Hermione prided herself on her realistic attitude toward life, even if it was very cynical sometimes. If there was a truth, she wanted to know it, and she refused to hide her head in the sand – it was always better to know.

When she had been a child and sick with the chicken pox, she wanted to know if she was dying. Her mother had been horrified by her asking, but Hermione had determined she wanted to know if she was, she could start drawing out her will. Her handwriting and spelling wasn't so good yet, so she'd have had to draw all her toys, and she had wanted get a head start on it so she could get it all done before she was dead. Of course, she wasn't dying, but Hermione even at age five had had a plan just in case.

When Hermione had been playing with a friend one time in primary school, she had gotten a funny look from a classmate, and she had demanded to know what was going on. The boy had told her she wouldn't like it, but Hermione had bossily insisted that she'd be the judge of that. The boy had shrugged and told her that her new friend wasn't really a friend at all; he'd overheard her talking to other students about getting close to Hermione so she'd let her copy her homework. Hermione had been struck, and though her anger as she viciously ended the 'friendship' was covering up deep hurt, she was still glad she'd asked and known. She preferred the pain of the truth to the continued fake friendship, no matter how nice it had felt while it lasted.

When Hermione had learned of the pureblood supremacy and blood purist prejudice ingrained in wizarding society, she had acknowledged it, faced it, and made her plans accordingly, taking such prejudice into account when she announced herself as New Blood. She had set out to prove herself immediately, instead of naively hoping to change people's minds through example. It was a harder path, perhaps, facing Slytherin head-on, but she knew she was having more of an effect from within than she would ever have been able to from the outside, as she might have done if she didn't own up to the unpleasantness of this new world.

Now, Hermione faced a very unfortunate truth: she'd done a ritual – a definitively dodgy magic ritual – and she'd somehow messed her magic up.

Because something had changed in her magic. Hermione could feel it, had felt it.

But if Hermione hadn't managed to jumpstart her magic capacity into growing exponentially…

Then what had she done?

It was another unfortunate truth that Hermione had to admit to herself that she knew she had no idea, and it stung and scared her to acknowledge that she would have to ask for help.

Hermione glanced up again at Snape's office door, looked longingly back down the corridor toward the common room, before turning back toward the door with a sigh.

She knocked.

"Enter."

Hermione did.

Snape was reading an essay, a nearby jar of red ink open as he hovered with his quill. His office looked much the same as Hermione remembered it – his large, imposing desk, a wooden chair, the shelves filled with odd jars around the room with the chalkboards hidden behind them. She closed the door behind her and sat down in the chair across from the desk, resisting the urge to swing her legs as she waited.

Finally, Snape scrawled a grade at the top of the essay and set down his quill, looking at her expectantly.

"Well, Miss Granger?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I think," she began, "that I might have messed something up and need your help."

Snape sniffed.

"I'd expected you far before now, honestly," he said. There was an annoyed undertone to his voice that Hermione hadn't expected, and she blinked as he aimed his wand at the door.

"Colloportus."

The door's lock turned shut, and Snape turned back to her, fixing his glinting eyes on her. "Now, Miss Granger – tell me exactly what you and Mister Malfoy did."

Hermione blinked.

"That?" she said, confused. "Oh! No, no, that worked perfectly, professor. I don't need your help with that."

Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Mister Malfoy ended up hospitalized for a week," he drawled, "and your unknown ritual worked perfectly?"

Hermione flushed at his tone.

"Well, maybe not perfectly," Hermione muttered. "But that was Draco's own fault. If he hadn't been so caught up in his own stupid ego, everything would have been fine."

Snape's eyebrow remained raised, politely incredulous, and Hermione looked away.

"Anyway, Draco's fine now," she said. "I need- I did something else, a while ago, and I think I might not be okay."

Snape's expression shifted slightly.

"…elaborate, Miss Granger."

Hermione bit her lip. Snape's eyes were on her, scrutinizing, and she took a deep breath, gathering her courage. She had the impulse to ask him to not get mad at her, but she resisted the urge – she wasn't a child anymore; she could face up to the consequences of her actions, even if it meant her Head of House's displeasure.

"You might remember," Hermione began, "that last year, we had… a conversation."

Snape's eyes gleamed.

"I remember several," he said. "Perhaps you should be more specific."

Hermione twisted her hands in the chair.

"…we discussed how a witch's power begins to grow exponentially," she said finally, "when she starts her menstrual cycle."

Snape's eyebrows rose very high, and Hermione felt a flicker of amusement. Whatever he had been expecting her to say, it hadn't been that.

"I…" Snape frowned. "That seems familiar…"

"It was when I asked you about flying," Hermione offered. "You… somewhat let it slip?"

Snape sighed.

"Regardless of whether or not I should have said anything, the fact remains true," he acknowledged. "What of it, Miss Granger?"

"Well…" Hermione bit her lip. "I want to be the most powerful witch I can be, so I charted out when would be the optimal time to get my period, in order to maximize my magical growth-"

"You what?" Snape's voice was sharp. "Miss Granger, am I to believe you-"

"I couldn't," Hermione said hurriedly. "I didn't know the math. I had to ask Professor Vector for help, but she helped me, and the answer was the 18th month after I turned eleven. That month would be – you know – magically optimal to get my period."

Snape's eyes glittered dangerously at her from over the desk.

"And what, pray tell, did you do with this knowledge, Miss Granger?" he breathed.

Hermione winced.

"I… umm…"

"Because while I can imagine a young man trying his best to get the desired result to take advantage of such knowledge," he said, his voice dangerously quiet, "young women do not exactly have the same course of action available to them."

Hermione gathered her courage once more.

"I did a ritual," she admitted. "On the new moon, back in March. On top of the Astronomy tower. It was… it was designed to help witches struggling to conceive. It forces ovulation…"

Snape inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, his eyes alight.

"…and I figured, well, so long as there wasn't any chance of conception, then it would cause a period, right?" She winced. "And it did. I thought it worked. Only… only that was the only one, and I never had another one after that, so it didn't have the effect of maximizing my magical potential like I thought."

Snape regarded her silently.

"And now… well, my magic changed, sir," Hermione rushed. "But… if it didn't change how I thought it had changed, then… I don't know what I did, or if I hurt myself somehow."

She finished, looking at Snape with uncertain eyes. There was a long silence as he regarded her with sharp eyes, steepling his hands.

"So. Let me summarize."

Snape stood from behind his desk.

"In order to further your ambition, you performed a dangerous Dark ritual alone-"

"It wasn't Dark!" Hermione objected. "I checked! I asked you beforehand!"

"-dangerous Grey ritual, then, alone," Snape snapped, continuing, "on top of the Astronomy tower when you were twelve, with the goal of starting your menses. And because biology does not work like that, you had one menstrual cycle but no others, and now, half a year later, you are concerned you've hurt yourself?"

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"I know I'm fine biologically?" she offered. "My mum made me get checked out by a gynecologist."

"You told your Muggle mother-?"

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose very tightly.

"Miss Granger," he said. "I thought you were one of the smarter students in my classes." His look was sharp, and Hermione recoiled, feeling almost as if his glare had cut her. "What possessed you to risk your magic and your body and your life with forbidden Grey rituals, alone?"

Hermione shrank under his words. His disgust and disappointment were like a physical presence in the room, pressing down on her.

"I just wanted to be the best," she whispered. "I… I didn't want to fall behind, I didn't want to be bad at magic because of bad luck in the biological lottery…"

Snape gave her a dark look.

"You are very, very lucky," he said finally, "that nothing harmful befell you from the utter stupidity of your actions."

"But my magic, though," Hermione said. "I don't know what-"

"If your magic had been harmed, we would have known it before now," Snape said. "Come, now. Stand up. Let's see just what you have done to yourself, you silly girl."

Obedient, Hermione hopped to her feet. Snape moved the chair from behind her and set it aside before he began to cast a series of strange charms, each one causing a wisp of colored energy to circle her. He frowned.

"Your magical pool is very large, for someone your age," he said, giving her a look. "How are you sure your scheme didn't work?"

"Luna can see when someone hits that point," Hermione told him. "It changes their aura."

Snape's lip curled. "Of course. Miss Lovegood."

"I believe her, sir," Hermione objected. "Luna is a Seer."

"True seers are rare, Miss Granger…" Snape continued to circle her, frowning. "…nevertheless, your claim seems to be true." He shot her a look. "Did you do anything else to try and expand your magical capacity?"

"No other rituals," Hermione said. "I still drain my magic completely every night before I go to bed, to push it to get better and expand."

"I am still astonished that it is working for you," Snape said. "Magical exhaustion is what put Mister Malfoy in the hospital not so long ago."

"Practice makes perfect?" Hermione offered, and Snape snorted despite himself. Hermione squirmed as Snape circled her, casting charms and frowning at the results.

"Miss Granger," he said finally. "I would like to see you cast a spell."

"Um, okay," she said. "What spell?"

"Something difficult," he told her. "Something that uses a lot of your magic up."

Hermione glanced around, finally aiming her wand at the wooden chair she'd been sitting on.

"Gemino."

There was a rush of power from her, thundering through her ears, and Hermione staggered under the weight of the magic she'd just cast – of course a chair would be much harder to duplicate than a silly book or a piece of paper–

"Miss Granger!"

Idly, Hermione realized she'd fallen over. She giggled up at the ceiling for a moment, her mind feeling blank, before her thoughts slowly filtered back to her. She groaned and rolled over, sitting up as her head throbbed.

"Did it work…?"

Snape gestured wordlessly.

A second chair sat next to the first, identical in every way. Hermione had managed to replicate even the small notches on one of the legs where someone had carved the initials WR, she saw. She grinned weakly, making her way over to it to lift herself onto the new chair.

"Did that help?" she asked. "The spell, I mean?"

Snape gave her an inscrutable look.

"See for yourself," he said finally, and with a word and a gesture, an image coalesced and turned in front of Hermione.

It looked like a big oval, a gold, faintly-wavering outline circling the image. Inside the oval was what looked like a light violet liquid shot with silver, moving up and down slightly, and wavy like the ocean. The oval was about half full with the violet liquid, and as Hermione watched, the level of the purple rose within the oval.

"This," Snape said, "is a visualization construct your magical power."

"My magic is violet?" Hermione asked, excitement flickering in her. "That's so cool! That's my favorite color."

"That is not the point." Snape pinched his nose tightly. "Miss Granger, what do you see?"

"Umm, an oval with violet inside of it," she said. "The violet was lower, but it looks like it's filling the oval back up? It slowed down at about the halfway point, but the level's still rising pretty well."

"You are correct," Snape said. "Now: this is my magical power."

Snape moved to sit next to her in the original wooden chair, casting, and a second oval bubbled into existence.

This oval, too, was outlined in gold. There was silver shot through the inside of this one as well, only this oval was filled entirely with black.

"Your magic is black, sir?" Hermione questioned.

"It wasn't always." Snape sighed. "It used to be blue. Now: watch. Expecto Patronum."

Hermione gasped as a burst of silver light flooded the room, coalescing into some sort of animal and galloping away through the door. She kept a careful eye on the ovals, though, as instructed.

Snape's oval had gone down some, maybe a seventh of it gone.

"That's not enough. Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum."

He cast a few more times, silver flooding the room and dazzling her before the ghostly animals left the room. Finally, his oval was about half empty, as hers had been.

"You have so much more magic," Hermione said, envious.

"I'm an adult," Snape dismissed. "It's to be expected."

Hermione sighed but nodded and watched, waiting to see what Snape's concern was. She couldn't see what he was pointing out, though. His circle was fine, half-full of gently roiling black liquid.

Snape sighed.

"Miss Granger," he said. "Duplicate that vase, will you?"

Hermione hadn't even realized he had a vase in his office, but there on top of one of the shelves was a dark black glass vase. Hermione shrugged, aiming.

"Gemino."

A rush went through her, and a second vase wobbled precariously into existence on top of the shelves.

"Now," Snape said with satisfaction. "Look."

Hermione looked back to the ovals.

Duplicating the vase had drained her – her oval was only about half full again, the same as Snape's. But even as she watched, her level began to rise again, quickly moving up higher and higher, while Snape's stayed much the same.

Hermione's eyes flew to his.

"Why isn't yours regenerating?" she asked, alarmed. "Why isn't your power coming back?"

"It is," Snape said. "But just at a normal rate of regeneration. This is what normal wizards' power regeneration looks like, Miss Granger. This is why we rest and recover regularly when practicing spells – eventually, your magic runs out."

Hermione stared at him, then at her oval again, which was almost full to the top.

"But then…" Hermione's mouth was dry. "Why does mine…?"

"You were trying to make your magical capacity grow exponentially, yes?"

Hermione nodded slowly.

"It seems that you successfully triggered whatever part of your magic causes exponential growth, with your little ritual," Snape said, his lip curling. "However, without a continuing cycle, your magic could not grow exponentially as intended. But you had still triggered something, and your magic had to adapt to account for that."

Realization dawned on her as he continued.

"You didn't make your total magic capacity grow exponentially," he told her. "You've exponentially increased your ability to recover spent magic."

Hermione gave him an uncertain look. "Is… is that good?"

"I suspect there will be side effects." Snape folded his arms. "Increased metabolism, perhaps. Exhaustion. Bouts of mania. Mental breakdowns. Hallucinations. Possible burnout of your core, if you expend too much magic too fast and put too much of a demand on yourself."

Hermione tried not to panic. She wondered if there was a way she could look up all that might happen to her. Surely there had to be books on how not to burn out your core or become manic…?

"Anything that might happen will probably come into play after your core properly begins to grow," Snape told her. "But, even with those side effects…"

His eyes met hers, a speculative gleam in their depths.

"…I suspect if he could have, the Dark Lord would have done exactly the same himself."

Hermione wasn't quite sure how a statement comparing her to the Dark Lord came off like a compliment, but she somehow felt rather flattered nonetheless.