The dragonhide gloves fell into her bag with a dull thunk. After so much use, they'd grown supple, and Hermione actually looked forward to brewing tonight. It would be much easier now that she could actually bend her fingers.

However, brewing would have to wait just a little while longer. Between schoolwork and the D.A. and Wolfsbane, frankly, Hermione had no idea, short of forfeiting all sleep, how to prepare for end-of-term exams, to say nothing of the fast-approaching O.W.L.s. Spare moments such as now, between D.A. and brewing, had become precious opportunities to read.

"Ron, stop pacing."

"Sorry."

"He'll be back soon, just — just sit down, please. We've got Transfiguration first thing tomorrow."

"Yeah, but did you see how they were looking at each other? You must've seen it."

Hermione's lips quirked a little. She had indeed seen Harry and Cho, but she wasn't going to get so caught up in her own excitement that it prevented her from functioning.

"What if he doesn't come back? What if they —"

"Ron!"

"What? It's an honest question!"

They both started at the sound of the portrait shifting; Harry barely had the time to step through before Ron ambushed him.

They didn't need to ask: Harry's dreamy, baffled expression told enough. Ron whooped and Hermione smiled, even as Harry stumbled over his words when describing how Cho had kissed him. He seemed shell-shocked in a way Hermione found utterly endearing and her heart soared. How long had it been since his eyes had sparkled like that? She was ashamed to say she couldn't properly remember.

Cho was sweet, too, and deserved something nice after the hell she'd been through since Cedric. This could be beautiful, she thought, briefly indulging her romantic side, which mostly lay dormant these days. This could be what helps Harry get through.

With a fortified outlook, Hermione picked up her bag.

"Oi! Where are you off to?"

"Wolfsbane waits for nobody, Ron. Not even Harry's love life."

Ron laughed and Harry blushed as she bid them goodnight and stepped through the portrait hole, her good cheer carrying her all the way to the dungeons.

"Good evening, Malfoy."

Malfoy eyed her suspiciously as she unpacked her things. "Cheery tonight, aren't we?"

Hermione answered him with a brilliant smile, for absolutely nothing he could do would sour her mood tonight.

Professor Snape appeared with a silent nod to each of them and the evening's materials appeared: The cauldron, the leather roll, the slim box of soggy flower stems. Unlike the last time, Snape offered no instruction or cues of any kind, and Hermione found herself glancing at Malfoy with blank uncertainty. She smoothed out her parchment of notes.

"Erm… Well, last time you did the stirring first, so I suppose I'll start."

"Right." Draco donned his gloves and Hermione took up the stirring rod, all the while persuading her adrenaline to simmer down to a manageable level.

Hermione watched the knife deftly open the seam of the stem and the fluid which began to leak from it. "Ready?" She nodded and he held it above the cauldron until a single drop dripped into the purple potion. He snatched it away and Hermione began the arduous task of completing the precise regimen of demi-stirs. When the timer pinged, she set the rod on its cloth and quietly retrieved her Transfiguration notes for the wait.

They carried on with the steps, tensely focusing on the procedure when slicing, dripping, and stirring was required, and otherwise lapsing into semi-relaxed silence. Hermione, for her part, was rather pleased that Professor Snape hadn't yet felt the need to offer corrections, and it wasn't until they had finished stirring the first drop of the second stem that he spoke at all.

"Excuse me a moment," he said flatly before disappearing into his office.

"What was that about?" wondered Draco beside her. "Loo break?"

Hermione shrugged and anxiously looked at the potion. Thirteen minutes before they had to do anything. Surely Snape would be back by then? And if he weren't? Would he expect them to continue on their own without his supervision?

The door banged open and Snape entered. The expression on his face raised gooseflesh on the back of her neck; she hadn't seen him look like that since — since third year, when Remus had transformed —

"A matter has arisen which requires my urgent attention," he told them gravely, and Hermione swallowed in dread. "If you have any reason to believe that you cannot sufficiently complete tonight's instructions on your own, tell me now."

Hermione shook her head obediently and watched in growing dread as Professor Snape began magically locking the room.

"When you have finished the procedure, you will wait here. Under no circumstances may you remove your Bubble-Head Charms before I have returned and verified it is safe to do so." He finally turned to them, his black eyes so severe that Hermione nearly cowered. "As neither of you are blubbering first years, I do not anticipate any exploding cauldrons, however, should you suspect you have made a mistake — any mistake of any kind — you will tell me. It is kinder to let a werewolf suffer through his transformation than to poison him with a faulty potion to save your pride. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, professor."

"I expect to be gone several hours, though I will return before morning."

With a final glance between the two of them, he disappeared. The door locked behind him.

The air hung very still for a moment, silent except for soft simmering from the cauldron.

And then Hermione's breath came out in a rush and she turned to Malfoy, whose eyes were just as wide as her own.

"What the bloody hell?"

"How are we supposed to do this?"

"If you don't think we can do it then why didn't you say something?"

"Why didn't you?"

"God —!"

The timer still gave them nine minutes to sort themselves out, but Hermione, for her part, could barely stop her head from exploding from endless images of all the ways they could muck this up and the disastrous consequences of each —

And what could have possibly dragged Snape away so urgently that he felt the need to leave them like this?

"Well, you just did the stirring," Hermione reasoned, "so I'll do it this time… And then we'll just… do the same as we were before. We've only got five drops to go, anyway."

"Right. Won't be a problem."

"Right."

Hermione swallowed and watched the potion, searching for some indication they'd completely ruined it even without having done anything yet. Beside her, Malfoy stayed rigid.

Two minutes passed.

"Do you really think he'll be able to tell if we've ruined it?"

"He's Snape, isn't he?"

"Alright, but suppose it's a tiny mistake, but still enough to—"

"Not helpful, Granger!"

"I'm sorry! It's just — I don't want to hurt anyone! How awful would it be if someone drank this and it killed them?"

"Stop catastrophising and there won't be any mistakes!"

"Fine!"

Six minutes passed.

Hermione tried very hard not to hold her breath as she slit the weeping stem open a little further, just enough to coax a drop of its oil into the cauldron. When it had fallen and she'd snatched the stem back over the benchtop, Malfoy began the stirs, diligently reciting each one he completed.

Four-and-a-half minutes later, when he removed the rod, the potion looked exactly as it ought to.

Two drops and stirs later, Hermione quietly returned to her Transfiguration notes.

When at last the final stem had been drained and the potion stirred, they breathed a collective sigh of relief. The cauldron sat quite happily on the benchtop, the potion more or less the correct shade (as far as Hermione's eye could tell) and consistency for this stage of brewing.

Work done, this was the point where Professor Snape would dismiss them and they'd wordlessly leave, disappearing into the corridor as they made their way to their respective common rooms.

But now?

For want of anything else to do, she sat back and flattened out her Transfiguration notes. She would make McGonagall proud, and she would ignore the pale git lurking nearby.


"Stop checking the time, Malfoy."

"This is ridiculous. It's been two hours now."

"There's nothing we can do —"

"Is this even legal, to lock us in here like this? What in Merlin's bloody name could be keeping him?"

"I don't know, Malfoy, but whinging won't make him come back any faster!" Hermione slapped her palm down on the bench. She was tired and angry and wanted to be alone, in her own bed, instead of trapped in this dungeon with him.

Her legs wobbled as she grumpily made her way to the wall and sank onto the floor. At least she could lean against something now, but her eyes ached, and she had a persistent itch on her nose that mocked her from beneath the Bubble-Head.

Midnight had come and gone. Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that Professor Snape's absence was due to — to Voldemort. He had been rigid as he left, jaw clenched, and her dread had been festering ever since.

Was Harry alright? What was happening? How long could he keep them down here? If something happened to Snape, would anyone know to come free them?

Stop it!

God, she was so tired.

Not helpful. None of this is helpful! It could be anything — worrying is just a waste of time…

Still, she couldn't help but feel she was missing out on something important.

She hoped Harry was okay.

"Comfortable, Granger?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," she grumbled.

"Finally finished revising, have you? I'm curious: What does a Granger do when there's nothing left to read?"

"Haven't you got something better to do?"

He scoffed. "Have you?"

"Yes. Sleeping."

"Best be careful, Granger. Imagine what Umbridge would say if she knew you were trying to nap in a classroom."

"Not that horrid old toad!"

"Speaking ill of a teacher? My, my, Granger."

"Not even you could possibly think she's a good teacher, Malfoy." She wrinkled her nose. "Or a good anything, for that matter."

"I dunno," he mused thoughtfully, "I reckon she's a great impression of an overripe strawberry."

Hermione sniffed. "Never would've guessed it by the way you lot fawn all over her and her bloody Educational Decrees."

"You know, Granger, there is wisdom in showing respect for authority, sometimes. For example, Slytherin still has all our Quidditch privileges intact."

Hermione scoffed. "At least we still have integrity."

"We'll see how far that gets you, won't we?"

Silence returned. Hermione yawned. What time was it now? One o'clock? Two? She didn't want to know. Merlin, she was going to feel so miserable during her exams tomorrow…

Creak. Hermione opened one eye and saw Draco awkwardly reclined across a benchtop. "Are you trying to sleep on a table, Malfoy?"

"Well, there's hardly anywhere else, is there? Unless you want to transfigure a pillow —"

"You know we can't do that! Who knows what the Wolfsbane would do!"

"I know that, Granger, that's my point!"

Hermione pulled her cloak tighter around herself. Maybe if she thought hard enough, Snape would materialise and free them.

More creaking and rustling. She thought she heard a grunt. What was he doing now? Why couldn't she just be alone? Footsteps, now, and she sensed him sit down somewhere to her right-hand side.

"Right. Floor it is, then."

Hermione's breaths came even and slow as Malfoy settled himself. "What do you think Snape will say if he finds us asleep in his classroom?" she wondered dully.

"Call us lazy buggers and graphically describe all the ways we could've killed ourselves with our incompetence, I'd imagine," answered Draco and Hermione chuckled a little.

"Good night, Malfoy."

If he said anything, she didn't hear it.


Her eyes and the door opened in the same moment. Her arms and legs spasmed, forcing her elbow into Malfoy's rib; he hissed in pain and blinked blearily at the dark figure standing before them.

Professor Snape looked exhausted. Not that he ever looked particularly chipper, in Hermione's opinion, but obviously last night had not been… pleasant. It spoke volumes that he didn't comment on the fact that he'd found them asleep on the floor.

"You may remove your Bubble-Head Charms. Were there any incidents with the Wolfsbane?"

Hermione shook her newly freed head and stood on wobbly legs.

"Then you may return to your common rooms. Miss Granger, your Head of House would like to see you."

Her right leg was still a little numb, but she dutifully thanked Professor Snape and followed Malfoy out the door.

Draco didn't meet her eyes.


"You're sure he's alright? He's definitely going to be fine?"

"Miss Granger, he is receiving the best possible care."

"And his family? Ron, Harry —"

"Any Weasley children at Hogwarts have been escorted home and excused from exams."

"But Harry —"

"With them as well, Miss Granger."

The milk in her tea swirled lazily. Hermione hadn't been able to drink it yet, not since Professor McGonagall had told her of Mr Weasley's attack. Professor Snape's prolonged disappearance and McGonagall's ashen complexion filled in what they would not tell her — that Arthur was still in danger, that it hadn't been an accident —

And Harry? What could have happened that involved him to the point that he'd been sent off with the rest of the Weasleys?

It wasn't fair! It was only last night (had it only been last night?) that he'd been all serene wonder, blushing as he told them about Cho. That was the first time — really the first time since Voldemort's return that she'd seen him looking anything but morbid and depressed.

And now?

"Miss Granger, no-one will think any less of you if this distressing news prevents you from sitting the rest of your exams —"

"No! No. That's fine, professor, thank you, but I'll do the rest of my exams. But I'd like to — when the term is finished, I mean, if I can… spend the holidays with them?"

"Of course. Come find me when you are ready on Friday, and you may use my personal Floo."

"Thank you, professor."

McGonagall nodded and looked at the untouched tea and dark shadows beneath Hermione's eyes. Raising an eyebrow, she said, "Now, Miss Granger, you have five hours before I expect a very strong performance on my exam. Go get some sleep."

Hermione hurried to her dormitory to obey.