The Potions master had been true to his word and the following days passed in relative harmony, but their concord was conditional upon minimal contact with each other. In the evening, Hermione would flick through her old textbooks, compiling a list of notes and additional tips for the brewing of each potion for each lesson. She arrived promptly every morning at breakfast, before following his brisk footsteps into the dungeons. Silently, she would assemble the classroom in preparation for the forthcoming year group, allowing Snape to tackle the growing stack of marking. Despite their wordless exchanges, the arrangement had made for an almost pleasant way of life for Hermione.

Her contentment with the teaching aspect of her job allowed her to turn her attention to the sorry state of her private quarters.

She decided to transfigure the stained, outdated furniture that decorated her chambers and, with a flick of her wand, the tired green curtains transformed into waterfalls of thick red velvet, blocking the harsh autumn breeze. The chintz sofa became a maroon settee and she succeeded in removing the last of the dirt from the grating that surrounded the kitchen tiles. Thick layers of dust vanished from every surface and only the lumpy mattress and grimy bathroom were exempt from her efforts and even magic made little improvement.

Hermione stood back to admire her work and as she did, she saw a shadow appear in the night sky.

As it drew closer, she discerned a familiar snowy owl flapping towards the window; not one of the school owls that Professor Snape usually sent.

'Hedwig!' Hermione cried in surprise as she opened the window.

The bird cascaded onto her arm and affectionately pecked her fingers as Hermione unwound the strip of parchment.

'Dear Hermione,

Hope all's well with you and that you're enjoying your new job. Tell Severus that I was asking for him –'

Hermione's eyes widened in astonishment. Harry's casual use of the professor's first name, when she – as his colleague – had not been permitted such a liberty, stunned her and to see his written concern for the Potions master came as no slight shock.

'Ginny's doing great – only a few weeks left to go! Hopefully we'll be able to do something for your birthday before she pops.

Mrs Weasley's driving me insane (but don't tell Ginny that) and she's talking about staying with us for a few weeks after the baby's born. I might need to have a word with Mr Weasley – who's undoubtedly enjoying the peace and quiet with her gone.

Also, I spoke to Ron a few days ago. He was appalled by Rita Skeeter's latest piece and he's reported her to the senior staff for libel. He said he wanted to write to you – he feels dreadful about the whole thing – and he hopes that Rita's lies haven't affected your new job. McGonagall's no fool, at least. He misses you, Hermione, and I think he'd like to come out with us if we do go somewhere for your birthday. Think about it, OK?

Hope to hear from you soon.

Take care,

Harry'

Hermione rubbed her chest with her hand as she reread the latter half of Harry's note. Regardless of her feelings towards Ron, which had varied dramatically throughout the past few months, she could not deny his compassion nor his kindness.

It had been his caring and selfless behaviour during the battle as he insisted upon freeing the house-elves that had fuelled her desire for him. Although his thoughtful nature was not enough to salvage their romance, Hermione felt a pang of regret. She could easily imagine his distress over the article, knowing that the positive portrayal of his own character served only to damage her reputation further.

She glanced down as she felt a stinging sensation in her thumb. Hedwig had departed and one of the school's tawny owls had taken her place and was furiously nipping her skin to get her attention.

'Ouch!' she winced as she carefully unrolled the scroll from its leg. 'I'm doing it, I'm doing it!'

Tomorrow –

Double period with the N.E.W.T. class – Hiccoughing Solution
Break
Double period with the second-years (Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff) – Forgetfulness Potion
Lunch
Single class with the first-years (Gryffindor and Slytherin) – Boil Cure Potion

Hermione cast her mind back to her N.E.W.T. year with Professor Slughorn. If she remembered correctly, she had taken her Apparition test the day that Slughorn had taught Hiccoughing Solutions. She had came across the solution a few times while revising, but she had paid little heed to the potion as the textbook instructions were deficient, lacking in explanation and examples of practical use.

However, Hermione was all too aware of the consequences of trying to help students with the brewing process of a potion that she did not fully understand herself. Even several days later, she continued to have flashbacks from her first two nightmare days of teaching. Her only option was to seek out the formidable Potions master and ask for his assistance.

Glancing down at her watch, Hermione contemplated going to his chambers. It was only half past ten, therefore it was likely that he would still be awake. But at the same time, she did not want to disturb the unspoken agreement to not speak to each other that they had established.

Feeling like a rule-breaking third-year again, she crept along the dungeon corridor towards the Potions classroom, where his private rooms adjoined. Although, as a member of staff, she had every right to wander about the castle at night, Hermione had yet to feel like a member of the faculty as opposed to a lost, overgrown student.

She grazed her knuckles as she rapped on the door of the classroom. Her knock was met with silence. Hermione knocked again, louder, skinning the joints of her fingers as she did so. Snape was not known for his buzzing social life, therefore, it was unlikely that he was not inside.

'Maybe he's feeling poorly,' she murmured to herself. She did not relish the thought of returning to her room without ensuring that all was well. It did not matter so much about the potion or the timetable, her main concern lay with the fact that he had not came to the door.

Hermione hesitated as she withdrew her wand from her robes. There were strict rules about breaking into classrooms, but she hastily reminded herself that school rules did not apply to her anymore.

'Alohomora,' she whispered as she pushed the door with the heel of her palm.

'Sir,' she called as she entered the classroom. Hermione peered around her, but there was no sign of the Potions master until she saw a chink of light emitting from the door leading to his chambers.

Her knuckles rapped against the heavy wooden door.

'Professor?'

The door swung on its hinges as she lightly nudged the wooden panel. Tentatively, she edged around the door and entered his chambers.

His quarters were far bigger than her own meagre living space. The furniture varied in shades of emerald and jade and the whole room was lit up by an enormous fireplace. It was there that she spotted him. His thin form was hunched over as he knelt on the hearth as if to keep warm and Hermione hastened towards him.

'Sir! Are you alright?'

Hermione halted as she spied the familiar face of Lucius Malfoy looking up at her from the flames. The logs of wood distorted his features, but there was no doubting the supercilious leer that seemed permanently etched on his lips.

'What's he doing here?'

The last time she had seen Draco's father had been at the battle, but before that she remembered the skirmish at Malfoy Manor. She could recall his skittish excitement at the thought of forgiveness and the glory he would receive from being the one to hand over Harry to his master. She remembered the way his long, yellowing fingernails had pierced Draco's shoulder as he urged his son to look closely at Harry's disfigured appearance, menace laced through his hoarse voice.

Professor Snape's head whipped round as glared at her.

'I might ask you the same question,' Snape snarled. His expression was thunderous. 'Who gave you permission to access my private rooms?'

'Your door was unlocked.'

'That does not give you leave to enter.'

Snape turned towards the flames.

'We'll continue this discussion another time, Lucius,' he muttered briskly.

'Very well. Good night, Severus,' he said with a wry smile. 'You too, Miss Granger.'

With a final leer, his pale face disappeared from the fire.

'Why were you talking to him?' She failed to keep the accusatory tone from her voice.

'That is not your concern,' Snape retorted as he rose to his feet.

'Do you have any idea of the things that he's has done?' she asked. 'How can you sit there and have a conversation with him as if nothing has happened?'

'What gives you the freedom to think you have a say in my personal life or whom I choose to associate with?' His eyes became slits as he looked at her.

'Perhaps the fact that you are associating with a criminal.'

'Lucius was never condemned,' he retorted icily.

'He escaped by the skin of his teeth due to bribery and cowardice. He did exactly the same as Igor Karkaroff –'

'Would you rather he had kept the information to himself?'

'Of course not,' she insisted, flushing red as she spoke, 'but it was part of his desperate attempt to save his own skin from Azkaban. Not an earnest endeavour to compensate for his wrongdoings.'

'His transgressions were not worthy of incarceration. On the contrary, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement saw fit to include him in the Ministry's rehabilitation programme.'

'I used to work there, I know him. He's an incompetent, foolish man with a clouded sense of judgement, which is clearly shown by the fact he overlooked what Malfoy did at the World Cup,' she said darkly. 'If he continues to be so dismissive when it comes to punishing crimes against Muggles, he has little chance of keeping the support of the people.'

'None of them were hurt,' he snapped. 'It was harmless Muggle-baiting and it was almost twenty years ago.'

Hermione stopped in her tracks and her eyes flared as she looked at him.

'You can't be serious,' she whispered. 'You cannot stand there and try to defend their actions, excusing what happened as "harmless Muggle-baiting".'

He lowered his eyes to the ground and, for a moment, she thought she detected a flicker of shame.

'I have heard enough, Miss Granger. I do not need to justify my actions to you.'

'But, why –'

Striding towards her, he grasped her upper arm and frogmarched her to the door of his chambers.

'Get out,' he snarled as he suddenly released his grip.

Hermione staggered backwards over the threshold of the classroom as she stared at the fury that blazed across his features.

'I don't know what possessed you to invade my private space after hours,' he hissed, 'but I assure you that if it happens again, I'll curse you into oblivion.'

Her cheeks flushed pink.

'I – It wasn't my intention to disturb you,' she replied. 'I had a question about your lesson plan.'

'What is it?' Snape closed the door behind him and marched towards the front of the classroom. Leaning against the desk, he folded his arms and waited. 'Well?'

'It was about the Hiccoughing Solution. I sat my Apparition test on the day that Slughorn taught the lesson. I remember skimming over it before my exam, but I don't recall much,' she said with a shrug, 'I mean it's Hiccoughing Solution, it hardly warrants a detailed study. It's not exactly a useful concoction, is it?'

'The examinations board does not adhere to what you deem to be useful, Miss Granger. It's on the syllabus and it's my duty to teach it. If you think such things are above you, perhaps you ought to find a different profession.'

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh.

'That's not what I'm saying. I mean, it does seem a rather pointless potion. Libatius Borage clearly feels the same way given how little information he provides in the textbook, but my main concern is that I'm not familiar with the brewing process and the instructions aren't very informative,' she replied.

Snape exhaled as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.

'It's a simple potion that –'

'Well, it can't be that simple if it's part of the N.E.W.T. syllabus,' she countered.

'Do not interrupt,' he growled. 'The Headmistress has demanded that I share my lesson plans with you, which I have conceded to. However I do not have the time to elucidate –'

'It's a straightforward question, Professor,' she said. 'Surely you have five minutes to spare to answer my query? Perhaps if you skipped the tirade about my inadequacy, the act of responding to questions would be infinitely less time-consuming?'

He glunched at her and a furious tic developed in his cheek.

'You insolent, little –'

'Why do you hate me so much?' she asked , throwing her hands into the air. 'Ever since I started, you've been malicious and cruel, spouting an endless stream of disparaging comments about my abilities. What could I have possibly done to anger you to this extent?'

'Ah yes, what could you have possibly done?' His mocking tone rang in her ears. 'Suffice it to say, I do not share my colleagues' opinions – You are mediocre and lazy, garnering praise and admiration for memorising the work of greater witches and wizards. You're no different from Gilderoy Lockhart. A fraud with a decent memory. You are not worthy of the high respect that you seem to have earned from the other faculty members.'

Her eyes lowered to the hand that had been scarred by the burning tip of her wand.

'My mediocrity saved your life.' A numb, icy sensation spread across her lips as the words that slipped out came from somewhere inside her that was out with her control.

Snape stood bolt upright and his eyes flashed as he stared at her. The blank expression on his face was more terrifying than his distorted red-faced fury.

Slowly, his lips twisted into an unpleasant smirk.

'Again, you try to snatch the credit for yourself. I owe my current health to the work of the Healers at St Mungo's.' Surreptitiously, he shook his sleeve and the black cuff covered the red mark below his knuckle.

'If it hadn't been for me, or for Harry, you'd still be rotting on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.'

Her lips felt like rubber as she spoke. It was as if her brain had been numbed by the anger that she felt and, at that moment, her desire to placate the Potions master had been replaced entirely by the fervent impulse to infuriate him.

She knew she had gone too far as he paced towards her and Hermione backed against the wall.

During class, he always kept his distance, but now he stood merely an inch away from her. His nose almost brushed her brow as he glared at her. Her senses were engulfed by his scent. He smelled like the Potions classroom; smoke, spice and thyme. Hermione shrunk against the stone slabs as he bore down on her.

'Did you ever consider the possibility that I did not want to be saved? I had made my peace with the intended outcome. If you expect me to grovel in gratitude to you and Potter,' he spat, 'you will be most disappointed.'

Above the collar of his frock coat, she spotted the pale scar where Nagini had bitten him. It was not entirely dissimilar from the knife wound scored across her own throat.

'I didn't mean –' she began, shaking her head through the furious, red haze that had consumed her moments ago. 'Of course that's not what I want, but a bit of bloody respect would be nice. I'm trying my best!'

'I see no evidence of your efforts.'

'I've hardly slept all week! I'm trying to both come to grips with a new job and revise everything I learnt at school as well as trying to foresee every potential problem that could set you off. I am constantly on edge, evaluating and assessing everything I do or say in order to avoid provoking your anger. I don't know what I've done to make you hate me so much, you look at me with such loathing, and I can't understand it. All of the other assistants are treated with respect and equality and here I am terrified that you're going to blow your stack every time I do something wrong. But you can't make me leave. I've done nothing to warrant this behaviour. Your foul temper and your bullying might work with the students, but it won't work on me. So you can either continue to work in sullen silence or we can agree to cooperate and maybe even try to...get along.'

He sniffed contemptuously as he took a step backwards.

'Leave.'

'About the –'

'I told you to leave.'

Hermione raised a hand to her thudding heart as she skirted round him and left through the door of the classroom.

The tension between them hung thick in the air. At several points throughout breakfast the next morning, Hermione thought she caught Professor McGonagall looking anxiously towards them from the centre of the High Table.

Hermione felt a sense of nervous trepidation as she stepped into the Potions classroom followed closely by the horde of N.E.W.T. students. Her grasp of Hiccoughing Solution was weak despite poring over Borage's Advanced Potion-Making. She felt completely in the dark and she could already imagine herself floundering once the students began to holler questions.

'I confess that I have been markedly underwhelmed by the quality of work you have produced thus far,' Professor Snape drawled. 'If any of you fail to concoct a satisfactory solution, the repercussions will be severe.' Apprehension flickered over the faces of the sixth-years. 'Well, get on with it!'

If the over-populated classes were a problem, it was nothing compared to the language barriers that had arisen. Four girls from Beauxbatons stood in front of their cauldrons, staring in bewilderment as Professor Snape glowered at them from the front of the classroom.

As she eavesdropped, Hermione picked up certain phrases from their whispered conversation.

'Je ne comprends pas,' muttered one of the girls. She tugged on her long silvery blonde hair as she reread the instructions.

'Qu'est ce qu'il a dit?'

'Aucune idée.'

'Enough babbling over there,' snarled Professor Snape as he strode towards the cluster of Beauxbatons students.

'Qu'est ce qu'on doit faire?'

'Il a dit quoi?'

His ashen face turned red as he slammed his palm onto the open textbook. Several strands of black hair dangled in front of his face, which he impatiently brushed to the side.

'Ten points from Hufflepuff.'

Hermione hastily swept across the room towards the French students.

'Je peux expliquer...' she began.

Snape watched her through narrowed eyes as she tripped over her forgotten French and gestured to the ingredients and the apparatus on the table.

'Ah, oui, d'accord.'

'Merci, Madame.'

'It seems the Headmistress did not foresee the problem of language barriers when she accepted a host of students from Madame Maxime. Nevertheless, you could have saved a lot of time if you'd done that before,' Professor Snape muttered into her ear as the Beauxbatons students began lighting a fire under their cauldrons. His breath felt warm against her skin.

'I'm here as a teaching assistant – not a translator,' Hermione retorted. 'Maybe if you weren't so hostile, and a bit more appreciative, I would have been happy to step in earlier.'

He muttered something which could have been 'thank you' or something infinitely less polite, but Hermione merely shrugged her shoulders in response and wandered towards the group of Gryffindor students.

In light of their argument the night before, the day passed as smoothly as possible. He did not requite her for her assistance with the French students, slinging several terse remarks at her over the course of the afternoon, but that did not dampen Hermione's spirits. As she sat down at dinner, she felt a wave of relief, anticipating the moment when she would be free of him. She relished the thought of an entire weekend sans Snape and it was with great haste that she devoured her roast dinner.

'I trust that you do not have plans, this evening?' Snape asked suddenly as he raised his goblet of wine to his lips.

Her mouth dropped as she turned to face him and the roast caught at the back of her throat, causing her to erupt into a loud coughing fit.

Snape sneered briefly at her as if he could understand the incredulous thought that passed through her mind, before raising his wand.

'Anapneo,' he muttered and her throat cleared. 'As I was saying, I have over three hundred essays to mark. After much consideration, I have decided to surrender to your insistent badgering and allow you to mark some of the first-year essays.'

Hermione was torn between shock, horror and delight. It was a pleasant surprise to learn that he had decided she was capable of taking on some of his workload, but the relaxing evening she had planned to celebrate the end of the week was ruined.

'Well? Don't just stare at me gormlessly.'

Hermione nodded as she swallowed the last of her chicken.

'Good. Are you finished?' he asked briskly.

'Yes, sir,' she replied as she pushed her chair back.

'Let's go.'

The thick stack of essays that he dropped unceremoniously onto her desk towered over her head. She had stationed herself behind one of the students' desks that faced his own table, but the pillar of parchment blocked him and his own considerable pile of marking from sight.

'Quill. Ink. Blotting paper,' he stated, thrusting them into her hands. 'Don't be lenient. If any more than half of them manage to pass, I'll know that you were too generous.'

Hermione gulped as she reached for the first essay at the top of the stack.

She could understand the glower that seemed to settle so easily upon Snape's features as she read through the students' work. The handwriting was atrocious and it did not get any better. Sloping, spidery, squint, unintelligible words floated across the parchment and Hermione felt a sense of hopelessness as she scrawled the word 'illegible' in red ink across the margins.

After an hour of silent marking, Hermione heard him open a drawer in his desk. She peeped around the overshadowing tower of essays and watched as he poured himself a glass of Firewhisky.

She blushed as his eyes snapped upwards to meet her gaze.

'What is it?' he growled as he slammed the glass onto the table.

'Nothing.' She quickly shook her head and returned to her work. Two more hours passed and Hermione wished she had fabricated an excuse to leave. Her head pounded as she squinted at another sheet of poor handwriting.

'I think that is sufficient for one night,' he finally announced.

Leaning back in her chair, Hermione rubbed her eyes with her knuckles.

'Thank goodness,' she groaned.

'Indeed.' He poured another drop of whisky into his tumbler.

'Did you drink that entire bottle?' she asked disbelievingly as she looked up at the empty container resting on his desk.

His eyes were cold as he glanced up at her.

'I'm growing rather weary of all your prying questions. My personal life and habits have nothing to do with you. If it were up to me, my professional life would have nothing to do with you either.'

'You drink a lot,' she observed quietly.

'And with good reason,' he muttered, tilting the glass in her direction.

Hermione scowled at him in reply.

'Am I that bad?'

'Worse,' he snarled.

'I am here to help you, you know...Not to make life harder for you.'

He sniffed as he drained the glass.

'You are really difficult at times,' she continued.

'And you are a nuisance.'

'Why are you so unkind?'

'Because one's patience tends to wane after several decades of dealing with imbeciles.'

'I don't deliberately endeavour to annoy you,' she replied.

Snape grunted as he vanished the empty bottle of Firewhisky and conjured a fresh, sealed bottle.

'You may go, Miss Granger. I've spent enough time in your presence this week to last me a lifetime.'

Hermione glanced hesitantly at the floor.

'Sir?'

'Oh, here we go...' He rubbed his forehead wearily with his palm.

'I wanted to ask you about – about last night. With Malfoy,' she said, fixing her gaze on the paperwork on her desk. 'I just – I just want to know...Why do you still associate with that lot?'

'That is enough.'

'I'm worried, I don't think –'

'I'm serious.'

'Why would you want to cling onto that life?' she asked despairingly. 'Do you sit and reminisce about the old days with them? Or worse? Those men are just so evil. I can't see why you would want to –'

'Miss Granger.' His voice was low and menacing. 'Get out.'

She looked at her lap, focusing on the disappearance of her calves after the pointed cliffs of her kneecaps.

Snape busied himself with the task of opening the bottle of whisky, unscrewing the lid and filling the tumbler to the brim. He placed the bottle on the desk with a heavy thud and drained half the glass in a single gulp.

Tentatively, Hermione rose to her feet and approached his desk before picking up the spirit. With her wand, she opened his drawer and made to replace the bottle inside.

'Leave it,' he growled, not looking at her.

'I think you've had enough for tonight.'

'Oh, I've had more than enough, Miss Granger,' he said sarcastically. 'It's time you left.'

Hermione sighed as he kept his gaze trained on the opposite wall.

'Leave the bottle.'