Barely two days later, Monday evening just before supper, Hermione attended the very first of Ginny's support group meetings for newly married girls.

Her attendance wasn't just a show of faith, she truly thought the idea was a compassionate answer to the school's troubling lack of direction. (Which made her wonder more than ever how deeply under the Ministry's thumb the Hogwarts staff really were).

Hermione was both surprised and not surprised by how many people showed up. Girls from all Houses, nearly everyone who had been affected by the mandate were there. Ginny had been careful to include only girls who had been selected for forced marriages, in order to maintain some modicum of solitude. The fact that Ginny herself had not been one of those selected seemed to be an acceptable exception.

For the meeting, Ginny had arranged a private study room in the library, cozy but just large enough to squeeze them all in. The girls sat around small tables and a random assortment of armchairs that had been scrunched into a somewhat haphazard circle.

There had been several items on the agenda: Letter writing, of course, was made available and encouraged, but also the sharing of resources and helpful texts. Ginny had gathered together a list of books instructing about personal hygiene in the bedroom and what to expect from a full spectrum of potential partners (not necessarily up to date, Hermione noticed, as they were rather old and written in past ages, but they still offered the bare necessities).

"They're a bit crusty," in Ginny's words. "Though surprisingly progressive… for their time."

Ginny had also petitioned to have a counselor made available for any girl who requested. This was granted by McGonagall who provided Ginny with a sign-up sheet to be filled out at each meeting, after which McGonagall would then coordinate with the relevant organization in order to set up sessions.

More than anything, the meeting mostly became a space for the girls to share stories (good and bad). Very few of them felt emboldened to say much at first, as this was quite a new and unfamiliar social group. Their shyness led them to vague statements of discomforts and mumbled implications of men with bad breath or, as Lisa Turpin put it, "far too much hair to be considered normal."

The most significant confession came from Daphne Greengrass. At the repeated urging of her friend (whom Hermione had by now identified as Tracy Davis), she eventually stood up to tell her story.

It turned out that Daphne had been married to a Half-blood cousin from the affluent family of Borgin.

"Of Borgin and Burke's?" Hannah Abbot blurted, aghast.

Daphne's eyes flashed, making Hannah cower into her seat. "Yes," she said coldly.

"But I thought Pure-bloods had to be matched up with Muggle-borns?" Padma said, looking around for confirmation. Padma had been one of the first to share about her match, complaining morosely that his age was so advanced he'd thrown out his back attempting to lift her in his arms (a fact she considered somehow personally aimed at her figure, despite his many platitudes and gifts exclaiming the contrary).

Tracy piped in. "If you remember the mandate exactly, Miss Vance said, where there is no suitable Muggle-born available for a Pure-blood prospect, Half-blood matches have been arranged instead."

"My family," Daphne continued, "did not find a Muggle-born match to be… suitable. So other arrangements were made."

Hermione felt the room grow slightly tense at this remark. But, it seemed they had all come to an unspoken agreement of sisterhood for the time being and any notions of past prejudice were temporarily forgiven.

Daphne went on. "The Borgin I married is acceptably kind and easily charmed by me. He's courted me and treated me in all the ways to be expected. But his older brother…" Her delicate face darkened considerably. "Has made advances. The two of them share a house. It's quite lavish, their inheritance, you see. In any case, he is always there when I've been sent to visit."

If possible, Daphne's frown grew even more grim. "He is a devil and a bully," she said solemnly. "He controls his brother with threats and he uses magic to coerce me into doing distasteful things I don't want to do. At first he just… wanted to watch. But now he… this last time, he…"

"I'll report him!" Ginny had long been on her feet, shaking with rage, and she could no longer contain her outburst. "What's his name, I'll have him thrown before a court to—

"Professor Snape is seeing to that," Daphne interrupted. "At my request, he has interfered and the Ministry has issued charges. But, the Borgin family is angry and I'm hated by them now. My husband has been threatened with permanent estrangement if he doesn't convince me to drop the case."

Daphne crossed her arms, staring woodenly down the bridge of her aristocratic nose. "I will not be dropping it."

Hannah fist pumped the air. "Here here!"

Several girls gave respectful applause.

Hermione remembered when she witnessed Daphne exiting Professor Snape's office, how Daphne had been crying, her earnest gratitude as she left. She remembered, too, the state Professor Snape had been in, that tense and perplexed silence, staring distantly into an empty fireplace.

After almost another hour and several more stories shared, the meeting let out and everyone dispersed.

Ginny lingered a little while longer, gently coaxing Daphne into acquiescing to her sign up sheet for potential counseling. Daphne appeared a little cheek flushed with embarrassment, but scribbled her name down nonetheless.

Hermione was just depositing one of her recently borrowed texts into the library return tray when Cho Chang suddenly appeared close behind her shoulder.

"Hermione," she said quietly, putting a hand on her arm, "if I could borrow you for a moment."

Nonplussed, Hermione followed Cho to a discreet corner of the library devoted mainly to mysterious fungi of the subtropics.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, mimicking Cho's hushed tones.

Cho's pretty features were narrowed with seriousness. "What I'm about to tell you, I'm only sharing with people I trust. You are forbidden from repeating this information unless absolutely necessary. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded, her bewilderment growing.

Cho reached into her pocket and pulled out a very familiar looking vial. "It's a contraceptive potion," she explained, though Hermione hadn't needed her to. "Madam Pomfrey will provide them, along with a fair few other… um… remedies. These are very below board, obviously. I'm sure you know that. Madam Pomfrey could be in a lot of trouble if the wrong people found out, so that's why I'm only sharing discreetly." She pocketed the vial again. "It's a risk, of course, but I still think those who might benefit should know. Especially after hearing the stories tonight."

Hermione went on to thank Cho for her confidence and assured her repeatedly that she would be cautious if she chose to share.

When they parted ways, both of them taking their own circuitous paths to dinner, Hermione was torn between shame she didn't do the same as Cho and concern that the information would still find a way to get out, putting Pomfrey in jeopardy. Both Parvati and Lavender had been noticeably missing from tonight's meeting. Their absence could mean any number of things, she supposed, but Hermione was still rather unsure she could predict their reactions if she were to tell them about these obviously unsanctioned tinctures.

She did feel safe with Cho, though. She had grown to know her over the last year, familiar with her even temper and level head.

Furthermore, she could also understand why Cho had come to her and why she trusted her so implicitly. They shared a unique understanding with each other, having been through a traumatic ordeal many months previously, when Voldemort was still at large and Death Eaters had broken into the castle.

There was still a great deal of mystery surrounding the particulars of that event — how the Death Eaters had gotten in, why there were only three of them, why Voldemort hadn't followed. But, time enough had elapsed that most students (Hermione included), had stopped asking questions, glad to be well beyond it.

During the break in, the Death Eaters (Dolohov, Carrow, and Travers) had captured several professors in the Great Hall and threatened to execute them if they didn't reveal a particular piece of information. There were several theories as to what the Death Eaters had been looking for, since the locations of three significant players were, at the time, entirely unknown: Dumbledore, Harry, and Snape.

In retrospect, Hermione knew that Dumbledore had been on the search for the Elder Wand and was very close to its discovery. Harry had been in hiding at a place even Hermione had not been told the particulars of. Snape, it was presumed, had been on the run, having recently blown his cover and (many postulated), in fact being the very reason for the Death Eater's attack on the castle in the first place.

Many students fled and hid during the attack, while others congregated in the foyer outside the Great Hall. Several owls had been sent (some to the Ministry, others to Order members, families, whomever felt in reach), but they knew time was short. They could hear the screams of torment. McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout… it was a pain like none of them had before experienced.

Hermione felt thrust into a position of action. Students were eager to fight, they just needed direction. So she gave them exactly that.

Spurred by Ginny's unyielding bravado, she managed to form and execute a plan utilizing the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor quidditch teams, as not only did they have a built in structure of command (captains with their diligent followers), they also were in a position of being able to fly in formation. With the added help of several of the castle ghosts (those who would cooperate), along with Dobby (the rest of the kitchen house-elves were nowhere to be found), they began a series of mounting distractions, culminating in Ginny and Cho plunging their teams through the Great Hall windows as Dobby artfully ignited a flurry of Filibuster fireworks from inside.

Ginny took down Carrow and Travers with well placed stupefys.

Cho, it was said, killed Dolohov outright.

This had never been proven exactly. So many spells were flying at once, the clouds of smoke from the fireworks successfully obscuring most of the broomed figures. The Ministry had also issued blanket forgiveness to all students acting in defense of their professors after the fact, so there were no records to speak of.

But, still, it was widely accepted that Cho had killed, and that she had done so with impressive ruthlessness in revenge for the death of Professor Sinistra whom Dolohov had sadly executed before Hermione's plan could be set into action. Cho and Sinistra had been notoriously very close, and it stood to reason that there still lingered a long-lasting resentment in Cho for the tragic and untimely death of Cedric Diggory.

In Hermione's mind, Cho's actions were not altogether disturbing. She understood the impulse, the overwhelming desire to eliminate threats by whatever means necessary. To others, the rumors of Cho's use of the killing curse both intimidated and frightened them. So it was all the more obvious to Cho whom she could talk with freely and whom she couldn't. For a very brief moment in time, Hermione had been her commander. She had taken a life under her watch, and there was a deep understanding between them that no amount of time would ever shake.

Ministry officials had been first to arrive on the scene at the Great Hall once the dust had cleared. Dumbledore followed shortly after. Harry, of course, remained in hiding, and Snape had not returned until several weeks later, once all danger had passed and many broken things had been mended.

It was not a kindly image for Snape. Most resented him deeply for his absence, and for his alleged instigation of the attack.

Only his actions during the final battle had changed public perception in his favor.

Though, if rumor was to be believed, there were still many mixed emotions from the students who remembered.

For Hermione's part, she reserved judgment. War was a fickle thing, after all. And it wasn't worth ruminating over assumptions that no one could prove.

Besides, there were plenty of other reasons to deem Snape an unfeeling brute. She didn't need any supplementary evidence.

Hermione had barely entered the advanced potions laboratory when Snape was already before her, looming over her in all his perfectly tailored, lank haired glory.

He handed her a stack of parchments. "You will begin by brewing these," he said simply.

Hermione curiously sifted through the parchments, first with growing excitement and then with rapidly diminishing exuberance. "Vanity potions? " she said at last, her lip curling subconsciously. "Hair dyes and blemish removers? I'm certain I don't understand."

"First," Snape barked, giving Hermione a start, "you are never to question any task I set unless you would rather be summarily removed from this entire endeavor. As I stated before, I will never assign you anything that is not strictly necessary."

He gestured to the papers in her hand. "If you were paying proper attention, you would have noticed that the brews you have received are missing crucial steps. This is deliberate. Without researching the answer, you must successfully deduce through your own theory and practice how to mend the gaps that have been excised. Each of these missing steps utilizes the same particular ingredient which will be the focus of your lessons until you learn this ingredient from stem to stern. It is one of numerous items that will prove indispensable to the project you have proposed. Once you have managed to produce the listed potions passably, you will then be assigned the next set of potions and thus further your understanding of the next indispensable ingredient."

Hermione was impressed despite herself. To all appearances, this seemed to be a thoughtful and highly effective learning technique, the goal of which she understood immediately. Though it certainly was a risky one. Given how many mistakes she could make, the ramifications were wildly unpredictable.

If she stopped to consider, this method also seemed very contingent on Snape trusting in her intuition and skills, remarkably relying on his assumption that she would check her work thoroughly before attempting any sort of roughshod conjecture that would land them both in cinders in the Hospital Wing.

It certainly wasn't a task for the faint of heart.

Thankfully, Hermione was not faint of heart.

Sensing her consent without needing to hear it, Snape continued with what seemed to be his fully prepared introduction. "I can't teach you to be a Master in a matter of weeks. What takes years of rigorous study in institutions of higher learning is made so for a reason. There are entire academies dedicated to this proficiency, notably," his eyes darkened, "ones that require tuition in order to attend."

Hermione met his gaze without a ripple. He would not intimidate her, not this time, not anymore. She nodded perfunctorily.

Snape went on. "For this reason, I will take on the primary task of innovations for your main project while simultaneously attempting to catch you up to a point where you may contribute in assistance." Hermione opened her mouth to interject but Snape held up a hand, silencing her. "As I undertake the bulk of this solution, you will be responsible for developing the test to prove its eventual results. Your ridiculous Gryffindor bravado may balk at this arrangement, however I implore you to concede that this potion is far too advanced for you in many ways. You may discuss and hypothesize with me, but brewing off book with elements of Felix and Polyjuice is tantamount to sculpting with the very clays of creation."

Flex while you say that, why don't you, Professor? Hermione thought snippily. Though she held back from articulating it.

Snape extended his arm to indicate a desk in the far corner. "I have prepared a workspace for your particular use. This will be yours from now until the end of term where you may begin and maintain any long term brews without fear of tampering from other students. Many of the essentials you will need have been provided, though you may use my stores at large for whatever else is required. However," he glared icy daggers, "if I discover you are being careless or wasteful, I will throw you out on your arse faster than you can cry foul."

Hermione was a bit twinged by his final comment, but, over all, felt emboldened and excited to begin.

"Thank you, Professor," she said simply. "I'll get started right away."

Snape nodded and then turned on his heel, retreating to his own desk at the front of the class, behind which he had assimilated his own rather extensive brewing station, where he had already begun a mystifying assortment of preparations.

Resisting the urge to snoop on his occupations, Hermione bowed her head and obediently went to attend her assigned station.

Her mind was already whirling through the first steps of the vanity potion she had chosen to begin with, her eyes flickering through the recipe with lightning speed. Because of this, it took her a long time to discover something rather unexpected waiting for her on her desk.

There, among all of the appropriate ingredients, bottles, and measuring tools, she saw it: Sitting demurely on the corner of the tabletop, half hidden by a bottle of nearly empty Bulbadox powder, the little parcel of chocolates Rosmerta had gifted her.

With a wild flash of horror, Hermione realized that she had left them behind. In all her distracted floundering, so overcome by such unexpected distress, she had entirely forgotten that she left them at the foot of the bed.

This, of course, sent her reeling back to the overwhelming memory of that night, of her mistake, her embarrassing outburst, her so achingly obviously erotic moan she had made when his hardened cock had thrust…

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memory to recede, trying to settle her racing heart and quiet the quivering pulse that had suddenly bloomed so hotly in her gut.

She took a long, deep breath, zeroing back again on the chocolates, the treats. She had left them so thoughtlessly in Snape's chambers yet here they were, untouched, unopened. A bit crinkled, she noticed, as though perhaps they had been mistakenly trod on and then half-heartedly reshaped.

Hermione's chest gave the smallest of flutters, a confusing rush of emotion flooding her mind. He was a brute, no doubt. But, a tender brute? An arbiter of occasional kindness? What did this gesture mean?

Hermione again tried to snap herself out of this unusual spiral of thought and focus instead on her assigned task, trying not to let herself delve too deeply. Certainly, he would not want her to mention it. Otherwise he would have given them to her outright, not hidden them so subtly among the clutter of her station.

It took far longer than she would have liked, but Hermione was eventually able to click her academic brain back into high gear and she at last resumed mapping out the critical steps of her assigned potion. As she began to collect and arrange the necessary items, she realized quickly that the one ingredient she was expected to study was the one ingredient that had not been provided.

Boomslang skin.

Tentatively, Hermione approached Snape's desk (he was sitting, now, scribbling furiously on his notes while a small, simmering cauldron belched rings of deep purple smoke on the table behind him).

"Excuse me, Professor," she said, waiting for him to look up. "I cannot find the Boomslang skin."

Snape's expression became curiously unreadable. "Yes," he said. He waited a long, suspended moment before promptly leaning back, opening a drawer to his side, and removing a narrow glass jar containing the dried and shredded skin. He set it on the counter, his hand still clamped down on the lid as though the whole jar was in jeopardy of sprouting wings and taking flight. "I will dispense this ingredient only at individual request and only when strictly needed."

Hermione's eyebrows raised questioningly.

"For whatever reason, Boomslang skin has historically been the most pilfered ingredient from my stores."

Hermione felt her cheeks grow warm but she pretended otherwise. She did, of course, remember that she had been one of the pilfering parties some many years ago. "You say that as though with suspicion," she said evasively.

Did he know?

Snape scowled. "The last person to steal Boomslang from me was a Polyjuiced malcontent secretly keeping his doppelgänger in a box." He raised an eyebrow. "You're not keeping Miss Granger in a box, are you?"

Hermione felt her mouth quirk despite herself. "Depends," she said, risking the joke, "on whomever you suspect would be such a clever thief, and so adept at impersonating me."

"Come to think of it," Snape responded swiftly, "I never have seen you and Mundungus Fletcher in the same room."

Caught entirely off guard, Hermione burst into laughter. His tone had been so casual and companionable, the image he conjured so utterly ridiculous. She couldn't help but imagine Mundungus' wobbling teapot of a body teetering backward as he tried to stuff his thick, hairy leg inside one of her own uniform stockings.

As she laughed, Hermione noticed something unexpected happen.

It was lighting fast, and she wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, but Snape seemed... affected by her response. He was startled, and then… confused. Yet, not in the way he usually was, with that harsh and ornery frustration. It was a soft and silent perplexation. Tentatively cautious, regarding Hermione carefully from across his desk.

Hermione calmed herself, wiping her eyes. "Sorry," she said still with a slight giggle. "That was funny."

Snape merely gave a noncommittal grunt and then said nothing more.

Almost a week later, Hermione was up late in the library, working ahead on developing the fundamental scaffolding for a proper test.

Her current certainty was that she would need to break it down into two parts. When considering the original scout flies examination, the girl in question was given the extract of a specific flower to drink, flowing into her bloodstream and thus making her the "home." The men's business was then detected as a separate entity from the home, making it the "invader" and thus triggering the scout flies' blue glow.

Somehow, she needed to utilize these same features but add an additional element of magic. She wanted to infuse some manner of generically recognized magic into the trigger so that the scout flies would only react if magical "invader" cells were detected and otherwise remain dormant for those who were considered squib.

Her current theory was to incorporate Unicorn hair, as it was frequently used as a wand core for a very good reason, universally accepted by every magic user (though with varying degrees of power).

How exactly she was going to do this was a complication for another time. Right now, the real tricky part of her test she had to consider was the nectar itself and the most effective way to administer it.

If the extract was introduced into the girl's bloodstream then would this affect the fetus as well? How quickly did swallowed nutrients pass from mother to embryo? Did gestation time matter? Would the placenta affect it?

Hermione's list of questions continued to grow and grow, and it was nearly two pages long before she realized that the most relevant text she needed had been left at her private workstation back in the advanced potions laboratory.

Checking her watch and deeming herself capable of making the run before curfew, Hermione left her notes and books where they were and took off at a trot towards the dungeons.

She continued to check her watch as she ran, hoping vainly that she would be able to flit in and out before Snape caught her being so absent minded.

When she arrived in the lab, she immediately noticed that Snape's office door was ajar. The light was on so she imagined he was still inside.

Very quietly, Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket and cast a concentrated muffliato charm on her shoes so as to silence her footsteps.

She had barely made it to her desk when she was shocked to hear another man's voice suddenly coming from Snape's office, addressing him as though the two were deep in conversation.

Hermione immediately recognized the voice as Lupin's.

"But it's hard, you know," Lupin said, sounding weary and upset. "I've had trouble moving on since Nymphadora… Of course, we had hardly started to see each other before… before…"

"She died," came Snape's curt response.

"Mh," Lupin grunted gloomily. "In any case, I'm trying to do right by the girl but it's an uncomfortable path to tread. Certainly it isn't her fault that I'm so distant and closed off."

A few seconds of silence elapsed. Finally, Snape replied. "I can't imagine what you want me to say."

"Nothing," Lupin hurried to reassure. "Nothing, really."

Snape's tone was distracted and unfriendly, as though he were busy concentrating on something else. "If you think this monthly collection of Wolfsbane is actually an invitation to become close and bosom confidants, Remus, please let me disabuse you of that notion."

"Certainly, though," Lupin pressed, "you have to admit we are in a unique position… I mean, how are you getting along with it all? With Miss Granger? I know we've been very private, and the staff has kept their collective distance. I don't mean to be indelicate, Severus, but if you did want someone to talk to –"

"I don't."

"You can tell me about it, you know. Any struggles you're having. It might help us to see… to see if the girls have similar reactions, if there are ways that we can help them… you know, get settled. What are Miss Granger's feelings on the matter? Is she… settling in with you?"

There was a sound as though of a book being snapped closed. Snape's tone was both incensed and defensive. "She would no more think of me than she would of you, Remus. And all the better for her."

Lupin was quiet.

Snape went on. "She has a smart enough head on her shoulders – if the rest of you simpering ingrates are to be believed – and thus can be expected not to fly off to romantic silly-land and misconstrue this situation as anything other than mutually indentured servitude. I have no doubt Miss Brown is just as horrified."

Lupin's response was oddly tender, his voice soft and warm. "She's actually rather insistent about it all," he said.

Hermione was barely listening.

She had finally realized with a huge, colossal shock.

Miss Brown. It couldn't be.

Lavender?

Lupin had been married to Lavender this whole time?

Suddenly, it all made perfect sense to Hermione. That first night, how Lavender had cried that her partner didn't want her, that he'd resisted her advances and sent her away.

Because of course he would. Of course. Perfectly prim and proper Professor Lupin.

Hermione also realized that Lupin's over attentiveness in their lessons now had an answer. His eternal excuses, his painful awkwardness. None of that had been for Hermione after all. He must have been acting this way for months, displaying all these odd quirks and embarrassments, but Hermione only just noticed that one afternoon because Lavender had been her partner.

Hermione remembered Lavender's clipped response to Lupin's attentions, her bold chastisement, the way she rolled her eyes as he walked away.

Her mind caught briefly on the fact that Lupin was Half-blood and not Muggle-born. But then she thought back on what Tracy had said in the support group, on Dagmar's declaration that Half-blood matches were made whenever there were no suitable Muggle-borns available.

Dagmar had also clearly put efforts into what the Ministry deemed to be "priority matches" – based presumably on not only academic achievements but their usefulness as well, witches and wizards with a penchant for heroics. Dagmar had gone out of her way to declare Hermione and Snape "detrimental contributors to the victory against You-Know-Who" and that it therefore "behooved" them to "do their duty."

Lupin, in this case, was possibly valued for his role in the Order, his dedication to Wizarding kind. Either the Ministry sought to use his dedication as leverage (knowing he would not refuse this call to duty) or else they thought to manufacture this offering as some kind of (in their eyes) reward for having brought about the Dark Lord's fall.

Hermione's mind was still reeling, but she quickly tried to pull it back as Lupin began speaking again. She strained her ears to listen, her burning curiosity getting the better of any notion of polite decorum.

"She is so... gentle with me, you see," Lupin admitted. "And forgiving. I have to confess that she is a calming presence."

"You have to confess nothing. In fact, I wish you wouldn't."

Lupin seemed unaffected by Snape's snark. He carried on unheeded. "You know what she said to me when I brought up the subject of my condition?"

Snape did not respond.

"She told me her favorite subject in school was Astronomy. And what, I asked, would that have to do with being forcibly married to a werewolf? She said she remembered my boggart, from when we studied Dementors so many years ago. It was the moon, of course. She said that hers was a rat – I didn't remember. And anyway, we're a match, she said." Lupin paused as though for effect. "You hunt the vermin and I'll hunt the moon."

"Touching," Snape said dryly.

Lupin chuckled. "She called it poetic."

"I call it nauseating."

"You were right, though. You said it with sarcasm but it truly was touching. Still, for all that… I am what I am, so I hardly dare let her touch me. Unless we're… unless we have to… it's just, I don't want to harm her."

Lupin paused for a long time, possibly waiting for Snape to say something. Snape remained quiet.

"Still," Lupin eventually continued. "We have, of course... carried on. And sometimes outside of those ghoulishly scheduled nights. I try to send her away when she comes to me, but she's so intent, you see. She always manages to find me at my most vulnerable moments, I don't know how she does it. I hate myself afterwards, I feel so lecherous just saying, but her gifts of persuasion are a very great trial for such a lonely man, and I can't help –"

"Spare me the details, I beg of you."

"The guilt afterwards is terrible. Sometimes I can't stand it."

Snape finally made some noise, a loud exhale of true impatience and there came the dull clatter of something being set upon a countertop and slid across it. Likely, Snape had finished his task of Wolfsbane and was sending it on its way.

"Stop swooning about like you're some leprous grotesque," Snape snapped brusquely.

This apparently struck a nerve with Lupin. "You should talk," he responded, "behaving like you're the beast of the castle and she's some delicate–"

"ENOUGH! " Snape roared.

With an enormous shock of fear, Hermione knew without a doubt when Snape was about to unceremoniously end a conversation.

Hardly daring to wait to hear the tail end of what would assuredly be a withering condemnation, Hermione clutched her rescued book tightly in her arms and scampered away out the door as quickly as her silenced footsteps could carry her.