Relatela, that's why I did it! What will he do now? Hehe.

Atlantean Diva, glad you liked it!

SkyBlue and Hogwarts Headgirl, thank you. :)

CynicalJinx, I can promise plenty more of that.

Ok, staring down a work week but this chapter is going up first. It's a bit longer than I usually prefer but it was a natural chapter break given the next swathe to come in the story. Please let me know what you think, and thanks to JKR for the inspiration!

When Hermione woke late the next morning, her body ached all over and her throat was parched, as if she had been left in the sun for days. She reached under her pillow for her wand and found it where it usually was. Her fingers curled around the wood, then pulled it out and cast a soft Tempus. Eleven! She remembered that it was Sunday, but still, her roommates should have woken her up. She flinched, her sore muscles protesting. Why was she so sore?

She sat up and flicked the bed curtains back. Thankfully the day was overcast, so she wasn't blinded by the sunlight flooding the room. She realized that she was still in her school uniform—why? She pulled herself out of bed and grabbed fresh clothes from her trunk, then headed for the bathroom. She needed a shower…her hair smelled. What was that? Kind of earthy, minerals…Hermione stopped as she took off her blouse, her eyes finally falling on the scar she hid from everyone. The ugly word was red again, the letters re-inked in thin, broken scabs. Her mind replayed the events of yesterday afternoon: the visit with Herecles, the party celebrating the Quidditch win, going to the infirmary and Tom "escorting" her back to her dorm. Hermione sagged against the wall as the memories tumbled through, hitting the hazy fog of the early evening.

"He Crucio'ed me," she whispered to herself. It was the only thing that made sense given how sore she was all over. Then he'd Obliviated her, too afraid to let anything truly terrible happen to Dumbledore's relative. And at some point he must have left her alone, because she doubted he would have bothered looking her over for suspicious scars. She must have scratched her own arm to remind herself of what he'd done. He was the only one she associated with that sentiment in this timeline, the only one daring enough to torture someone who refused to answer his questions.

Angrily Hermione stripped off the rest of her clothes and stepped into the shower, suddenly feeling dirtier. As the water hit her hair, the faint odor intensified slightly, and Hermione recognized it at last: blood. But the thought that really tormented her as she scrubbed her skin pink and washed her hair three times was: what did she tell him? What did he see? No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember—and it was this that caused her to at last sink to her knees in the shower, tears falling down her face as she wondered what she would do.

When she descended the stairs to go to lunch, Phineas and Olivia were lounging on the sofa, obviously waiting for her. She had decided to speak to Dumbledore. If Tom had found anything out about her origins, she wouldn't know it, but Dumbledore should know what had happened. It seemed difficult to believe that Tom Riddle hadn't learned anything from her, and the possibility that he had was too great to ignore.

"Hey, sleepyhead!" Phineas called cheerfully. "I guess you know better than to try to practice hexes with Tom Riddle now, huh? Don't worry, Merrythought won't pair you with him in DADA."

Hermione blinked once in shock, then realized that Phineas was joking about Tom's cover story, and had assumed her trip to the infirmary signified lingering effects from the hex Tom had cast on her in the library.

"Yes, that's right," Hermione said tightly, turning her attention to her roommate. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Oh, Tom said Madame Duvalle recommended letting you rest, so we figured it was better to just let you sleep. It's not like you've missed anything."

I'll just bet he did, Hermione thought, then forced herself to respond normally.

"Are you going to lunch?" Hermione asked, unwilling to go down by herself. She refused to miss another meal due to that evil boy.

"Yes, let's go down," Phineas agreed. "I'm so hungry I could eat a hippogriff."

In the Great Hall, Tom was wondering idly if Hermione would make an appearance for luncheon. It was unsurprising to him that she hadn't made it to breakfast, and a quick chat with one of the Ravenclaw prefects had revealed that she had slept right through it. Well, that was the usual outcome after one of his little 'chats'. Actually, usually they didn't come for any meals the next day. It would be interesting to see if his healing spells sped up the recovery time.

When they got there, Hermione noticed that Professor Dumbledore was still absent. Sophie noticed her darted glance to the High Table and remarked, "I'm sure you must know when Professor Dumbledore will return, Hermione. Wiselworth as a sub is dead boring, plus he's assigning an extra foot of parchment on his essays!"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know when he'll return, sorry. He's a very busy wizard." She helped herself to some bread, and thankfully nodded when Phineas offered her a bowl of soup.

A satisfied expression flitted across Tom's face as Hermione entered the hall with her two Ravenclaw friends. Abraxas noted it and its object, and asked in low tones, "How did your chat go with Miss Girard?"

Tom fixed Abraxas with a warning look. "You'll be informed when and if I deem it necessary."

Satisfied that Abraxas took the hint, Tom returned his attention to Hermione, who was eating lightly, but still eating. Another positive for his work, although he really hadn't doubted it. He wondered if she was still sore, but doubted she would be in the mood to tell him. She had flashed a dark look of hatred at him when he caught her eye as she entered the hall, and Tom reflected on the "willing" addendum to his note. Clearly she felt strongly about him, that was something. Now he would have to work to turn it to more conducive, friendly feelings.

He had thought long and hard about his note last night, turning it over, looking for any subtle differences in his handwriting; then parsing why the middle text, "Claim her" was in grey ink and the rest that he could read was bold black. It seemed logical that he had written that first, partially erased, then stopped and added the additional instructions. It was quite intriguing. He specifically hadn't said, "Mark her," which meant she wasn't to be one of his followers. However, she must be quite valuable, as Lord Voldemort wanted her for himself. Furthermore, he had wanted her so badly that he had gone to the trouble of sending her back in time to his younger self to ensure that she became so...which meant that she would never willing become so in the future.

It was a waste of time to speculate as to what she was in the future—he would learn that from Hermione herself soon enough. Somehow he doubted she was lying about her age, she was too young and naïve to be an Auror or holder of some other dangerous position. Her performance in DADA and then in private were in deep contrast, however, and Tom suspected he would need to clear that up before he decided how best to proceed.

He turned his thoughts back to the half-erased command…his future self wasn't sure whether it was the best course? Or he wasn't sure what he meant by "claim"? There were many permutations Tom could take with that verb—sexually, by blood, by vow or magical bond…and his future self had not been specific. It was a short note, too, leading him to believe it had been written in haste, and the deed done in haste—a last minute act, quite likely of great importance then. Tom was not an overly impulsive man, and he doubted he became more so with time. He planned everything carefully, to a great degree—and yet he had sent this girl back in time with very abrupt, vague commands.

Now Tom thought about the missing command. He had little doubt that that is what it was, lying beneath the crossed out black line. Whatever it was, he would have to have Hermione claimed in some way before he could read it. He suspected the only thing that would cause those final words to bloom across the parchment was Hermione's blood, willingly given to him.

He noticed that Hermione had finished her lunch and was leaving the Great Hall with her companions, probably heading to the library. Rosier rose from his seat at the same time to follow them, and Tom turned his attention to Abraxas.

"I want a meeting this evening. 11 PM. There have been some…developments which require my Knights' attention."

"Yes, my lord," Abraxas said, bowing his head slightly in a gesture many would mistake for a rearrangement of his hair, if anyone was watching them in the nearly empty Great Hall.

"Your performances this evening are barely bordering on acceptable."

The coldness of his tone left little doubt that Lord Voldemort was displeased about something. Evan swallowed hard, aware that his report about Hermione Girard chatting and laughing with Herecles Potter in the library this afternoon had not been well received at all.

"Crucio." It was barely a whisper but every cell in his body trembled and burst, or so it felt to Evan Rosier as he fell gasping to the floor. He wasn't a screamer under Tom's wand, but that was probably worse, because it felt like he held his curses longer because of it. Another body flicked to the floor beside him—Granthus Gibbon.

"Mr. Rosier and Mr. Gibbon demonstrated an appalling lack of concentration while attempting to perform the Imperius." Finally Tom flicked his wand away, leaving Evan and Granthus to pull themselves together and scrape their bodies off the floor and back into the kneeling position Tom required of all of his Knights.

"Mr. Malfoy, on the other hand, seems to have an alacrity for the Imperius curse," Tom noted. "Let's be sure he appreciates its full effects—Imperio!"

The rest of the Knights watched impassively as Lord Voldemort made Abraxas Malfoy pick up a sharp dagger and begin cutting himself on his arms with it.

"That's enough, Mr. Malfoy. Heal yourself, and clean it up," Tom said, and watched as Malfoy did just that, turning his wand dully to the cuts, then getting down on his hands and knees to begin wiping up the blood from the dirty floor with his robes. "Enough."

Tom waved his wand again and Abraxas kneeled stiffly, his face a stolid mask even after his release from the Imperius.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy, never forget the importance of blood. Your blood spilled gives an enemy a potent entry into your being. Protect your blood, and you protect your life—even if it means throwing off an Imperius curse, do you understand me?"

"Yes, my lord."

Satisfied that he had made his point, Tom turned again to Rosier.

"Fortunately for Mr. Rosier, he also brought some interesting information about Miss Hermione Girard, the special subject of this little session," Tom said, fully comfortable that his wand had brought his followers' full attention to bear. They were all apt pupils, but they required the occasional application of a bit of discipline to remain well-trained.

"Miss Girard arrived here in highly unusual circumstances. I have now discovered what precipitated her arrival, and suffice it to say, she is of great interest to me on multiple levels because of it. Let me make something very clear: I mean to acquire Miss Girard by whatever means necessary. I, and only I, will dictate how she is to be treated. Therefore, you had best pay close attention to what I tell you now: Miss Girard's secrets are mine to uncover, and mine alone. You will not breathe a word of my interest in her to anyone, ever. If I even hear a whisper that one of you has mentioned her or even an anonymous individual as the subject of my interest to your parents, friends, or family, I will wipe you and every one of them from the face of this earth. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my lord!" they all shouted, and Tom raised his wand to quiet them.

"Now, it has come to my attention that Miss Girard has made an undesirable acquaintance, the estimable Gryffindor Seeker. I want to know if Miss Girard spends any company with him. Do not interfere unless they are alone, in which case, I expected to be summoned. I also expect you to keep Miss Girard out of any unpleasant scuffles. Likewise, I expect to be apprised if any professor shows an undue interest in Miss Girard."

He waited for his Knights to acknowledge his orders, then continued when they each nodded in turn when he looked at them.

"Good. Rest assured, the value Miss Girard offers will pay rich dividends in the future, my Knights—and I am not referring to something so trivial as money. Now, I require the assistance of Mr. Malfoy in class on Monday."

"I am honored, my lord," Abraxas said, looking up at Tom's face.

"I suspect Miss Girard is hiding her light under a bushel, Abraxas; and you are going to help topple that basket over," Tom said, his voice rich with satisfaction. "Now, this is what you will do…"

"Dueling!" Professor Merrythought began, clapping her wrinkled hands together. Hermione wrenched her attention from the sleet outside, the miserable weather of November making the halls cold and drafty. Anyone looking at the diminutive woman at the front of the room would seriously underestimate her, but the professor seemed to be going at full steam still. Nonetheless, Hermione knew that Merrythought was thinking about retiring, and she saw how Riddle ingratiated himself to her. It therefore had rocketed to the top of her "most dangerous class" list, with Potions being a close second.

"You are in your final year of study; therefore it becomes more imperative than ever to put your skills into practice; not just against the dangerous creatures you might encounter, but also your fellow wizard or witch who have been tempted to take a dark path."

Hermione thought the way the professor said that made her sound like a melodramatic Muggle storyteller. It was no wonder the vast majority of her classmates didn't take the threat of dark wizards very seriously if this is how she always talked about the subject. She had to admit the woman was a better teacher than most of her previous DADA professors, however, Snape and Lupin excluded.

"Can you imagine having to deal with a dark wizard here in Britain? I imagine it's different in France…" Olivia stopped herself mid-whisper as she realized who she was talking to, but Hermione ignored the reference utterly. Her roommate might have the luxury of thinking she didn't have to worry about things like this, but Hermione knew this was essential practice. It was highly unfortunate that it had to occur under the devil's own nose.

"Now, to that end, we will begin practicing dueling during class. In addition, you will have three major assignments that will require teamwork and spur of the moment thinking, the conditions under which you will most often find yourself confronting the Dark Arts."

Hermione let out a small sigh while with the majority of her classmates groaned, but for an entirely different reason. She was quite prepared to defend herself, but she didn't want to do too good a job, lest she attract Tom's attention again. He had been leaving her alone since that evening, and she didn't know whether she should be relieved, or worried about what he may have learned. So she went back and forth between both. Now she would have to hope that the duels were simultaneous, so that he couldn't pay too much attention to what she did.

"Now, I will assign your partners based on your dueling proficiencies, and design the group projects accordingly! Don't hold back, please. I will know if you do," Merrythought said, fixing Hermione with a stare that spoke volumes. I'm fucked, Hermione thought to herself. Clearly, Tom had spoken to Professor Merrythought in advance. Damn, damn, damn!

Despite her wishes to the contrary, Professor Merrythought intended the duels to be one on one while the rest of the class looked on. She lurked in the middle of a group of her classmates, knowing that the professor couldn't possibly get through the whole class today. She could be ill tomorrow and avoid the whole affair. Hermione's relief was short-lived, however. After half the class had practiced dueling on the platform, Professor Merrythought chirped, "Miss Girard, and Mr. Malfoy!"

Hermione felt a bit cheered at this pairing, at least. She didn't like Abraxas Malfoy any better than she had liked his grandson, but she knew she would be able to hold her own against him. Furthermore when it was necessary to 'lose' she could pick a spell that wouldn't be too bad and just fumble her shielding.

"Good luck Hermione!" Olivia whispered as she walked past. Hermione murmured, "Thanks," and approached the dueling platform. The sooner they began, the sooner it would be over and she could fade back as the bookworm once again. She faced him in the customary dueling posture, and swept her wand stiffly in the required salute.

The duel began predictably enough, with a couple of stinging jinxes exchanged. When Abraxas leered at her, she put it down to his usual boorishness. However, as he parried her half-hearted jinxes and sent his own flying for her to competently block, it was clear that he was focused on being a complete boor, in every sense of the word! Hermione blocked stinging jinxes sent toward her breasts, doing her best to ignore the lecherous looks he gave her when the professor was making notes on her clipboard. The rest of the class was giggling, and the only thing that kept her temper in check was the certainty that Tom Riddle must be behind this. She stole a glance at the Head Boy, but he had a visible frown on his face and it gave Hermione's brain a moment's pause in her certainty of that fact, sending a stunning spell with a bit more force than she intended at Abraxas to make up for her split second inattention. Abraxas smirked, and she lost it when he sent a tickling hex straight at her inner thigh, then blew a kiss when Professor Merrythought's back was turned.

"Avis oppugno!" Hermione said fiercely, directing the birds at Abraxas with pointed accuracy. He didn't manage to block them all, some pecking him on the head before he vanished them, sending a stunning spell back at her. Hermione blocked it and threw a jelly legs jinx, another stunner, then "Locomotor mortis!" in rapid succession, causing Abraxas to topple over, his body completely petrified.

"Oh, well done, Miss Girard!" Professor Merrythought beamed as the rest of the class clapped, and Hermione flushed as she caught the eye of one Tom Riddle, who bowed his head in compliment briefly, his eyes sparkling. Shit!

Hermione nearly forgot to shake Abraxas' hand after she muttered "Finite incantatem," in his general direction, so anxious was she to get off the platform and blend back into the safety of the Ravenclaws. She murmured thanks to the effusions of her classmates, and watched miserably as the rest of the class went through their duels. Poor Ananias Wigsbury was paired with Tom, and it didn't take more than one stunner from the Head Boy to send her housemate reeling from the platform. Hermione knew he was one of Phineas' roommates, and she saw her friend patting Ananias' shoulder to cheer him up as he walked away from the dueling platform.

"Well, it's the effort, dear," Professor Merrythought said as the Ravenclaw passed by her as she scribbled in the clipboard. "That's all for today, class! Expect the list of dueling pairs to be up by Wednesday."

Recognizing their dismissal, Hermione grabbed her bookbag and made a beeline for the exit and the safety of Ancient Runes, where she wouldn't feel Tom Riddle's prying eyes boring into the back of her head.

"Hermione, I wonder if I might have a word," Tom said lightly, cornering his quarry a few days later as she neared the library. She was utterly predictable. He saw Rosier slipping away, satisfied that at least his Knights were taking their commissions seriously.

"I have nothing to say to you," Hermione said, then attempted to brush past him.

"I believe you have a free period now. Let's take a walk toward the lake," Tom said loudly, ignoring her reply entirely and taking her arm and her bag. Hermione was now faced with the choice of attempting to wrestle her bag, which contained her homework for her remaining two classes, away from him, or going along and trusting he wouldn't do anything horrid in full view of the Quidditch field, where the first years were having flying lessons.

"Let go of me," she hissed, pulling her arm away from him and stalking off in the direction of the lake, casting a warming charm on herself. Tom gave an unaffected shrug to two Hufflepuff fifth years who were whispering and looking at them, and they scampered off with giggles as Tom followed Hermione. He caught up with her when she was closer to the lake, where she had stopped and was just looking out toward the lake and Forbidden Forest.

"What do you want?" she asked without preamble.

"You've been ignoring me, Hermione. I want to know why," Tom said, putting her bookbag down on the damp ground. "Look at me when I'm talking to you," he said, taking her arm again.

"Don't touch me!" Hermione retorted, whirling to face him. "How dare you, after you put me under the Cruciatus curse!"

Tom's eyebrows rose at that. She must have done something to herself while he was out of the room so she would know something had happened, that clever bitch. When he reflected on it later, he would add it to the growing list of reasons why his future self was so keen to acquire her.

"What makes you think I did that?" he said coolly, putting his hands in his pockets in a casual gesture, his fingers brushing against his yew wand. That would be short-sighted, however, and he was playing a very long game with Hermione Girard, if that was even her name.

"I was aching all over when I woke up that day. I'm not an idiot," Hermione said, then looked away when a calculating expression entered his eyes.

"But how would you know that, Hermione, if you've never experienced it before?" he asked innocently, and Hermione mentally cursed him for being so damn clever.

"I've read about it, and I don't remember what happened when you walked me back to my dorm," she lied. "I've heard plenty about you, it wasn't hard to figure out."

"I'm surprised you of all people would believe such rumors, Hermione. How do you know you didn't suffer a seizure in the halls from your head injury? And that I helped you back to your common room, and made you take a potion Madame Duvalle sent for you to take, which made the evening's conclusion hazy?"

He said it so lazily, as if it were common knowledge, that Hermione had to clamp down on her tongue before she mentioned her scar, how she had left herself an unmistakable message about what he had done. Tom saw the flash of anger across her face, and noted it. She was incredibly strong-willed, but eventually, all of her secrets would be known to him. He grew more determined about it after every sparring session with her.

"Have it your way. I am still not interested in your company," Hermione replied coolly, adopting an air of indifference.

"But I'm very interested in your company, Hermione. For example, the apparently cool relationship you have with Professor Dumbledore, even though he is supposedly a relation of yours. Why is that?" Tom's tone was innocent, but Hermione knew he was picking at every sore point in her story with methodical precision.

"He's not exactly a close relative, and I'm already of age. He is of the opinion that I'm best served to make friends my own age and not rely on him too much for advice. Besides, he's very busy. You know as well as I do that he's traveling at the moment." It was a lame excuse to her own ears, and Tom's expression left little doubt that he found it so as well.

"What about Christmas? Are you going with him to visit your extended family?" he poked, laughing internally at her expense. She was terrible at hiding her emotions from him, something that benefited him enormously.

"We haven't discussed it," Hermione said stiffly. "Are you quite through interrogating me? Because I have a class to attend."

"Are you attending the Slug Club supper on Friday?" Tom asked, picking up her bag again before she was able to do so herself.

"I'm going with Phineas," Hermione said, not about to give him another opportunity to escort her anywhere private again.

"Not a date, I trust," Tom said lightly, casting a sideways glance at the witch just to catch her reaction. She did not disappoint him.

"How dare you," she whispered fiercely, her brows knit together in an amusing way as she tried not to draw too much attention now that they were inside and the halls were more crowded. "I am not dating you, and you have no right to say whether or not I date anyone!"

"Do you honestly think any other wizard would go near you now that I've made my interest clear?" Tom asked as they came to a halt outside the classroom, passing her bag to her and drawing a single finger quickly down her cheek before she could slap his hand away.

"You're an insufferable, arrogant, arse!" Hermione hissed, her cheeks flaming hot from the stares of her classmates.

"See you later, pet," he said with a small smile, then turned and walked away. That went well…and she was now on notice that if she attempted to date anyone, he would instantly become a target of Tom's less than friendly interest. Excellent.

"Professor Beery?"

Hermione poked her head around the door of Greenhouse 5, hoping that her Head of House was within hearing range. As far as she knew, there were no Mandrakes in this greenhouse, but she kept her voice low just in case.

"One moment!" The gruff voice came from the back of the greenhouse, and Hermione just stepped inside the door to get out of the sleet and wind. She was careful, though, not to venture further…although this greenhouse had not harbored any truly dangerous specimens in her day, she had no idea how Professor Beery chose to catalogue the specimens in his time. It was always best to approach the greenhouses with a healthy degree of caution.

"Ah, Miss Girard," Professor Beery said, taking a dragonhide apron and gloves off. "What can I do for you?"

Hermione wasn't quite sure, actually. She only knew that after Tom Riddle had talked to her again by the lake, she was running out of options for evading him as long as Dumbledore was away. Desperation had driven her to the idea that perhaps her Head of House could offer some form of refuge, an alternative to just waiting for him to come up with his next insidious excuse to get her alone and do whatever he fancied.

"It's…it's about a boy, Professor. There's a boy who has…expressed an interest in me, and I'm afraid I can't return his interest. I don't think he's getting the message."

Professor Beery's brow creased, his fuzzy eyebrows drawing together slightly as he looked at her quizzically. "I see. And would this boy be our Head Boy, Mr. Riddle?"

Hermione's eyes met the professor's squarely. "It would."

"Ah." The professor peered out into the dark behind her, his attention seemingly grabbed momentarily before he returned his gaze to Hermione. He turned back to the rack holding his gloves and apron, and gestured toward the other aprons and pairs of gloves. "Best put those on. Come with me."

Hermione followed his instructions, aware that this had nothing whatsoever to do with her question, but equally certain that the perspicacious Professor Beery had a purpose behind the odd request. When she was attired as he deemed necessary, the professor shut the greenhouse door firmly with a wave of his hand and led the way back down the paths of the greenhouse, Hermione following behind.

"Mind the thorns," the professor warned, grabbing a waving stem of a pale green plant with long, white thorns all over its stem and leaves. "And stay away from those paddle-like leaves."

"Right," Hermione said. "What do I need to do?"

"Pick the flowers," the professor said grimly, avoiding a particularly gruesome thorn as he deftly removed three white blooms in succession.

"Okay," Hermione said, and stepped up to the plant next to the professor. After a few minutes she recognized a pattern to the plant's movements, and then it was a bit easier to collect the flowers. Clearly this was what her Head of House had been waiting for, because he nodded his head in approval and cleared his throat.

"Now, tell me what it is about Mr. Riddle that bothers you."

Hermione darted a glance at him and returned her attention to the plant in front of her, pinching off a blossom before she spoke. "He seems a bit dark, frankly. And he's the most arrogant boy I've ever met in my life."

Professor Beery nodded. "And?"

The professor's attention was firmly fixed on his plants, but Hermione was finding it difficult to concentrate on the plant's attempts to swat her hands as she thought about what else she could say about Tom Riddle. Finally she settled on her answer.

"He scares me. He's terribly intense."

Hermione thought she heard a sigh from the man, but couldn't be sure because he stepped back swiftly from the plants and moved back down the path a bit, giving the plants their space. Hermione followed out of habit, and the professor nodded toward her gloves as he took off his own. Then he turned his attention back to his student.

"Hermione, I believe you didn't know your relative very well before arriving here at Hogwarts, and I am equally certain that his opinions of young Master Riddle have not escaped your notice." He paused and Hermione nodded her acknowledgement of this fact, and the professor nodded curtly in return.

"I have the highest respect for Albus Dumbledore, and there's something to the Muggle expression, 'where there's smoke, there's fire.' That having been said, Mr. Riddle is extremely gifted, as you are well aware. Equally, he has never paid much attention to girls in his time here at Hogwarts. Therefore, I think it wise of you not to take this attention lightly, whether you wish for its continuance or not."

"Given that I'm not…interested in Tom Riddle, what can I do? I don't think any other boys would dare approach me." To be honest, Hermione didn't want any other boy's attention, either, but it seemed the safest tack to take with Professor Beery. The professor started walking again very slowly, then stopped and turned back to gesture to the plants they had been tending.

"Do you know what that plant is, Hermione?"

She found her professor's stare intense but frank, and Hermione shook her head. Herbology had never been a favorite subject of hers, although she did well enough in it.

"I'm afraid not, Professor. I've not seen it before."

Professor Beery's gaze swung back to the plant in question. "It's a magical variant of Mala Mujer—"Bad Woman". Related to Euphorbium…poisonous sap, but quite useful in some potions, as are the blossoms. Even the thorns can be useful in certain salves. Now, looking at this plant, and certainly having an intimate encounter with it, you wouldn't think there was anything good about it, would you?"

Hermione squirmed a bit, aware of where the professor was going. He continued, "Allow me to demonstrate why some of my colleagues think I'm mad to keep these plants."

Professor Beery withdrew two mice from a cage nearby and set them near the closest plant. Hermione watched the mice cautiously sniff the air, and Professor Beery whispered, "The nectar is absolutely gorgeous, if you can get it to it."

One of the mice was cautiously making its way up the stem, adroitly dodging the larger thorns and creeping slowly but steadily up toward the flowers. The other was sniffing cautiously around the base, but hadn't tried to climb the plant. With a sudden viciousness that caused Hermione to jump, one of the paddle like leaves of the plant swiped with deadly accuracy and impaled the mouse that had been trying to climb the plant, killing it swiftly. The mouse at the base skittered briefly, but then its nose led it back to a particular spot, which it began to lick and then nibble. Amazingly, the plant's thorns drooped quite suddenly, and then the mouse ran, lightening quick, up the plant and nibbled a small hole in the base of one of the remaining flowers, enjoying the sweet nectar. It then ran back down again before the plant woke up.

"Enough of that for you," Professor Beery scolded the little mouse, stunning it with his wand and dropping it back into the cage before he released the spell. He turned to Hermione with a thoughtful expression on his face. "As you see, sometimes, if you take the time to learn about even the most prickly of creatures, you learn to find something good."

Hermione felt a bit deflated after this little demonstration, and was feeling quite alone again as she dutifully put away the gloves and apron at the door and let the professor escort her back to the castle. They were passing through the entrance hall, Professor Beery throwing a curious look at her, before he spoke again.

"I occasionally have need of an assistant in tasks such as those in the greenhouses. If you are feeling overwhelmed with the attentions of a certain boy, perhaps that might be a good way to use up some of your free time, especially while your cousin is traveling on urgent business?"

Hermione did feel better with that offer, and smiled thankfully at her Head of House. "Thank you Professor. I would like that very much indeed."