"So … is it true then? Is it true?"

"Yes! Tell us, tell us!"

"They're saying all over the school that you turned down Viktor Krum!"

Hermione felt as though she had been hit with a volley of sonic arrows the moment she stepped through the Portrait Hole and into the Common Room. She had expected some interest, but this? This was insane! How in the world could the news have travelled so fast? Had she been able to ask Harry, of course, he would have put her straight in an instant.

For he knew better than anyone the speed of the Hogwarts Rumour Mill.

"Come on, Hermione!" Lavender Brown squealed. "We're all waiting for an answer!"

And she was right. For almost all of Gryffindor House seemed to be there, looking at Hermione, eager for confirmation of this most juiciest piece of gossip. Hermione felt a powerful blast of sympathy for Harry as she stood there, shrunken by the glare of a hundred spotlights focused on her. No wonder he hated this so much … Hermione hated it already, and she'd only been the centre of attention for thirty seconds or so.

Poor Harry! Imagine getting this each and every day? Poor, poor Harry! Hermione had never wanted to hug anyone so much in her whole life! Poor lamb.

But at least she could express her new sense of empathy to him now, when she eventually wrote to him next. It was another thing they had in common if nothing else, even if this was only Hermione's brief taste of infamy. That reminded her that she still had to finish the end of Harry's last letter, and she was eager to get back to it and this burning question he'd left for her.

So she had to get this inquisition over with as quickly as possible. So she squared her shoulders, set her jaw, and addressed the room at large.

"Yes, alright, it's true," Hermione announced in a lofty voice. "Viktor Krum asked me to the Yule Ball, and I told him to shove it … in a polite way, of course."

The Common Room seemed to erupt at the news. There were gasps and cat-calls and wolf-whistles, disbelief, shock and confusion as the news was rabidly discussed behind hands and under the breath. Hermione knew she was all shades of scarlet at the attention, semi-embarrassed and semi-cross … for not all the whispered comments she could hear were complementary about her.

Just then, Fay Dunbar stepped forwards and slid an arm around Hermione, before guiding her to a corner of the room for a more thorough de-brief. It could hardly be called a 'quiet corner' - as all eyes followed Hermione as she was led across the room - but soon the girls of her dorm closed ranks and made it as private as they could.

"So, come on," Parvati squeaked. "Tell us everything."

"Yeah, how did it happen?" Lavender asked feverishly. "I heard he didn't take it well."

"What person would take rejection well?" Fay pointed out, reasonably. "He seems a cock-sure type, too … his ego probably bruises deeper than any part of him."

"Good, he's a creepy so-and-so," Lavender scowled. "But I want to hear how you did it, Hermione."

"It wasn't all that dramatic," Hermione replied in a sniffy voice. "He cornered me when I was signing up for the Christmas Hogsmeade weekend. He was trying to get me to show him around the village -"

"On your own!" Parvati hissed, aghast.

Hermione nodded. "But I politely declined that offer. So he made another, about the Ball. But I declined that one, too."

"Good for you," said Fay. "And how was Krum when you told him to do one?"

"He was a bit miffed," Hermione confessed. "Huffy, you know? But then he's always sullen like that, so it was hard to tell the difference."

"Well, I hope you really hurt his feelings," Lavender cut in, nastily. "What? Don't look at me like that. I heard he was quite aggressive with Sally-Anne Perks. Don't know all the details, but he's someone we should all stay away from if it's true."

"I'm sure he'll get over any disappointment quick enough," Hermione replied. "There will be plenty of girls star-struck enough to want to be his date. He's an International Seeker … he'll just have to seek elsewhere for a willing partner."

"Just make sure that you don't let him 'cut in' when you're dancing with whoever you go to the Ball with," Fay advised.

"Ooh, yeah!" Parvati cried. "People said that you told Krum that you already have a date. Is that true?"

"It might be," Hermione blushed, shyly.

"Who is it?" Parvati demanded.

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"It's a secret," Hermione shrugged.

"You can't keep a secret like that from us!" Lavender squealed.

"I can … and I will," Hermione told her, haughtily. "Now, if you don't mind, I have homework to do."

"Yes, we do mind!" Parvati crowed. "You have to stay here and tell us all about this."

"I have no intention of doing anything of the kind," Hermione insisted as she stood up. "And I beg that you do not importune me any further on the subject."

And off she went, ignoring the stares and shouted enquires that flew in her direction, with the last thing she heard being Lavender, as she turned to Parvati and asked her what 'importune' meant.

Once back in the safety of her four-poster, Hermione sighed in exasperation and cuddled Crookshanks for support. Was this the sort of new life she could expect? She had turned down Viktor Krum, one of the most illustrious personalities currently residing at Hogwarts, and faced a barrage of intrusive interest from her own House, an interest she could likely expect to be repeated by the rest of the school once she emerged to face them. It was quite a horrible, sobering thought.

But in a few weeks, the whole thing would ratchet up by several notches in intensity, once the identity of her Yule Ball date was revealed … and he was a personality no less renowned and notable than the Bulgarian Seeker. How insane would the circus around Hermione get then? Though perhaps the bigger question was how much Hermione thought it was worthwhile … what would people say if they thought she was at the centre of a tug-of-war between Viktor Krum and Harry Potter? Could she put up with the gossip and attention?

Hell, some might even see it as a sort of teen celebrity love triangle! What would that nauseating Rita Skeeter say if she got wind of the situation? The stories would be deliciously scandalous … and sell record copies of Witch Weekly as a result!

Hermione gasped as the thought occurred to her. She might end up being painted as a scarlet woman or something! The thought would have been borderline laughable less than a month ago and, indeed, Hermione snorted out a guffaw as the idea crossed her mind. But there was a grain of truth there that she couldn't deny. Krum wanted to go to the Ball with her, Harry wanted to go to the Ball with her … they were genuine rivals for her affection and attention.

Not really, though, because Hermione wanted to go with Harry so much that Krum had about as much chance of winning her hand as the Giant Squid. Or Ron Weasley, who she still hadn't forgiven for inventing the Lonely Hearts Club moniker for Hermione's penpal scheme.

But her gut reaction answered Hermione's moment of doubt at a stroke. For she realised that she didn't just want to go with Harry to the Ball … she was aching to. The night couldn't come quickly enough for her. She wanted everyone to see her with him (she was terrified of thinking see them together, as that felt almost too illicit a thought to have), and she would happily reply to the gossipy questions that would be fired her way then.

The difference being that she would be proud to be seen with Harry, to be there as his partner. The idea excited her even as she sat there smiling to herself about it on her bed. It was something positive, something worth all the surprise it would generate. All she hoped now was that Harry felt the same. He must have, she reasoned, for he wouldn't have agreed to go with her otherwise.

Though what was this other thing he'd asked her? Hermione snatched up the letter, almost tearing it a little in her eagerness to find out.

The Hogsmeade weekend actually got me thinking, though don't feel under any pressure to agree to what I'm about to ask you if you'd rather not. But I was trying to think of a secret to end this letter with, in accordance to what we'd agreed, and I realised that I'm running out of ones to tell you. I've already said about finding the Chamber of Secrets, and having a pet basilisk, and using the network of secret passages under the school for both.

So what's left? I think the only way to go is into the more personal stuff. I know I said at the start of this that I wanted to avoid all of that, but maybe I'm changing my mind about it. If you want to know things, private things, I think I'd be comfortable enough to tell you. I trust you now, I think, so I'd not have a problem answering your questions about my legend, my parents, my Godfather, my life at my Aunt and Uncle's, things like that.

The thing is, I think I'd prefer to do that in person, rather than in letters at first. We could start small, so if you want to run away and not talk to me again you can, before I horrify you too much. I'm not joking about that, by the way, so think carefully before you reply in either way to this. There's a reason I don't tell anyone this stuff, and you'll understand if you ever learn the truth.

So here's my suggestion. The Yule Ball is three weeks away, and after that you're going to want to go into hiding, to get out of the glare of attention, trust me on that. Luckily, I've made a habit of finding good places to escape to over my years here, and I'd be happy to share them with you if you want.

So what I was thinking is that, if the Ball goes well, we might agree to meet up on a regular basis. Maybe only once a week or something, but I could show you all of my secret places, even introduce you to Marici if you like. We can get away from all the silliness and just spend some time by ourselves, then I can tell you anything you might want to know about me.

That's why I mentioned the Hogsmeade weekend. It's only a week after the Yule Ball, so that could be our first in-person meet up, if you still don't mind being seen with me after the madness we'll get once we turn up together at the Ball, of course! You don't have to if you don't want to, and I'll totally understand if you don't, but have a think about it. No pressure or anything, but I think it might be nice to see you more regularly if you're up for that.

Harry ended his letter rambling something about a long essay that he had to do, but Hermione barely absorbed a word of the last paragraph or two. Her heart was speeding so fast that it was causing her vision to swim. But she was just about cogent enough to pick out the key words from the lines she had managed to read … and the effect was almost overwhelming.

Meet up in person … show you my secret places … be nice to see you more regularly …

Hermione blinked as she tried to process the enormity of what she had just read, trying to bring her pulsing mind under control so that she could truly understand Harry's meaning, for it seemed too wild to believe, not that she could see it any other way.

For it very much seemed, however incredible it was, that this was Harry's way of asking Hermione if she wanted to date him!

"How in the hell should I know?" Harry spat, acridly. He was sick of being asked this question by now.

"It doesn't matter if you know," Michael Corner insisted. "This is all about guessing, because no-one knows, really."

"We don't even know that it's true at all," Lisa Turpin added. "And you can even bet on that, if you want. I might stick a Galleon on it being a great big fib myself, you know."

Harry glared at Lisa. "Look, just because I don't care who Hermione Granger is going to the Yule Ball with doesn't mean I'm going to disrespect the girl by betting on it. That's just crass. It's unbefitting a House of our class. You should be ashamed of yourselves."

"It's just a bit of fun, Harry."

"Not to Hermione Granger it's not," Harry fired back, angrily. "I mean, look at some of the names on that list … Goyle, Filch, Nearly Headless Nick, one of the centaurs … you're taking the piddle out of her. It's degrading that you're placing bets on her at all, but it's downright insulting that you're including people like that as her potential partner. It's like you think that she cant get a proper date at all."

"Well, she cant," Anthony Goldstein scoffed. "Have you met Granger? She's mousy and musty, so who would want to go out with that? My money's on it being a lie … or the Gryffindor ghost as an outside each-way bet!"

Michael hooted out a laugh. Harry scowled at him, but bit his tongue before he replied.

"You do realise that she just turned down Viktor Krum?" Harry asked. "So just 'cause a heathen like you doesn't like her doesn't mean that other people wont."

"Since when did you become Granger's personal cheerleader?" Anthony retorted as his cheeks coloured. "Maybe we should put a wager on you being her mystery partner!"

Harry's anger swirled again, but this protective thing that had been born inside him wasn't going anywhere. He glowered dangerously at Anthony.

"If I find my name on any of those stupid lists I'll find the one who did it and curse them into the middle of next week!" Harry hissed lowly. "You all better understand that, because I am not joking!"

Harry was given a wide berth by everyone after that, not that it helped his mood at all. For everywhere he went over the next week this topic seemed to be the only thing on people's lips. Who was Hermione Granger's mystery date? Was it man, flora or fauna? Living or dead? Who could be good enough to be preferred over Viktor Krum? Curiously, Harry's name didn't seem to enter the debate at all, not from anyone.

Harry wasn't sure if he was more annoyed or amused at this. Annoyed, probably, because he was in no humour for humour. For the horrible things being said about Hermione around the corridors riled Harry so much that he found himself snapping at innocent bystanders, and then having to make up wild and ridiculous reasons rather than own up to the truth.

But there was also a trickle of irritation hidden in there, too … that of all the people who might be about to date Hermione Granger, nobody thought Harry was even in the picture. He didn't recognise the sensation - as it was so alien to his anti-social habits - but if he had, he might have understood that it was hurt … Harry was hurt that nobody thought he'd be able to go out with Hermione Granger.

Not that Harry was at all sensible to decoding that dichotomy within himself. He was just content to be angry at the slurs being cast against his new friend, and determined to defend her in stealth if he could.

Things came to a head a full week later, when Harry was sat in Potions class. He was fuming at comments made by Draco Malfoy that he, 'wouldn't kiss that Mudblood with another boy's tongue,' after it was suggested that he was Hermione's mystery date. Harry wanted to curse the junior Death Eater for the insult, but had to simply stew in rage over it as the class began.

It meant he was paying no attention to the lesson at all.

"Potter! Why is your hand not up?"

Harry shook the cobwebs from his head as Snape's voice pierced his ears. He had no idea what he had missed.

"I don't understand, Professor."

"I said, 'why is your hand not up,'?" Snape riled.

"Should it be?" Harry asked in confusion. Michael Corner snickered nearby and Anthony Goldstein gave him a sneaky thumbs-up for his back chat.

"I asked a series of questions," Snape snarled. "And I've not had a single right response yet. However, I assume that you do know the answers, as you are a show off, but your hand is not in the air."

Harry stared hard at Snape. He'd never liked the hook-nosed greaseball, and ever since his Godfather had emerged into his life Harry was no longer afraid of talking back to him.

"Maybe I just wanted to give everyone else a go," Harry replied, piously. "Then I'll show off if they cant get it right."

"Very well, you arrogant child … what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"A sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death," Harry answered slickly.

Snape sneered at him. "What is a bezoar?"

"A stone taken from the stomach of a goat that will save you from most poisons."

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"None. They are the same plant, which is also known as aconite," Harry replied. "Anything else? I'm quite enjoying this game."

"Being able to recite the textbook does not make you clever," Snape scythed. "It merely makes you as big a know-it-all as Granger from Gryffindor … our new Jezebel. I honestly don't know which of you irritates me more."

Malfoy and the Slytherins snickered wildly behind their hands as Snape sneered at Harry. But he had pushed the wrong button this time. Harry felt something wild and powerfully protective rise in his chest. It was like a rampaging hippogriff that hadn't been bowed to properly. It took Harry's temper over the edge.

"What?" Harry spat. He couldn't help it.

The class went silent in a second as Snape narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused," Harry riled. "Now explain what you said."

"I believe I was quite clear," Snape replied dangerously. "You are a show off and a know-it-all, only rivalled in these departments by Hermione Granger. The arrogance of the pair of you is outstanding."

"As is our intelligence," Harry volleyed back. "Is that what it is? Is that what you don't like? Do clever people threaten you because you're thick as shit yourself?"

Harry knew instantly he had gone too far, as the students around the dungeon gasped in shock. Rowing with a teacher was one thing, but swearing at one took it to a whole new level. But Harry was too far gone to stop now.

"What did you say?" Snape snarled.

"You heard me," Harry retorted. "You ask questions, we answer them, then you punish us for it. What is your problem? You champion mediocrity, because you are so mediocre yourself, is that it? I know the answers to your questions, so does Hermione, but you don't punish idiots like Goyle … who wouldn't know what a bezoar was if you smashed him in the face with one! No wonder the girls from Beauxbatons look down on us with scorn. I bet they don't have to put up with such clown shoes-for-teachers back at their academy."

"Enough, Potter!" Snape yelled. "Detention. Every night for a week."

"Good!" Harry shouted back. "Oh, I cant wait to tell my Godfather about this … you know, the one who spent thirteen years in Azkaban. I think it's left him a little unhinged, you know. He will not be happy when he finds out about this, let me tell you. That's something for you to look forward to, Snape."

"Hermione! Have you heard the news? Have you heard!"

Hermione sighed and put down the essay that she was proofreading, narrowing her eyes as Lavender and Parvati bounced across the Common Room to her.

"No, I haven't," Hermione huffed. "But let me guess … I'm now odds on favourite to take the portrait of Sir Cadogan to the Yule Ball, am I? Or have they stopped taking bets on my date being a giant meatball?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Parvati dismissed with a wave of her hand.

"Yeah, this is all about Harry Potter!" Lavender squeaked. She was so animated that Hermione was on high alert in an instant, but did her best not to show it.

"Harry Potter? What about him?"

"It's all over the school," Lavender went on. "He had a blazing row with Professor Snape! Called him an idiot and a clown, or something like that."

"Yeah, Mandy Brocklehurst told Padma, who told me," Parvati took over. "Snape gave him detention for a whole week!"

"Wow. That's pretty bad," Hermione frowned in concern, though she was for more anxious for Harry than she let her face express. "But why? What was it all about?"

"That's the thing!" Lavender piped on. "It was all about you!"

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, or did a double one, she couldn't be sure. Swallowing hard, she looked between the gleeful expressions of her dorm mates and tried to stay calm.

"Me? Harry rowed with Snape over me?" Hermione quizzed. "I don't understand."

"Apparently he had a go at Potter for answering some questions right," Parvati explained. "Then Snape said something like 'Potter was as annoying as you', for knowing so much, then Potter just exploded at him. I think you might have a secret admirer, Hermione!"

The blush that crossed Hermione's face wouldn't have been missed by a blind person, so Lavender and Parvati spotted it right away. They grinned wildly between each other.

"No, I'm sure that's not right," Hermione mumbled. "Harry must just have been in a bad mood or something. Snape can rile anyone if he pushes the right buttons."

"Oh, it's 'Harry', to you, is it?" Lavender teased. "Well, you certainly seem to be one of his buttons, however you refer to him."

"Has he ever said anything to you?" Parvati pressed. "Ever tried chatting you up or anything?"

"No, Harry and I hardly ever speak," Hermione replied, trying to keep her expression neutral. "If I'm not asking to borrow a quill, we barely say anything at all."

"Borrow a quill!" Lavender hooted. "Is that a euphemism there, Haitch?"

Hermione frowned again. "No. I break a lot of quills when I write. Harry is kind enough to lend me one if I happen to break my own in the library."

"And that's it? That's all you talk about?" Parvati asked. She looked disappointed that this wasn't turning out to be a juicier topic to mine.

"We talk about homework sometimes," Hermione mused. "He's not much for conversation, you see."

"Well, we all know that," Lavender agreed. "So … he isn't your mystery date, then?"

"I've told you a dozen times, I'm not going to confirm or deny anything," Hermione returned haughtily. "You'll just have to wait and see."

"I still think you should have accepted Neville's offer," Parvati cut in, thoughtfully. "That wouldn't be so bad."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I told you, as I told Neville … I already have a date."

"But you wont say who it is?"

"No."

"And it isn't Potter?"

"I'm not telling you."

"I don't think it's Potter, anyway," Lavender announced with confidence. "I don't think he's got it in him to be pleasant. I reckon You-Know-Who broke him when he cursed him. Makes sense that he would be so cold after that."

"Yeah, Padma says he's really unfriendly," Parvati agreed. "He's got no friends in Ravenclaw, apart from that weirdo, Lovegood."

"You leave Luna alone!" Hermione cried. "She's a nice girl. A bit quirky, but that's no reason to be so horrible about her."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Haitch," Parvati replied, raising her palms in a gesture of retreat. "I didn't know she was a friend of yours."

"Well, she is," Hermione huffed. "And even if she wasn't, that wouldn't be an excuse to make fun of her."

"Alright, I'm sorry, okay? I reckon she'll go to the Ball with Potter, anyway, if he lowers himself to the level of us mere mortals and goes at all. She seems to be the only one who can stand him."

Hermione was feeling herself getting angrier and angrier. The insults against Harry, the insults against herself … she was on the verge of popping.

"What about Ron Weasley?" Lavender went on. "The boy from Durmstrang agreed to go with me, so Ron is free. He was only my back-up, so why don't you ask him, Hermione?"

Hermione leapt up in her fury. "How many times, Lavender! I - Have - A - Date! Cant you get that through your thick skull? Try cleaning the wax out of your ears, why don't you? I have a date, he's a real person, and I don't want to go with anyone else in the castle or on that stupid boat floating on the lake. And I certainly don't want to go with Ron Weasley or any other of your cast-offs! Merlin, you girls are doing my head in!"

And with that she stomped off and darted through the Portrait Hole, with all the stunned eyes of the gathered Gryffindors watching as she went.

Hermione didn't stop until she was two floors and a number of corridors away. She slumped down against a wall to catch her breath, which was heaving and laboured in her angered frustration. She hadn't meant to snap so badly at Lavender, and she'd have to apologise for it later, but they didn't know how much they were hurting her feelings.

They just didn't seem to want to believe that she'd managed to get a real date, and that cut deep into Hermione's sore heart. She wasn't high on self-confidence at the best of times, but the constant insistence that she had made up the story, simply to throw off the advances of Viktor Krum, wounded Hermione greatly. She knew that she was no oil painting, as well as being generally difficult to be around, but did that really mean that she wouldn't be liked enough to be taken out on a date by anyone?

Of course it doesn't, Hermione's heart whispered to her, Harry Potter likes us well enough, doesn't he? He seems to want to date us, for the Yule Ball and beyond.

Hermione couldn't stop a grin hitching on to her face at that thought. It had become a new panacea to her. If she was feeling down, she remembered Harry's words … and a smile came at once. She had delayed writing back to him, as she wasn't sure how best to express her joy at his suggestion without going too far. He was probably wondering about that, maybe worried about Hermione's radio silence.

It might even explain his outburst at Snape.

That thought sent Hermione's mind into a tailspin. Harry had rowed with a teacher, and she had been the cause of it, if the rumours were to be believed. That could mean so many things, but Hermione was content to indulge her silliness and fantasise that it was Harry's way of coming to her rescue, of defending her honour. That was entirely new … nobody had ever done anything like that for her before. And her heart melted at the very idea.

So, she decided, she'd just have to go and save him right back.

Making up her mind on the spot, Hermione jumped up and quick-marched the length of the castle, pausing only at one of the potions stores before she headed to Snape's dungeon. She peered cautiously through the door.

One part of the rumour was immediately proven to be true, for Harry was inside and sitting his detention. Hermione listened as Snape outlined his pointless task.

"You will assist me in stock counting my stores," the Potions Master was saying. "You will count, by hand, every newt's eye, every bat's spleen, and every dung beetle bowel that are contained in the jars in front of you. When you are done, I will cross check them. If you are a single item out, you will start again from the beginning. Clear?"

Harry simply shrugged in response and began pouring the first jar of ingredients into a counting dish. Taking a steeling breath, Hermione knocked on the dungeon door.

"Enter," Snape barked.

Hermione opened the door and crossed the dungeon, giving Harry an encouraging smile as she caught his eye. He looked back at her questioningly.

"Granger? What do you want?" Snape snarled.

"Sir, I was wondering if you'd marked the essay on Amortentia Antidotes yet?" Hermione asked sweetly. "I'm ever so keen to know how I got on."

"I'm sure you are," Snape frowned. "Something to bash Potter over the head with if you outscore him, no doubt. But no, I have not marked them."

"Do you know when you will?"

"When I get round to it, you impudent girl," Snape hissed. "What does it matter?"

"Oh, well you see, I was hoping to know how well I had done," Hermione explained. "With the Yule Ball coming up there is bound to be a lot of silliness, isn't there, with love potions and the like? I was thinking of brewing up some vials of antidotes to help keep the girls safe, just in case they get targeted by unscrupulous wizards."

"A useful idea, though you'd have no need of these yourself, of course," Snape taunted, nastily. Hermione's expression was so crestfallen that Harry crushed a lacewing fly in his fist as he saw it.

"Well, I suppose what I really wanted to know is if this ingredient is right … oops!"

And with that, Hermione stumbled forwards and smashed a large vat that she'd been carrying right onto Snape's desk. The milky contents splashed everywhere and covered his robes in huge blobs.

"You foolish girl!" Snape roared. "Look what you've done? What is this substance?"

"It's rat's semen, Sir," Hermione explained. Harry snorted out a laugh, biting his lip to stop himself from outright rocking with laughter. "You need something a bit vile to counteract the false euphoria of Amortentia, don't you, to balance out the effects? I thought I'd use this."

Snape fumed at her, his pale face flushed with colour. "That substance can be caustic in concentrated amounts, like the sort we use here. It would be idiotic to use it in such a way."

"Then you'd better get it off yourself," Harry suggested from across the dungeon, nodding at Snape's robe, which was beginning to smoke slightly.

Snape looked down, slightly alarmed. Then he turned back to Hermione. "You will clear up this mess while I change my robes. Potter … get back to your counting."

Then Snape swept past Hermione and out of the dungeon without another word. Hermione hurried over to Harry.

"Are you alright?"

"Me? Yeah," Harry grinned. "I might have cracked a rib from trying to not to laugh, but I'll live with it if I have. It'll be worth it."

"Glad you approve!" Hermione laughed. "This is a bit of a dumb task, isn't it? Do you want a hand?"

"Nah, I don't want to give Professor Grease the chance to blame you for helping me."

"Is it true then? Did you really stick up for me to Snape?"

Harry coloured a little in the gloom of the dungeon. "He was being a moron. I called him on it."

"But it was about me?" Hermione pressed, gently.

"A bit, yeah," Harry replied, rubbing his neck awkwardly and looking down at the desk.

"You didn't have to do that. You didn't have to get into trouble for me."

"It's a perfectly fine reason, if you ask me. I can put up with detention … I don't think I could put up with myself if I hadn't done what I did."

Harry and Hermione just looked at each other a moment. She took half a step closer.

"Well … thanks. No-one's ever stood up for me before. I don't really know what to say to it."

"Then write it in a letter," Harry grinned. "You owe me one, you know."

"I'm working on it," Hermione smiled back. "I promise."

"I believe you. But I've had to write another one in the meantime. Perhaps you could deliver it for me, to make up for making me wait!"

"Don't get sassy, or I'll make you wait longer!" Hermione teased. "Who is the other letter to? If you're writing to someone else besides me, I might get a bit cross, you know."

"No, it's nothing like that. It's actually for my Godfather," Harry explained, reaching into his bag and pulling out an envelope. "I want him to know how much of a pillock Snape is being, but I have the feeling he's going to keep me here for hours. Even if I manage to count every lunar moth wing perfectly, Snape will say that I've got it wrong. Would you mind taking this to Hedwig for me?"

"Of course," Hermione nodded, taking the letter from Harry. "What have you told your Godfather, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Nothing much, only that his old enemy is picking on me and my new friend and I think he should come up here and do something about it," Harry grinned. "It's quite something, having an ex-convict as a parental guardian. And if I know Sirius, as soon as he gets that letter, he'll be right up here before Snape even knows what's hit him. He's quite protective of me, you see. I just hope I'm still in detention to see it in action when he arrives."

Enjoying this story? Check out some of the others in my portfolio and don't forget my crossovers! They're worth a go, honest! Thanks for reading, and stay safe in these wacky times!