Was feeling generous, so have an early update! It's also a longer one, so yay!

It's worth nothing that, in keeping with that tasty slow burn we all love so much, I don't plan to make the Hermione/Snape relationship romantic until after the battle. With that said, I hope you enjoy a ton more awkwardly close moments between the two.

Those reviews give me LIFE. Thank you so much guys, all of your support is crazy appreciated. Next chapter will be up on Monday, as per usual.


The pain was oddly gradual. Hermione steeled herself and counted the lines in her head.

One line.

It started similar to an insect bite, a vague itch that became more pronounced the more she tried to ignore it.

Two lines.

Every now and then she thought to scratch at the area but at the last moment would stop herself. Don't make it worse, she thought.

Three lines.

As time went on, it felt more like a papercut - a sharp thin pain that wouldn't go away. It was similar to a cat scratch from Crookshanks, she thought at the back of her mind.

Four lines.

By this stage, the pain had turned into something she couldn't block out. She could tell it had started to bleed, the back of her hand felt like it was covered in a thin layer of sweat. No matter what she did, she refused to look at the injury. She didn't want to give Umbridge the satisfaction of the horror she knew she would show if she was to look now.

Five lines.

Instead, she pressed on, writing again and again. Think of something else, anything else.

Six lines.

Don't stop now, Hermione. You need to show her your strength. What assignments do you still have to do next week? List them. List anything. Her mind raced, trying to find any distraction to the horrendous pain in her hand.

Seven lines.

She had to bite and chew at her lower lip and cheek to stop herself from crying out but still she wrote. The parchment she used had started to stain, she could see drops of blood falling onto it and smearing as her hand swept the page.

Eight lines.

She stopped. She was inhaling and exhaling slowly, her eyes closed. The sharp stinging was almost unbearable, and she needed to focus on her breathing to stop her from breaking down.

"Are we done already, Miss Granger?" She didn't look up at the woman, but instead opened her eyes and steadied her gaze back on the parchment. If she thought she could get away with hexing Umbridge, she would have done it in a heartbeat.

"I thought ten lines might be enough. I think I have two more to do." She gripped the quill roughly, and with as much bravery - or stupidity, she thought - as she could muster, she hastily wrote out the tag twice in quick succession.

Nine lines.

Damnit, one more!

Ten lines.

It caused her to inhale sharply, the cuts appearing just as fast and with added intensity. It was like a burn, a searing heat on her hand. Still she did not cry. "There.. I think that should do it." She placed the quill down next to her parchment and went to gather her things. Drops of blood fell to the ground, some onto her bag. She paid them no mind. She could feel her hand shaking, but she kept her face neutral and left the emotion out of her voice. There would be time for tears later and she needed to get out of this dizzying office.

"Very well. Send along my thanks to Professor Snape, it was awfully kind of him to move your lesson to accommodate little old me." There was a nasty smirk playing around Umbridge's features, one that Hermione couldn't avoid. It made her sick. A ludicrous thought crossed her mind, one she had to banish immediately. Professor Snape knew about these detentions, knew what was in store for her. Was this his way of punishing her for requesting extra lessons? The memories of her earlier conversation swam in her head.

"Get out before I request additional punishments be handed out by Professor Umbridge."

Almost as quickly as she thought it, it was gone, settled in an alcove at the very back of her mind. Always there, she thought, it'll always be there.

"Of course, Professor. I'll see you next week." She turned to Umbridge and grinned, the most sickly, fake grin she could muster. Heading out of the office, she made her way as far down the corridor as she could in a half run before slamming her back into the wall and letting a small cry escape her lips. Harry had been right, the pain was like nothing she'd felt before. She knew she didn't need to write as much as she had, but something inside had made her push to show Umbridge just how resilient she was. She had been determined not to give her the satisfaction of watching Hermione struggle, and yet she knew she'd pay for that now. Another wave of panic seized her. She needed to go to the hospital wing, but she had assured Professor Snape that she'd be there immediately after her detention. She couldn't make the detour, not now. Cursing her stupid Gryffindor loyalty, she collected her thoughts and hurried along to the dungeons, her jumper pulled up over her still bleeding hand.


Huffing as she reached the classroom, she took several deep breaths to calm her still racing mind and approached the door. As she reached her hand out, the same familiar voice spoke "Enter" from within, and she gingerly stepped into the classroom. The view was almost the exact same as last time - a cauldron and board had been set up in the corner, and Snape sat marking papers at his desk, his eyes never leaving the parchment.

"Instructions on the board, ingredients in the store cupboard, you may proceed." He waved his hand vaguely towards her brewing station and she walked, steadying her breaths as she did so, up to the cauldron to scan the recipe. A small, childish thought came to the front of her mind and for a moment she so desperately wanted to run over to his desk and show him her hand.

Look! Look what that woman did! Why won't you help!?

She wished she had detoured to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey would have no doubt had countless questions for her, but she would have been able to dismiss them with a little persuasion. She could have picked up a vial of dittany and applied it before she even arrived at this lesson, and her professor would be none the wiser. She would have accepted the scolding from Professor Snape, would have taken whatever vile, heartless comments he would have made at her supposed tardiness, at least then her hand wouldn't hurt so much. She still hadn't looked. She didn't want to know how bad it was, not until she was in the safe confines of her dormitory with the curtains pulled in around her bed, away from prying eyes. Only then, would she allow herself to be upset over this.

Sighing, she went back to the board and reread the instructions. Everything seemed to be the same as she had previously read, although there was a strange counter-stir added at the end which she hadn't seen mentioned. She was desperate to ask the professor about it, but couldn't bear to attract attention to herself, and so kept quiet. She headed into the store cupboards, careful not to use her right hand too much. She gathered sprigs of aconite, infusion of wormwood, a singular unicorn horn, and a vial marked shrivelfig juice, and set them down at her bench to begin. The addition of wormwood and shrivelfig juice caused no problems, they were already in vials and simply needed to be poured in at the correct time. The aconite stems provided no resistance to her small chopping knife, but the unicorn horn was a different matter. She looked at the board again: Finely chop one third of the horn, before adding after 23 clockwise stirs. She sighed heavily, her quill hand was also her chopping hand. This would take an age to do, why didn't she check ahead?! Cautiously, she picked up the knife and set to work, chopping as finely and quickly as she could manage.

Snape hadn't kept her out of his sight since she entered, not that she had paid him any attention. When Umbridge had approached him the day prior with her request to move his lesson, he had used all of his restraint to avoid hexing her outright. He couldn't stop the detention, Miss Granger had unwittingly put herself up for it after the frankly ridiculous outburst in Umbridge's class. However, he could guarantee that she came straight here instead of her common room, meaning he could see for himself how bad the damage was and where to go from there. And in doing so, he further cemented his trustworthy position with the pink professor, hoping it would come in useful later on. He had expected an emotional wreck to be standing outside of his classroom, but in fact Miss Granger was quite calm. She had said nothing to him on arrival - she's learning, he mused - and was attempting to brew this potion without so much of a second thought. She had also attempted to keep her writing hand covered, he assumed so that he wouldn't question her about her detention. He needed to see it though, he needed to know what was happening to the students unlucky enough to get in Umbridge's way.

A sharp hiss pulled him from his thoughts, and his eyes adjusted to where Hermione had dropped her knife and was clenching her hand, her eyes firmly locked on the desk. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Knowing how long the potion had been at its current stage, and seeing how far she had gotten with the preparation of the unicorn horn, he knew she wouldn't have it ready in time. Silently casting a stasis charm, he strode over to her desk and looked down at the young witch.

"Sit, Miss Granger." Hermione didn't argue. She was a wreck, her hand was in agony, she wanted to cry and yell and she could feel the panic bubbling inside of her. She slumped down onto the bench, still gripping her hand. She didn't hear Professor Snape move to the store cupboards, nor did she hear him return. It was only when he spoke again that she looked up.

"Your hand, Miss Granger." He was holding a vial and a small tub, what she assumed must be dittany and something else. She had never been more grateful to see dittany in her life, but she also felt a wave of shame and embarrassment wash over her. Her professor would see what she'd had to write, he'd be ashamed of the situation she had put herself in. Another wave of pain swept over her and she let go of the wound, raising it pathetically for him to see. 'I must learn my place.' The neat, elegant handwriting stood out as a contradiction in red to her pale skin. The lettering was bloody, in places raw. The word 'place' was still dripping as if it had only just been written. The intention of this particular phrase was not lost on Snape, a warning to the girl both as a student and as a muggleborn. He grimaced at the thought.

"I'm sorry sir. The potion.." She felt pathetic.

"The potion is in stasis and will be fine. Your hand, however, will not be unless we deal with it now." He held out his hand expectantly, and after a moment's consideration she took it. She briefly noticed how small her hands were in comparison to his, before wincing once more at the pain. Sitting next to her on the bench, he carefully and deliberately took his time cleaning the cuts. It stung more than she cared to admit, and once or twice she let out another hiss of pain. It helped to keep the feeling of wild exhilaration over her potions professor sitting so close to her at bay.

"Strange, I don't remember purchasing Slytherin robes.." She murmured, a slight blush tinting her cheeks. The older wizard smirked, an expression not missed by the young witch.

"So it would seem."

Snape was battling internally to control his emotions. He was filled with rage, furious that this child should be subjected to so much pain for such a small crime. He was occluding heavily, forcing everything he felt back behind the walls he'd erected, fighting to make sure his face was blank. It wouldn't do for him to be an open book right now, what the girl needed was the familiar stoicism he always displayed. He needed that. He cleaned the last of the blood away, and put aside the vial to pick up the small tub he'd placed behind him. It was a salve designed to apply pain relief, if only temporarily. He scooped a small amount of the salve out and rubbed it gently over her injury. It should provide enough respite for her to finish brewing, and he supposed she could take the rest with her. As if reading his thoughts, she spoke.

"Could I perhaps.. Bring that back with me? Harry's still in pain, and I know there's going to be others." She looked so ashamed, he thought. Ashamed of what though? Of her injury? Of her situation? God forbid, of her blood status? He understood the shame of being punished, but surely she could see that this was unjustified. A pang of guilt welled in his chest, he had thought to deal with this situation behind the scenes, but instead it was his dismissal that had likely pushed her to lash out. This was his doing. Once again, he was failing to keep his charges safe. Burying the thought safely behind his barriers, he stood stiffly.

"You may." He contemplated what he would say next. "My apologies, Miss Granger. It was.. Unfair.. Of me to dismiss you in such a way before. I assure you it wasn't my intention for you to end up like this. Take a minute to calm your nerves, and then you may return to brewing, if you wish." With that, he moved to the desk, picked up her knife, and began finely chopping the unicorn horn for her.

Hermione sat, vaguely aware that her mouth was hanging open, staring at her professor. Closing it in a hurry, she looked at her hand for the first time. What was written there made her want to scream, and although there was no longer a severe physical pain, her heart hurt more than she could bear.

"Is it permanent?" She asked in a hushed voice. Snape didn't look back, but continued to chop the ingredient.

"It's hard to tell. Those quills have not been in use in decades, and I have never personally had to treat an injury caused by one. I would hope that with continued application of the salve, it will fade over time. The depth of the cuts is worrying however, I assume you were there longer than Mr. Potter?" She hung her head again.

"I wanted to.. I needed to.. Prove that she couldn't break me.." Her voice trailed off towards the end, realising how ridiculous her reasons were. Snape finished with the unicorn horn and stood awkwardly by her bench. He tried to lean back but he found his body so stiff it just looked unnatural. Instead, he settled for his familiar upright stance, arms folded neatly across his body.

"Miss Granger. You should never try to equate resilience with pain. Whenever possible, you should seek to use your blinding intellect and wits to show strength over an opponent. Taking each hit with pride does nothing but weaken you." He cleared his throat and moved back to his desk. "Your unicorn horn is ready to be added, should you wish to continue."

Hermione stood, murmured a quiet agreement, and moved back to the bench. Undoing the stasis charm, she set about finishing the potion. The unicorn horn was added, the last set of stirs was performed, and a quick counter-curse spoken to turn the potion from the strange off-green into a shimmering pink-purple. She smiled despite herself, and bottled the contents of the cauldron. Stashing the vial of dittany and tub of salve in her bag, she slung it over her shoulder, grabbed one of the freshly made potions and walked over to Snape's desk. This time, he watched her approach.

"One anti-paralysis potion, brewed almost solo." She said, a sad smile on her face. She wanted to show her appreciation. She wanted him to know he had helped. Scrutinising the vial, he took it from her hands and uncorked it, taking a long draw of the fumes.

"Here. A correctly brewed anti-paralysis has a distinct waxy smell, why do you think that is?" She thought for a moment, and he could see her brain working away behind her eyes.

"I would hazard a guess that it was due to the wormwood infusion, considering the areas from which it is commonly harvested." She worried her lip as she finished speaking, but felt confident all the same. He held the vial up to her and she took a sniff, noticing a scent that was similar to a dripping candle.

"Correct. Along with its colour, this is the identifying factor. Well done. You may go." Hermione smiled - truly smiled - and headed for the door.

"Sir, thank you. Your help means a lot."

"Next week we will be creating batches of Blood-Replenishing potion. St. Mungos has put in an order and Madame Pomfrey wouldn't mind some for the hospital wing. If possible, try to arrive closer to 6pm, as this session may take a while." He waved the door open for her. "You better hurry along, curfew is fast approaching." Hermione silently cursed herself, she hadn't checked the time.

"Thanks again sir, see you next week."


It was the following Monday and Hermione still found herself in a daze, having reread the same page of her Defence textbook several times during the lesson. On her return to the Gryffindor common room that Friday, she had shared the pain relief salve with Harry, much to his delight. She had decided not to mention where she had obtained it, really not wanting to answer any more questions on the unfamiliar nature of the dungeon bat. The dittany she kept in her trunk, and had made brief conversations with some of the students she met to let them know that should they cross paths with the pink monstrosity, they should come find her afterwards. It had made her heart swell with pride to see the younger children's anxiety dissipate at the idea that an older student would look out for them. She had wondered what Professor Snape's reserves of dittany looked like, and whether they could come to an agreement to keep Hermione stocked for the rest of term. She imagined he would be on board, especially after their encounter the evening before. Did he feel guilty, she wondered? He probably hadn't believed her when she originally went to see him, and helped her out of a need to make amends. At least he helped, part of her thought he would reprimand her for ruining the potion and dismiss her to her rooms. Chuckling herself, she let the thought of her snarky potions master having a heart sit in her mind for a moment. It was certainly helping her get through this absolutely brain-debilitating Defence class. She glanced over to Harry, seated next to her and practically asleep. Another cursory glance showed many others in the same state. Seeing the once fascinating class reduced to little more than an etiquette lesson made her anger start to rise again, and she was about to let out a loud groan when she was pulled from her train of thought by a door slamming open.

Snape strode through the halls, an idea forming in his head as he walked. The details hadn't been fleshed out but it was good enough, and he reckoned it would have the desired effect in the long run. Why was he doing this? He couldn't deny that seeing Miss Granger's hand that Friday night had unleashed in him a new level of rage that he couldn't subdue. It was his responsibility to look after these students, and he would not have the Ministry willingly brandish them while they simultaneously decimated one of the most important subjects Hogwarts had to offer. As much as he hated to admit it, he also needed Miss Granger to remain uninjured for the duration of their lessons, otherwise she would fail to properly learn what was necessary. Besides, if the Umbridge woman's punishments were anything to go by, he had a distinct feeling she had a penchant for the dramatics. Screw any possible 'foothold' in Umbridge's good books. He could be dramatic. The door swung open in front of him, clattering against the stone wall in the process.

"Professor Umbridge! A word." Umbridge had practically jumped out of her skin, a small squeak leaving her lips as Snape entered the class. He cast a momentary glance and noticed it was the fifth year Gryffindor and Slytherin students being 'taught' - perfect.

"S-Severus! The students will be finished in 20 minutes, I can see you in my office after." She was clearly caught off guard but was trying to keep the false demeanor of a sickly sweet middle aged woman, he noticed. More fool to her.

"No need, this will only take a moment." She started to protest but Snape continued on. "It has come to my attention that the punishments being handed out during your detentions are.. Harsher than the board-approved Hogwarts standard. You are new here and therefore I will give you the benefit of the doubt, but consider this notification to cease these practices immediately."

"Wait a minute now Severus! The last time I checked you were neither Headmaster nor Deputy Head, you have no right to tell me how to-"

"You will cease these barbaric, medieval practices Dolores. My students require the use of their hands to be able to complete their lessons, especially those who work alongside me supplying both St. Mungos and the hospital wing with potions vital for the ongoing health of their patients. They cannot very well chop ingredients if their hands are bleeding out on the table." With this, several students turned to look at Hermione, who felt her face heat from the attention. "Furthermore, I don't believe that it would be in your best interests should your employer find out you're using Ministry-banned dark magic to dish out discipline. I'm sure the irony of a teacher supposedly teaching her students how to defend themselves against the dark arts using dark magic as punishment wouldn't be lost on Fudge. I'm afraid that should I find another student affected by these methods, I will personally contact the Minister to discuss my findings."

Umbridge was a shade of pink that almost matched her garish outfit. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into her skin while her aging hands balled into fists by her side.

"How dare you question my methods! The Minister-!"

"The Minister will either hear that you have been maiming and scarring students in a direct violation of the school's code, or he will hear nothing. If you do, foolishly, take this conversation to Fudge then I will be forced to take it to the Prophet. Tell me, how would the Minister's ratings look should his voters find he has happily allowed the scarification of their children?"

"Get out! Get out of this class this instance!" Snape smirked, the disgust he felt for the woman obvious on his face, for once not feeling the need to occlude.

"One more student, Dolores. One more, and you will regret having ever brought those quills into this castle. Just give me a reason." With that, he turned sharply on the spot and strode out of the classroom, a haze of robes and threats.

Hermione had found herself enthralled by a speck of dirt on her desk, and refused to take her eyes off it. She could feel the looks from the other students, hear the murmuring make its way through the classroom.

"Is she really working with Snape?"

"Do you think he meant it?"

"I can't believe he just threatened a teacher."

The murmurs were promptly silenced by the sound of Umbridge's shrill voice telling them to continue reading. Within minutes, you could hear a pin drop, and once again the students were lazily reading over the same lines, desperate for the class to end. There was definitely a nervous energy that hadn't been present before, and Hermione supposed this might have been the start of something important. She looked up long enough to catch Umbridge's eye, she was almost certain the woman would have cursed her where she sat, given half the chance. Hermione went back to her previous page, but not before casting a low smirk at the fuming Defence professor.