions lab was starting to affect her as well, and she could feel the wispy hair that had escaped from her bun plastering itself to the skin of her neck as a bead of sweat rolled down her temple. She chanced a glance up at Professor Snape and wasn't surprised to see that the heat seemed to affect him, too. Every few minutes he would slip a finger into his collar and pull his shirt away from his skin, or run both hands through his greasy black hair, pushing it away from his face. Finally, with a loud huff, he put the stirring rod down and stalked over to the coat rack by the door, shrugging out of his heavy black robes. The frock coat came off next, and soon her Professor was dressed more casually than she had ever seen him before. He was wearing a white oxford shirt and black trousers, and the look accentuated how tall and thin he was. He grimaced at himself, obviously uncomfortable with this level of undress, and hastily walked towards the bench again, fishing a black ribbon from his pocket. With one more wary glance at Hermione, he gathered his hair into a low pony at the back of his neck.

Hermione was dumbstruck. She focused all of her attention of crushing the unicorn horn, determined not to draw any attention to herself, and when she was finished, slid the unicorn horn across the table to him. He received it with a grunt, which she assumed was his way of saying 'thank you', and poured it into the potion. After stirring it twice and waving his wand over the cauldron, he turned to Hermione.

"What are you staring at, child?" He muttered, arching an eyebrow at Hermione. Her own eyes widened and she blushed as she turned away, embarrassed at being caught staring at her former Professor.

"Nothing, sir. And, with all due respect, I'm not a child, sir. I'm eighteen."

Snape furrowed his brow and turned to face her.

"Eighteen? That doesn't make sense."

"Since my birthday falls in September, I didn't start my first year until I was nearly twelve. Then I used a time turner my third year, which aged me another year. I'll be nineteen in a few months."

Snape grunted in response, and Hermione was quickly realizing that Severus Snape was not a morning person. She scurried over to the bench that she had previously been working at and gathered her robes and notes.

"If you no longer need me, Professor, may I go?"

"Hmm? Yes, fine. We will meet every morning at this time. Do not be late." He waved her off.

Hermione ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and burst into the kitchen.

"Hey, 'Mione!" Ron greeted her. Harry smiled weakly and raised his hand in greeting before focusing back on his breakfast. Hermione returned the salutation and sat down, observing the tell-tale signs of crying around Harry's eyes. She decided to leave that conversation until after breakfast.

"So, how were potions with the greasy git?" Ron asked.

"Ronald!" Hermione quipped, "Don't call him that! And it was absolutely fine – even moderately enjoyable. I've always liked potions, and once Professor Snape let me work in peace, it went very well."

"If you say so," he mumbled, reaching for another sausage. Hermione spooned some scrambled eggs on her plate.

"So, when do you boys leave with Professor Dumbledore?"

Harry perked up at this, all signs of sadness forgotten.

"Soon! We were supposed to have already gone, but he postponed it until eleven. It'll be great to finally be doing something useful."

Hermione gave Harry a genuine smile. She had lain awake for most of the night after their encounter, trying to think of a tactful way to bring it up. The truth of the matter was that Harry absolutely terrified her. To lose so much so early on in life was enough to fuel the smallest flame until it turned into a fiery inferno. Harry had a rather nasty habit of jumping at the tiniest bait, and his temper was one of the shortest she had ever seen. She knew that she could never truly understand the loss that Harry felt, but she couldn't help but worry that his emotions might do him more harm than good. Emotions, while being a powerful motivator, also had a tendency to blind people from common sense. Hermione glanced up at the clock and noticed it was ten minutes until eleven – she had to act quickly.

"Ron, I just remembered, there's a bottle of dittany in my purse on my bed. I know it's a little extreme, but you never know what you guys will run into. Would you grab it, please? It's silly, but I'll feel much better if you have it with you."

Ron, who's ears had perked up at the slightest mention of any danger, jumped from his chair.

"Sure thing! Thanks, 'Mione!" He ran out the door, calling behind his shoulder. "I'll be right back!"

As soon as she determined that Ron was out of earshot, she turned to Harry.

"Look, Harry, I wanted to talk about last night."

Harry waved his hand. "It's nothing, 'Mione. I just got upset, that's all. It's hard being here without Sirius – especially when I saw him standing next to my parents in that picture. Thanks for staying with me, though. It helped."

"I know it's hard, Harry, it just made me worry. I'm worried about you leaving. I know you're really upset right now but you must promise me that you won't let it get the better of you. I couldn't handle losing you, especially not losing you because you rose to someone's bait and got into an unnecessary fight."

Harry looked offended and opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione held her hand up.

"No, no, don't argue it. Just promise. Promise me that you'll keep your cool and do what needs to be done. The sooner these horcruxes are gone, the better. Promise?"

"Hermione, I-"

"Promise?"

"Fine," Harry relented with a sigh. "I promise not to get myself blown up because I got pissed off. Good enough for you?"

Hermione nodded, taking in every ounce of the crooked smile that her best friend was giving her. It was times like this where she could almost forget about the war, about the genocide of her kind, and remember that Harry was still a silly teenager. That dry sense of humor brought a smile to her own face every day. With a brisk nod and a tight hug, she walked with Harry out of the cozy kitchen and into the dusty foyer, where Ron was waiting for them. They didn't have time to discuss anything else, because by the time they were all back together again, Dumbledore walked in through the front door. Gone were the periwinkle robes and matching hat, and in their place were a surprisingly smart grey suit. Granted, his hair was still extreme by muggle standards, and there was something magical about his half moon glasses, but he could almost pass unnoticed in a muggle area.

"Harry, Mr. Weasley, are we ready?"

"Yes, sir!" They both chimed.

"Very well, then. Miss Granger, I am so terribly sorry that you can't accompany us. However, I'm sure that your talents will be put to good use, here. I've taken the liberty of expanding your room and inserting a bookshelf with some potions books that you may not have – I hope you will find them useful. Now, gentlemen, if you would please place your hands on my arms, we'll be off!"

The boys each stepped forward to wrap Hermione in a fierce hug before placing their hands on Dumbledore's arms, smiling widely. Dumbledore smiled and winked at her before turning on the spot, and with a loud crack, they were gone.

Hermione stared wistfully at the spot where her best friends just were for a moment before remembering Dumbledore's words. A library? In her room? She could barely contain her excitement as she sprinted up the stairs, throwing her door open. True to his word, her room had nearly doubled in size and now contained a very large bookshelf, a large desk, and a very comfortable looking armchair. She decided to waste no time and grabbed her notes from her nightstand, setting up on the new desk. The potion that Hermione wanted to create, which she had named Inevitabilis Obitus, would be extremely dangerous and volatile. She searched the bookshelf with a single finger trailing over the spine of each book and was delighted to see that the Headmaster had included several restricted books in his selection. With one more squeal of joy, Hermione gathered several books in her arms and sat down to read them. For the first time since she arrived at Grimmauld Place, she finally felt useful.

A/N: I hope you liked it! Thanks for reading, and please review!