A/N: New Blood turned 1 this past weekend! Thank you all for reading. I love writing this story, and it makes me so happy to hear that so many people love reading along as well. Thank you all for your reviews, too. They make me smile, they make me laugh, and they help me keep going when things are hard. Sometimes all a review will say is 'I hope you are well,' and even that is a small kindness that makes me a little stronger. I would write this story with no readers and continue to post it out of stubbornness, but it's much more fun when there are readers, too.

I hope you all continue to read for the next year, too, and I hope you're as excited as me for Hermione's next adventures!

Many thanks to you all :)

Word flew round the Slytherin common room of what had happened to Damon Rowle at Quidditch tryouts. It seemed everyone was talking about what had happened in one context or another. Most people were discussing what had happened and how he'd lost control of his broom, those who had been there describing it for others who listened in horrified fascination, while others were discussing the tryouts themselves – who had won which positions and the like.

Hermione was watching discreetly from over the edge of her book, listening. Nearby, Marcus Flint was retelling Rowle's adventure with a particularly scathing commentary on his flying abilities, gesticulating widely as he told the story.

"And then, the useless sod, he leaned to the outside, not the inside of the spiral, which made him go even further off course and smack right into the Whomping Willow!" Marcus smacked his hand against his other loudly. "The tree beat the snot out of him, of course. Busted his broomstick into smithereens as well – left a hell of a mess. Snape wasn't pleased – wanted us to clean it all up before we continued try-outs…"

"Clean up a mess under the Whomping Willow?" Adrian Pucey asked, laughing. "You must have really pissed Snape off, Flint. How many thwacks did you take, cleaning all that up?"

"None, Pucey," Marcus growled. "Granger cast some spell, and all the splinters flew into a pile outside of the hit zone."

"Oh, so you had to have a second-year clean up your mess—"

"It wasn't my mess, you utter twat—"

"Excuse me, did you say Granger?"

Hermione glanced up just long enough to recognize the girl who approached Marcus, folding her arms.

"What's it to you, Travers?" Marcus sneered.

She sneered right back. "I just find it funny that Granger, of all people, was the one who thought to use a spell to clean it all up…"

"It wasn't like that, Lilian," another boy chimed in. "She just waved her hand, and all the debris swept itself out from under the tree. She made it all settle down into one tight pile, too, like mini-tornado. And she did it right after Flint had complained about it – she probably only wanted to help, so she could see the end of tryouts, too."

Lilian, however, had reared back.

"I'm sorry," she said pleasantly. "Did you just say a second year wandlessly caused a powerful, tightly-controlled tornado?"

"That's what he just said, Travers," Marcus growled. "Why don't you try listening for a—"

"A tornado," she stressed, "not unlike the one Rowle was in when he crashed?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Marcus scoffed. "Rowle wasn't in tornado, he was in a tailspin."

"But he could have been, couldn't he?" Lilian pointed out. "If he was the only thing caught in the tornado, it'd certainly look like a tailspin, wouldn't it?"

"I doubt it," Adrian remarked, looking at his nails lazily. "Tornadoes are fierce and loud enough that they make a lot of noise. And they tend to pick up dirt and debris."

"Even the little tornado Granger made picked up dirt and made a noise," the other boy added.

Lilian scowled at them.

"Rowle's been flying since he was four," she insisted. "There's no way he would have flown into a tailspin."

"Then maybe he shouldn't have gone faster than he could handle while trying to beat out Malfoy," Flint snarled. "Unless you're saying that a second-year was strong enough to cause an invisible and silent tornado to purposefully make him crash?"

There was a brief silence, and Adrian started to laugh.

"You're crazy, Travers," he said. "You see conspiracy theories everywhere. You were the one convinced last year that Hagrid was breeding Dark creatures in the forest that fed on unicorns."

Lilian flushed a hot red and stormed off, the boys laughing behind her as she left.

Hermione bit her lip and made a careful note to keep an eye out for Lilian Travers.

"…Hermione?"

Hermione looked up to see Draco Malfoy looking down at her, somewhat hesitantly.

"Draco," she said, shutting her book and setting it aside. She offered him a smile. "Congratulations on making seeker."

Draco's face flickered with a quick grin. "Thanks. I'm quite pleased."

"Where were you after tryouts?" Hermione asked. "The new players were celebrating in the corner by the lake for a while."

"Snape wanted to congratulate me," he said.

Hermione blinked. "You, personally?"

"He's my godfather." Draco shrugged. "He wanted to hear about how tryouts went and to tell me congratulations."

Hermione felt a sudden flare of jealousy so sharp it was physically painful. To have Snape as a godfather… to have Snape as someone always looking out for you, helping you, training you…

"Speaking of which, he wanted me to come and get you," Draco continued. "He wants to see you in his office."

Hermione blinked.

"Now?" she said, astonished. "It's nearly curfew."

"He'll probably write you a note or walk you back if he keeps you out past it," Draco said. "But he insisted I come get you and send you along now."

Something in Draco's tone was off, and Hermione paused.

"Do you know what the meeting is about?" she asked.

"No," Draco said immediately.

Hermione considered.

"Do you think you might know what it's about?" she revised.

An emotion flitted over Draco's face.

"I suspect," he admitted.

Hermione waited, nodding at him to prompt him. Draco looked at her for a long moment, the silence growing thicker.

"I was going to lose to Rowle," he said abruptly. "During tryouts. He was gaining on the snitch, though it was so close it would have been hard to see from the stands."

"Was he now?" Hermione murmured, waiting to see where Draco was going with this.

"He was," Draco repeated, "until he banked wrong and flew off into a tailspin."

He was looking at her pointedly. Hermione raised an eyebrow, but he seemed to be waiting for something from her.

"How fortuitous for you, then," she said, and Draco nodded, a relief flashing over his face.

"Yes, I thought so too," he said. "It was very, very lucky for me. Unnaturally lucky, one might say."

"Oh, I'm sure it had more to do with Rowle's own poor luck, being unable to handle his own broom," Hermione said. "Nothing unnatural about someone getting cocky and making a mistake."

"Still, though," Draco pressed. "He was blown off-course so suddenly, right at the critical moment. It was like he was a pixie or something."

He stressed the word pixie significantly, and Hermione's heart leap into her throat, her eyes wide.

Draco held his hands up, empty. "I'm just saying, you know – that I'm very glad I was as lucky as I happened to be tonight. I wouldn't have gotten the position otherwise, and I wanted this really, really badly." His eyes held hers, significant. "I'm very grateful for my random streak of luck."

He thought she had done it for him, Hermione realized. He had no idea that Hermione had a bone to pick with Rowle, no idea that anything had ever happened that she'd want revenge on him for. Draco legitimately thought that she'd interfered with Quidditch tryouts to help him win.

Hermione would have criticized him for his sheer arrogance, but it worked in her favor; she'd rather he not know the truth of why she went after Rowle.

"I think that's why Snape wants to talk to you, anyway," Draco admitted. "Not that he said anything, but when I was talking about tryouts, his eyes narrowed, and then he wanted to talk to you."

"About your unusual streak of luck?" Hermione said, her tone carefully measured as she stood, brushing out her robes.

"Maybe," Draco said. He shrugged, then offered her a smirk. "You're the best brewer in our class. Maybe he thinks you brewed me Felix Felicis to help me win."

Hermione laughed before she left the common room, heading for Snape's private office.

"Note to self: look up Felix Felicis," she murmured to herself.

She knocked on Snape's office door three times, rapping on it sharply.

"Come in."

Hermione pushed open the door to see Professor Snape sitting behind his desk. He was slowly toying with some black cube in his hands, turning it over and over and over. He was looking at her, his eyes glittering.

"Please, Miss Granger," he said. "Have a seat."

Hermione took a seat, careful to keep her face neutral.

"Draco said you wanted to see me, sir?" she asked.

"I did." Snape put down the odd black cube and steepled his hands in front of him. "I understand you were at Quidditch tryouts this evening."

"I attended," Hermione said. "All of the second years did, to support Draco. I certainly didn't try out."

"Indeed." His eyes glinted. "And were you witness to Mr. Rowle's unfortunate crash?"

"It was hard to miss," Hermione commented.

Snape's eyes were fixed firmly on hers, and Hermione fought the urge to squirm. She focused on remaining cool and calm, utterly in the present.

"It has come to my attention," Snape said finally, "that you made some particular remarks to Mr. Rowle before and after his Quidditch tryout."

A bolt of panic flashed through Hermione's mind. She had, obviously – there was no point to getting revenge unless your victim knew it had been you that did it – but she'd never thought Damon would tell anyone. At least, not a teacher – she imagined he might admit it to his fellow bullies, but not to Snape.

She forced herself to breathe in smoothly, hold it for a count of five, and breathe out smoothly, steadily. As she breathed, her initial panic faded, leaving Hermione instead with a sense of confusion.

She was sure that Damon wouldn't tell anyone, now that she reconsidered it. He'd been afraid of her when he left the pitch, and she doubted he'd want to tell a teacher that a second-year had bested him, especially with so far-fetched a story as her magically blowing his broomstick off-course. But then, if Damon hadn't said anything, then… how…?

She briefly considered Draco, before dismissing that too – Draco had made a point to emphasize how grateful he was. He wouldn't have betrayed her here.

Snape was still looking at her, eyes glittering in the dark, and Hermione realized he was still waiting for her response.

"I did, sir," she told him, settling her shoulders back. "I commented on how I wasn't about to fly, and later I commented that he had a mark on his cheek."

"And did these remarks have any greater meaning…?"

Now, Hermione was outright suspicious. The only way Snape would have known that her comments would have any deeper meaning would be from Damon himself, but he'd have had to admit to the events of last February to do so.

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir," Hermione said neutrally. "They were just comments."

Something flashed in Snape's eyes, and with a rush, Hermione realized it was pride. He was proud of her for not telling him what had happened, for walking around the truth like this. He didn't want her to tell him what had really occurred.

Abruptly, Hermione reconsidered what was going on. If Snape was proud of her, this meeting took on entirely new meaning.

Rowle wouldn't have accused her – he was too scared, and too prideful, to ever admit she had bested him. And Draco wouldn't have said anything. Harry going to Snape was laughable, and Blaise would never betray her. So somehow, Snape had put it together himself what had happened, and he'd called her down here to talk to her about it directly.

But he hadn't summoned the Headmaster. And he hadn't declared anything, or threatened her with any punishment for that matter. No, it was more like he was probing, trying to see what information she would give up or say.

"It has come to my attention," Snape said finally, "that you seem to possess uncanny skills with air magic. Given the events of last year… one cannot be faulted for being suspicious. So I must ask: may I see your wand, Miss Granger?"

Curious, Hermione handed it over. He turned it over in his hands.

"There is a spell, Miss Granger," Snape told her, withdrawing his own wand, "that can reproduce what spells were most recently cast by a wand. Were you aware of this?"

Hermione didn't answer, just watched him as he touched the tip of his wand to hers.

"Priori Incantantem."

Her wand began to glow, and a soft burst of swirling wind came out of her wand for a moment, whispering "Ventus" as it dissipated into the classroom. Snape gave her a pointed look, but Hermione watched her wand, and a moment later, a ghostly image of a plate reforming from two pieces emerged, a toneless "Reparo" echoing in the classroom.

Snape snapped his wand up sharply, breaking it away from hers, and his eyes were fixed on hers. Hermione shrugged innocently.

"I understand your suspicion, given the circumstances" she said. "But surely this clears me of any wrongdoing."

"Clears you?" Snape looked incredulous. "Miss Granger—"

"Anyone who was there at tryouts can tell you that after you left, I used a wind charm to sweep all the broken bits of broom out from under the Whomping Willow so no one would get hurt trying to get them out," Hermione said. "And the spell I used before that was from dinner, when Greg dropped a plate on the ground that I fixed." She offered him a smile, but her eyes glinted challengingly. "If there were no other spells between the two of those, surely that proves my innocence?"

Snape watched her for a long moment, before the corners of his lips curled up ever so slightly.

"Indeed it does, Miss Granger," he told her. "Indeed it does."

His tone said anything but that he believed she was innocent. He was smirking at her, his dark eyes glittering, and Hermione smirked right back at him.

"Then, sir," she prompted. "My wand?"

He handed it back to her, and Hermione smoothly took it and slipped it back into her robes.

"We spoke last year about Dark magic, you might recall," Snape said conversationally. "Do you remember our discussion?"

"I remember it well, sir," Hermione replied. "Particularly the parts about intent being everything, and the difference between outright cruelty and justified retribution."

Snape's smirk didn't move, but she could see his eyes glint.

"Very good," he told her as he smoothly stood. "Then, Miss Granger, allow me to escort you back to your common room. It is after curfew, and I'll not see Professor McGonagall take points off any Slytherins when they were justifiably kept out after hours by a professor."

"Thank you, sir."

Hermione's mind lingered on the way back, however, and continued to dwell on their conversation as she readied herself for bed.

If no one had told Snape anything of what had really happened... how had he known?