She did not bother to dress up in anything more than robes, even a make-up charm seemed excessive. Rushing down toward the dungeons, a new formally looking notice caught her eye, but she simply refused to stop and read it carefully, they would learn soon enough about Umbridges latest malice.
Most Gryffindors and Slytherins had taken their place by the time she arrived in front of Snape's classroom, but Harry and Ron, lingering to spend as few time between the cold and moldy walls as possible, had faithfully waited for her.
" - it's got nothing to do with overhearing us, Harry, she's just -"
"What's happened?", Hermione inquired.
"You've noticed the curfew, haven't you?", Harry grumbled under his breath, but did not elaborate, since Snape had appeared in the doorframe.
"Come", he commanded, without looking and turning his back on them again already, "You'll accept my chosen places for you, Potter."
Hermione cast a quick look on her friend, who bit his lip to suppress a snarky remark, and followed him into the classroom. Snape had set up about seven round tables for them to gather at, and bewitched tiny pieces of parchment to sit on chopping boards as doves. Passing by the closest seat, the bird cooed. With the soft rush of leaflets the dove unfolded its wings to reveal the name 'Pansy Parkinson', written neatly on the inside. Eerie silence spread through the room, falling on their shoulders like innocent snow flakes, they had never expected a product of such tender magic from their most despised teacher.
Relieved, Hermione discovered her name next to Harry's, though their seats were right in front of Snapes desk and gave her the impression of being kept under surveillance. The dove cooed again, when she sat down in a sharp angle to the front, as if she did not want to miss anything happening at her classmates workplaces, and settled on the edge of the cauldron behind a familiar wooden chopping board. The clammy chill crept through the cloth of her robes, under her skin.
"As you can see", Snape said, and all faint chattering faded instantly, "I have chosen a different potion for you to study today, some in a more advanced stage than others. Since you will encounter different potions in your various engagements after Hogwarts, this also serves as a test for students thinking about continuing potions at a N.E.W.T level, where you will no longer be presented with brewing tasks, but recognizing a given concoction first before finishing it." He had placed himself a few steps into the crowd, so Hermione did not see his face, but he sounded like smiling viciously now. "For those of you who actually meet the standards – and I repeat, I will only accept students with an 'O' in OWLs next year -, this is your last opportunity to reconsider whether you truly wish to return to – Mr Thomas, those assignments were given a fair bit of thought, and you will stay with the cauldron that has your name to it."
"Get – this – bloody – bird – off – me", Dean shouted, slapping an august, clawed creature, pecking his head and hands and sending a rush of thin air though the room. The humid gust of wind felt like a bucket of ice water in her face. The dove, apparently, had turned into a harpy. Just when her eyes had stopped watering, she read 'Lavender Brown' on its wings.
"You will switch places with Miss Brown, in case you wish to maintain proper eyesight, Mr Thomas", Snape told him. "Those claws are as sharp as they look."
"You gave me Amortentia! I will not work on this bloody potion!", Dean barked, "That's a bad, sick joke of -"
"Twenty points from Gryffindor", their teacher cut across him, "Another word, and you will see the headmistress about the matter. Complain to her, Mr Thomas, since she was the one to match the potions to each of you."
The soft, slightly uneasy atmosphere changed abruptly to a steely unrest. Several students squirmed in their seats. Dean stepped back from the table, and the harpy shrank back to the size of an owl.
"The signposts were installed to protect their respective potion from being tampered with by people whom it was not assigned to. I have distributed some dangerous brews among you, I don't wish them to be messed with. You are not allowed to bottle any of the substances for your own use."
Dean had stepped toward the only empty seat which was supposed to be his for the time being, but another peak into the depths, covered by bright red steam now, pushed him over the edge.
"Professor, take points from me if you have to", he said with his voice shaking distinctly, but in an almost apologetic tone, "But I refuse to work on something that could put me in any more difficult situations than I have already been through this year!"
"That would be another twenty points and an appointment with your head of house."
"Fine", Dean snapped, but caught himself before lashing out again.
Snape drew his wand, pointed to the dove and drew a helix, thin end turned to himself. It rose from the cauldron, floated toward him and lowered itself onto his shoulder, stretching a wing, extending parchment down his arm. Hermione saw the back of it only, but certainly another wave of his wand added a message to McGonagall on it. "Twenty points from Gryffindor, then", he said, as the parchment rolled up and became a tiny wing of the dove again. "This will lead you Professor McGonagall. Take no detours, Mr Thomas, if you don't wish to be dragged to her office. I can assure you, this creature is capable of it."
Dean rushed from the dungeon without another word.
"Those of you who so not consider their assignment beneath their dignity", Snape snarled, "Will identify their given potion, find out about an eventual defect – I emphasize eventual here – and come up with a hypothetical approach to amend this defect before you follow the instructions on the parchment. You will not implement any amendments on your own before I sanctioned them.
"What could possibly go wrong with nitric acid?", Neville threw in, nose hovering over one of few silvery kettles.
"If Longbottom here had cared to listen in first year, when I told you never to smell directly from steam", Snape hissed, "He might have discovered that despite a correct identification, nitric acid has huge explosive potential and is highly toxic to all living creatures in its pure form, as stated explicitly on your instructions."
The dove on Neville's cauldron turned its head toward another table, screeching painfully. Hermione thought she knew why: It had looked roughly into the direction of Seamus Finnigan, known for an inclination to all exploding wheezes and widgets, and turned away very quickly.
"Due to lack of experience with the finer aspects in the brewing arts-", Snapes eyes swept over their faces, but they were far so accustomed to his subtle depreciation that no one gave his the satisfaction of showing their offense, "Most of you won't know what they're dealing with this week. Therefore, you will perform a Stasis Charm on the concoction -"
Hermione heard muffled sighs now: They had been introduced to Stasis Charms by Flitwick after Easter, but quickly moved forward to more pressing tasks, since they were excluded from examinations due to their difficulty.
" -on the concoction in front of you. As for the procedural element I've been teaching you recently – your Stasis Charm will contribute to the difficulty of your task next week. Amending a messed-up brew that has matured on a flaw requires most sophisticated knowledge and superb analytic skills which -", they knew what to expect, but that did not subtract any scathing from his words, "- hardly any of you possesses."
Nevilles eyes were red, wet and puffy already, as if the steam had irritated him.
"The doves are here for your protection and will watch over your feeble meddling with these substances", Snape explained, confirming her speculations, "You are not allowed to mess with another students assignment. You have eighty minutes. Begin."
The chill, hugging her painfully tight when she entered his classroom, had not left her as usual as she got accustomed to the lower temperature, but was joined by a fine weakness, probably rooted in her vastly empty stomach.
"I swear I seen this before", Harry muttered, drawing her attention to grey-brownish, thick liquid, bubbling merrily in a brass kettle. "So can't be too much of a rare one, can it?"
"It is, Harry, but I'm afraid this bird won't let me tell you what it is", she said, having recognized it instantly as Polyjuice Potion. It seemed contaminated indeed: A properly brewed potion would have been evenly grey and thinner.
"D'you think you're permitted to give me a hint?", Harry said, face blank and empty. He obviously had no clue what to do next. Snape had started to float through the dungeon in his usual manner, belittling the Gryffindors, heading toward Malfoy at the center table inevitably.
"Hmm." She raised her wand. Her hands were cold and shaky, but closed sternly around the wood.
The dove churned its wings, but did not interfere. "Diverardis."
The surface stayed uneven, disrupted by several large bursting bulbs, and changed to the expected tone of grey for the fraction of a second.
"Any ideas?", Harry asked.
"Doesn't seem to be the right approach", she whispered, the dove eyeing her suspiciously. "Apparently, you can't conduct the analysis further than isolating the mistake in the -"
The dove let out a screech, summoning Snape.
"Miss Granger, I recall instructing you to not assist one another in you individual task." He had occupied the gap between herself and Harry completely, blocking her view, obviously attempting to prevent any nonverbal communication. Had he taken into account on how close that got him to her?
"No, you haven't, Professor", she replied calmly.
"Excuse me?"
"You said that we were prohibited to mess with each others assignments, Sir", she went on, bracing for an impact of whatever sort. "I did not."
"The doves are here for your protection", Snape said, "They'll cry out at any sign your endangering yourself or others."
"I was performing a Separation Spell, Professor."
"Which was of no use, Miss Granger." He raised his voice. "To the whole lot of you who might fall for the pathetically under-complicated track of analyzing your potion by a Separation Spell, I must remind you that the bodies of most sophisticated brews can't be subjected to such measures. You will learn about Golpalott's Third Law in N.E. class, but the same holistic principles are at work here."
She could have hit herself with her bright new edition of Advanced Potion Making, required for next year, but hidden safely in a stack of additional literature in her favorite corner of the library. The solution was equal to more than the sum of its separate components, completing a mixture, transforming it. Snape wouldn't put her next to a potion that gave away its secrets from simple dissipating magic. Yet she saw no face change in enlightenment, leading her to conclude that perhaps no one had understood Snape's explanation, except her.
"The additional element would be a mistake, then?", she asked. "In contrast to the key element in an antidote, we're supposed to find out what's wrong first before we can identify the potion, aren't we, Professor?"
"Students will raise their hand if they wish to speak in my classroom", Snape growled, stepping away from their table. As he did not address her statement explicitly as wrong, she knew to be correct. Reading him had become much easier though five year, at least as a teacher. He would have drawn points from her if he had not been impressed.
The slithering, weak and fuzzy feeling in her stomach was much harder to decipher, though. She had expected another rush of warmth, passion even, or anger at his cold and indifferent manner, but not this weary, timid and faint uneasiness, almost completely overpowered by the strike of ambition that drove her at the best of times. Her longing, spurred on by physical proximity, surrendered to her chilly weakness. She allowed herself to peak after him, skimming his broad shoulders, straight and muscular back, hips with minimal curves over them. He was heading to Malfoys table. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through her heart, since from her point of view, it seemed like Snape had literally turned his back on her.
"Professor, were these potions matched according to a specific standard?", Malfoy asked, loud enough for everyone to hear him. Hermione felt as if put through a deja-vu of a very distant, unpleasant memory, when she recognized her own curiosity in Malfoys question.
"I would have expected an ambitious wizard like you to deduce this on your own."
"Sir, any thesis of mine is destined to be a short-sighted approach, an educated guess, at most."
"We'll go for the best possible product of your education, then, Mr Malfoy."
"Those potions, Sir, were matched to us based on Professor Umbridge's assessment of our character", Malfoy postulated, "The timing is crucial here. If we're going to continue our work next week, this will be the very last assignment before OWL's."
Hermione saw the tips of his black hair shiver slightly above his collar: He nodded.
"They're expressing the Ministry's view of our potential", Malfoy laid out.
"A comprehensible hypothesis, Mr Malfoy."
Hermione wondered if anyone else had noted that he did not reward Malfoy with points, and why. Judging from Umbridge's scarcely hidden hatred of students, only exceeded by her loathing of half-bloods in particular, the Squad finest member had certainly guessed correctly – and she strongly suspected it was nothing more than a guess. Had Snape surrendered to the change brought upon Hogwarts, and accepted that house points were meaningless?
"Then I deduce this concoction", Malfoy dipped a ladle into the black marble kettle, raised it to eye level and let clear, sparkling liquid flow back into the pot, "To be veritaserum, Professor."
Hermione had given up on the entire challenge, just like Dean, to get a look at Snapes face now.
The loaded pause filled the air between them, up beneath the very drops of condensed steam on the ceiling, Vanishing as soon as they parted with the stone.
Snapes body had changed, Hermione noted, to a square and stiff posture, the upper end of his scapulae forming a strangely perfect symmetry. "That will be thirty points for Slytherin, Mr Malfoy." If he had been a dove himself, he would have been stretching his wings, but the carefully chosen words confirmed him to be human. How much she longed to step up, look straightly at him, and pry into his mind. The image of his face was followed by a picture of his slim lips, soft guards of relief from this excruciating hunger -
Hermione blinked. Harrys gaze was fixed on Malfoy, whose face parted into a broad, glowing grin. Only Ron, seated afar between Seamus and a vacancy, seemed to have noticed her true focus.
"I will proceed to the conclusion", the young Slytherin pulled her from her thoughts, "That our headmistress, Professor Umbridge, wishes me to investigate into truths that have been kept concealed from me so far. Truths that people can't be lured or coerced into revealing -", he gave an excellent imitation of Snapes heavy pauses, "So there's this little instrument being placed in my hands. Allowing me to make people open up, as if they did so willingly."
"A bold hypothesis."
The dungeon was dead silent now.
Probably due to the evaporation of various potions of poor quality, Hermiones head had started spinning, popping up one ridiculous idea after another about the exchange they witnessed.
"You don't concur, Professor." Malfoy made no effort to hide his frustration.
"I gave your thirty points as a reward for achieving the major course goal of today", Snape went on in a flat, dry voice. "But you haven't completed the task in its full extend."
"I haven't?" No attempt at concealing his impatience, either.
"No, I am afraid not, Mr Malfoy. That would have earned you a well deserved fifty points."
"What did I miss, then?"
"This class is constructed as a test to your qualification for NEWTs", Snape reminded him, still in this irritatingly calm manner, "It's part of your learning exercise, Mr Malfoy, to find out on your own what you've yet to commit yourself to in order to achieve the highest acknowledgments."
Suddenly, all emotion dried from his face, leaving nothing but unreadable blankness in Malfoys expression. "I am very well aware of what I am committed to", he whispered, fumbling rapidly on his sleeves now. For a moment, she thought he would draw his wand, but he only unbuttoned and rolled them up to his elbows.
The stiff demeanor, Hermione realized, served another purpose: Between broad shoulders, Snape must find it easier to hide a quickened breathing.
"I expect my students to complete their assignments. That means follow them through."
Malfoy hesitated, facing his teacher for a moment. When he replied, his polite, quiet voice, so unfitting of his recent rise of temper, caused the short hair in Snapes neck shiver visibly. "I will take it under advisement, Sir."
"Revising the task you were given would suit you better, Mr Malfoy. You omitted the crucial element", Snape pushed him.
It was an odd sight, watching Malfoy think. "I will need to find out what's wrong with this veritaserum."
It's my potion, Hermione was struck, It's the veritaserum I brewed with Snape. She struggled to keep calm, and in her distress, applied the technique she could access instantly, stretching her shoulders in a long, labored breath.
"You will need to find out if there's something wrong with this concoction."
"And I will, Professor. Trust me", Malfoy whispered, "I will find out."
"Go ahead, then."
Snape turned on his heels, and in the last few degrees of the circle, Hermione saw that he must have had his eyes closed when speaking to the Slytherin.
Fear threatened to wipe her mind from clear perception. Had the dungeon been tilting like this when they had taken their seats?
Dumb pain shot up her ankle. Harry had stepped on her feet.
She bend over to his cauldron, as if peaking into it. The dove on its edge let it happen. It was Harrys turn for odd movements now: He ran a finger over his lip, then pulled his shirt to a peak just beneath his collar. We need to speak to – whom?
Hermione frowned, but dared not to survey him too long. Or is that, 'I told you so – you get hoisted on your own petard', repeatedly? Had he referred to Snape: That chitchat with Malfoy got under his skin?
She shook her head as little as possible, but Snape must have seen her.
"Miss Granger, since you're so eager to engage in a distraction of your choice", he hovered over their table in no time, "I assume you have progressed further than expected. Otherwise, it would be foolish to allow yourself – to get distracted."
Under no foreseeable circumstances would she have admitted that she had not even looked into her own cauldron. As few others in the dungeon, hers was neatly sealed by a heavy lit of ancient wood, resting innocently on rusty iron, probably the most worn-out cauldron in the entire castle.
She reached for the lit and carefully pulled it off opening to the opposite side of her workplace in case it contained any harmful substances, just as Snape had taught them to. She would have heeded the instruction if no one had been watching, it simply made perfect sense to approach an unknown brew like this. Much to her surprise, there were no characteristics to identify in the steam, nor any distinct features on its surface to comment on. Placing the lid tenderly on her chopping board, the dove uttered a rhythmic, soothing call. With a pleasant rustle of her wings, she hopped from the edge of the metal and onto the desk.
"That was thrilling", Harry added, and several Gryffindors snorted.
"Silence, Potter."
It was not Snape who had spoken, but Malfoy. She could not say why Snape let him get away with the audacity to discipline a fellow student. His face was as pale, unmoved as ever, almost empty, as if he was not really looking at all. "Now tell us, Granger, what's in your cauldron!"
Again, Snape made no effort to retain him. The whole bunch of Slytherins, most them them flashing Squad badges at her, had stopped working and stared at her.
She bend forward, just enough to gaze onto the smooth surface of clear liquid. She could have counted the corrosive spots on the bottom of her vessel. It uttered no scent and did not react to her gaze, and since there had been a whole kettle of veritsaserum placed among them already -
"This, professor", she said, "Is the most valuable substance in this classroom." She lifted the cauldron, pulled it close and set it to her mouth, emptying it in several huge gulps. The liquid ran through her like spiked swords forced down her throat. Several drops trickled from her lips, sliding down her neck, dissolving into her collar like ice-cubes in a boiling spring.
Snape was awake again.
"Most valuable substance", Malfoy jeered, now drawing his wand, "Water! A joke, Granger! A testimony to your potential as a witch, don't you get it?"
Harry and Snape reached for their wands, too, but Malfoy was not foolish enough to attack her in front of a bunch of Gryffindors. "Incendio."
The dove shrieked horribly as it went up in flames.
Twining and coiling in agony, Hermione felt reminded of her previous night at Ginnys side – the dove shriveled to a tiny heap of embers – flames gorged its wings greedily – another piercing cry, and it was over.
The ashed had stopped smoking by the time Hermione gathered the strength to speak again.
"Since I lack a crucial element in your task, such as a potion", she whispered, gaze fixed on the black and grey remains of her protector, "I must ask to be excused, Sir"
"You shall be excused, then."
She pulled her robes tightly around her again, and felt his eyes follow her every move, as she, burdened by another humiliation, tredged from the dungeon.