Sleepless Nights

Sleepless Nights

Chapter One:

Stand By Your Man

"Stand by your man,

And show the world you love him.

Keep giving all the love you can.

Stand by your man."

`Well,´

thought Harry as he added another piece of bacon to his mouth, `all's fair in love at least. In basically three weeks, Ron has finally confessed to Hermione that he´s loved her for three years, asked her if she would go out with him, she accepted, and they´ve argued seventeen times about homework.´

It was five weeks into their seventh year. Hermione had accepted the offer of Head Girl (the bonus of having a room of her own was too tempting to pass up), and was no different on her views of the world. But the world somehow had all of a sudden decided to view her differently. And most of those "new viewers" concerned the male species.

It seemed that over the summer, when Harry and Ron weren´t looking, Hermione had grown up. And not just up, but out. Her hair seemed no longer annoyingly bushy, but soft and full. And for the first time in six years, Harry had noticed how... comfortable her eyes were. `Good thing Ron finally got around to asking her out first,´ he thought as he watched Hedwig fly towards him with another letter attached to her leg. `I don´t know if I´d been able to refrain from asking her myself much longer.´

As Hedwig fluttered gracefully onto the table, she snatched the piece of toast from Hermione´s fingers and offered Harry the note tied to her leg. She stepped onto his arm and began pruning her feathers as Harry read aloud.

"Dear Aspiring Marauders

(Ron grinned at their nickname),

I just wrote to put your worries to rest concerning my trial. I seem to have a fair chance, despite what most people think. Dumbledore tells me there´s no way they can imprison me again once he gives evidence.

He also wanted me to ask you three something: my trial´s three Saturdays away and Dumbledore wants you to testify about June 4^th. Reply if you can.

SB."

Ron held out his quill. Hermione handed him a bottle of ink. They were both nodding. Harry smiled gratefully and scratched out on the back of the parchment,

"You know you can count on us if we can help you.

HP."

And only moments after Hedwig flew back to the Ministry, a sinister-looking black owl landed in front of Hermione. It refused the bacon she offered and held out its left foot.

"That is one nasty owl. I wonder whose it is?" commented Ron, clearly puzzled.

Hermione opened the letter and remarked casually, "Oh, it´s Viktor´s. I've told you before; we still write each other, even though we broke up two years ago."

Ron spat out his orange juice. "What?" he coughed.

"Oh, Ron," she laughed. "It´s not as if we´re exchanging love letters or anything! We´re just friends now. Besides, he writes about matter I find interesting. Like here." She cleared her throat and read out loud,

"Dear Hermione,

I´ve just gotten off Quidditch training camp. Gregarian insists that it won´t be the Keeper´s fault we lose the World Cup this year again. And I doubt it will be our Keeper´s fault. He´s actually very good; the blame falls on another party Gregarian´s too blind to realize for the talent-less idiots they are.

Our Chasers still suck, so I don´t understand why he blames Leszertoff.

Anyway, Gregarian seems even more determined than last year to make sure I'm not attacked. I spend more time dodging Bodyguards than Bludgers!

I also wanted to warn you, teams are already betting on who´s going to get the famous Harry Potter. You might want to tell him to watch it once he leaves Hogwarts (Just a personal suggestion: Ireland could really use a much better Seeker. I´m growing tired of catching the Snitch every year.)."

Harry gasped "How can anyone grow tired of catching the Snitch?"

Ron was grumbling something underneath his breath.

"What?" asked Hermione. "I didn´t hear you."

"I said," growled Ron, "that I bet your letter has other things besides Quidditch in it."

The smile fell from Hermione´s face to be replaced by a deadly frown. "Ron, listen to me, because I´m getting sick of telling you: You are my boyfriend. End of story. There´s no one else. Just because I have friends besides you and Harry doesn't mean I'm having an affair with them. It´s your problem you care so much you´re paranoid about it. Just cool it, okay? It´s not as if I´m going to cheat on you."

Ron nodded, but Harry noticed he didn´t quite meet her eyes. He´d have to talk with Ron later.

Hermione drained the last bit of juice from her goblet and stood up. Grabbing her bag and stuffing the letter in her pocket, she said, "I´m going to head on down to Potions and reserve us some seats in the back. I´ll see you later."

The door banged shut behind her.

Ron commenced with his eggs while Harry glared at him.

***

As Hermione stalked down the hall, fuming that Ron didn´t trust her at all, she collided with someone. The flurry of papers in the air made her groan when she realized there were too many for it to be a student. To make matters worse, as one fluttered in front of her face, she recognized her handwriting and the large red "104" at the top. She blindly reached for the papers floating in the air and the ones on the floor beside her and stopped when she heard a rich chuckle to her left. She looked and blushed when she realized that she had run smack into their Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Remus Lupin.

He was still laughing as he drew out his battered wand. Hermione stuttered out, "Professor Lupin! I´m so sorry! I was coming from breakfast, and I was too busy thinking to notice where I was going, and -"

"Hermione," Professor held up a hand as papers flew into the other. "Call me Remus. Everyone else does. And don´t worry; it never hurts to have a Marx Brothers Moment."

Hermione couldn´t help but grin at that.

"Now, I am on my way to the library to search for a Book-snake. You probably know the library better than I could ever hope to. Could you give me a suggestion as to where to look?"

Hermione reached for her bag and pulled out a tiny mason jar. "Here, Professor. I keep meaning to get rid of these. Whenever I find one, I shrink them and put them in here. They´re not hurt - just a little hungry."

Professor Lupin took the jar and beamed at her. "Thank you, Hermione. That's one less chore for me to run. You wouldn't happen to have a boggart in there would you?"

She laughed. "No, but I imagine there's one in the first year Gryffindor boys' closet. Every morning Greg Spinnett comes tearing into the Common Room at 7:42 screaming bloody murder."

He looked at his watch and frowned. "You better hurry down to Potions, Miss Granger, or else you'll be late."

Slinging her books over her shoulder and racing down the hall, Lupin shouted after her, "I'll add twenty points to Gryffindor for your help!"

***

To her utmost horror and everyone's shock, Hermione burst into the Potions classroom with everyone already seated and Professor Snape taking the usual morning five points off for Harry's "lack of respectful behavior towards his betters."

He looked up as she desperately attempted not to appear tired. "Miss Granger," he hissed from between his thin lips, "ten points off Gryffindor for being late and another five for disrupting class. My, my, my. You Gryffindors can't seem to keep out of trouble this morning. That's twenty points you've managed to lose your house so far." Hermione knew without looking that Ron was mentally thinking of ways to murder Snape without doing anything illegal.

And her mind registered the usual event of Malfoy laughing loudest of all the Slytherins.

"But Miss Granger! You seem to lack a partner!" Snape exclaimed as Hermione began setting up her cauldron. "No wonder no one wants to work with you; I've already assigned Longbottom a partner." The Slytherins laughed again, and the blood in her brain began pumping furiously, coming up with gruesome ways to castrate her Potions Master.

"Gregory Goyle!" he barked, and Hermione had to clutch the table to keep from collapsing. "Go work with Thomas!" Hermione relaxed her grip until she realized she'd been landed with-

"Granger! Come set up with Draco."

Quickly but gingerly, she set her things inside her cauldron and carried it to the front of the dearly hated dungeon. "Polyjuice," mouthed Ron, and Hermione tilted her head in thanks.

Snape shook his head as Hermione lifted her supplies onto the counter. "Just because you're a girl doesn't give you the excuse to be weak, Miss Granger. Perhaps you could stop trying to hold up class?"

Hermione dug her nails into her palms to keep herself from hexing Snape until he begged for mercy. Snape mistook the wince of pain for submission and said calmly to the rest of the class, "Once you need the bicorn hair and the boomslang skin," Hermione tried desperately not to attract an iota of attention, "come and ask me for them." With a sharp turn of his heel, his cloak nearly brushed her nose. Malfoy grinned as she leaned back to avoid a close encounter of the woolen kind. Hermione was reminded why Ron threatened so often to "get even this year."

Hermione began pulling out the necessary ingredients and setting them on the counter. She was faintly aware of Malfoy swapping a few of her fresher herbs for his crumbling, decayed ones. She bit her lips, reminding herself that she was in enough trouble already.

Her cauldron was boiling when she extinguished the fire and muttered under her breath a quick charm to restore some youth and the essential oils to the frayed leaves sitting in her bowl. Malfoy scowled that she wasn't that easily deterred. Hermione let her mind rejoice, but pursed her lips. This was a delicate part; if she put the leaves in a second too early or a second too late, the entire potion would be rendered useless, and she would most definitely not receive a passing grade.

"Worried, Mudblood?" a voice hissed in her ear.

'Just my luck. Count on Malfoy to be a twit when I need to concentrate.

'

"After all, you are the most useless of all the pathetic bitches I know. I've even heard you're still a virgin."

Hermione gritted her teeth, knowing this conversation would turn out nasty, one way or another.

"So is Weasley as bad as I knew he was? No wonder you're still 'pure. If I had that for a boyfriend, I wouldn't let him anywhere near my bed."

Hermione added the finely ground dragon-snap wings and felt tempted to throw the empty bowl at Draco's head, but merely resolved for slamming it down onto the dull counter-top.

Draco grinned at the response he was getting. "A little tense, are we? I'm sure you'd be eager to let me... loosen you up." Hermione reached out her left arm with her final bowl of ingredients (lacewings), and Draco wrapped his arm around her waist. He whispered in what he obviously thought was an irresistible, drop dead sexy voice, "Anytime you get sick of those boring Gryffindors, just remember that I'll be willing to teach you a few tricks."

Hermione's temper flared, and she no longer cared about house points. Judging from the near silent exclamations of Gryffindor voices behind her, they weren't that worried about it, either. Spinning around, she raised a hand and slapped him, hard, for the second time in both of their lives. She was both surprised and pleased to see him fall to the floor.

"HOW DARE YOU!" she screeched, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Professor Snape look up from his desk. "YOU CONCEITED, DISGUSTING, HEARTLESS, PERVERTED PRICK! HOW DARE YOU THINK THAT ABOUT ME!" She pulled out her wand and pointed directly between his eyes. He shut them, and a cold yet strangely soothing voice behind her murmured:

"I think that should be enough Miss Granger."

She spun around and found her eyes staring at the pale, dry palm of Professor Snape. She hadn't quite realized how tall he was from the back of the class. Actually, the top of her head was near even with his shoulder. But it wasn't his height, she decided. His voice was the secret to his crushing intimidation.

"I think proper punishment should be two months detention for you, Miss Granger, and fifty points from Slytherin for you, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy's eyes popped open, and he began to stutter. "B-B-But Professor! She attacked me!"

"Of course, Draco, I could not deduct fifty points and send a letter to your father instead," growled Professor Snape. Malfoy shut his mouth with an audible snap and stared at his shoes.

"Never mind, sir."

"That's what I thought. Now, Miss Granger, your first detention will be here at seven and will end at nine-thirty. We'll discuss the next two months then." And with another sweep of his cloak, he returned to his desk, leaving Hermione confused, and trying desperately to decide which of the two Slytherins she should spend the rest of the class hating.

"Get up, you pathetic bastard," she hissed at Malfoy. It lifted her heart to see him scramble to meet her request.

As he pulled himself up, he realized what he was doing, and Hermione beat him to the biting remark. "And I'd prefer you to not steal my ingredients again. Whoever heard of a Malfoy stealing from and trying to seduce a Muggle-born in one day?" He gritted his teeth, and Hermione smiled to herself in a way that would've sent Salazar Slytherin himself screaming for his mummy.

***

"Hermione!" sobbed Neville once they had left the classroom, each of her friends looking extremely worried. "This is all my fault!"

Hermione switched her brain mode from "nasty and liking it" to "be nice to the stupid little flobber-humans."

"Neville, it's not your fault. Besides, that was building up, and Malfoy had it coming." She smiled sweetly, thinking to herself how fake the expression felt.

Ron grinned and hugged her, spinning her around at an elevation of about six inches higher than usual, and that was with her shoes on. "The only image I can think of better than that was when Crouch turned Malfoy into a bouncing ferret!" Everyone behind them laughed. "Just think! A Muggle-born holding Draco Malfoy at wand-point!"

Hermione scowled, and Ron set her back down to Earth with a "thunk."

"So you don't think I could beat up a 'pure-blood'?" she hissed. Harry backed away, almost tempted to run. When Hermione shouted and snarled, she was ready to hex. When she whispered, she was ready to hex everything.

Ron seemed to be receiving some kind of radiation, and he looked sick. "No, no! I didn't mean it like that!" He was too late.

"Well, in case any doubt is in your mind, let's get rid of it now, shall we?"

Ron gulped.

Hermione's eyes glazed over, and Harry couldn't think straight. From the looks of it, no one but Hermione could either. Around him, Ron and Neville fell to their knees. Harry, Seamus, and Dean fell to one knee. Harry didn't seem to be able to lift his eyes from the dungeon floor. This was worse than the Imperius Curse was; he didn't have a little voice in his head to ignore. The little voice had been replaced by a powerful, gripping, invisible hand. Harry was sure even Hagrid wasn't this strong. This must be what pure magic felt like when it was turned against you.

Hermione casually strolled over to Ron and wrenched his neck from its stiff position so that his eyes had no choice but to be swallowed in hers. "Never, ever think my magic is weaker than a so-called 'pure-blood's' again." She dropped his chin and stalked out of the circle back towards the central nervous system of the castle. After the sound of her footsteps had died out, they all collapsed to the floor.

Panting, Ron managed to gasp out, "My dad's told me about this. He says it's powerful magic only witches can do. It's supposed to be called PMS."

***

Hermione sat down at the table between Lavender Brown and Dennis Creevey. Both were preoccupied with the person next to them, so she wasn't bothered. This happened to be exactly what she wanted.

She knew she shouldn't have used such powerful magic on the boys. They hadn't been as thrilled as she was to find that with their seventh year came unlimited access to the Restricted Section. Neville spent all of his time looking up one thing: the Cruciatus Curse and its effects. Hermione had been almost ashamed when she had asked him for help on her extra credit report (Ron's response had been, "What the hell do you need extra credit for? You've got the highest wizarding GPA since Agrippa!"). But for once in a subject besides Herbology, Neville had been sure about what he was explaining. It did her heart good to know there were other people in Gryffindor who did thorough research.

Hermione noticed Lavender and Parvati's giggling had transferred to whispering, and it was giving Hermione a migraine. Pouring water into her goblet, she pulled a small packet of powder out of her purse. Tearing it open and tossing it back in her throat, she grabbed the water and tried to get rid of the wretched taste.

She felt several pairs of eyes watching her and didn't turn around to try to figure out to whom they belonged. Putting her head in her hands, she began to massage her temples tenderly. A small sigh escaped her lips and a cold tear tickled her cheek and dripped onto her smoked salmon.

"Hermione?" a small voice to her left whispered. It slowly registered as Lavender's, but Hermione couldn't remember hearing her ever sound so kind. She sounded, well, sincere.

"What is it now Lavender?" Hermione replied, slightly surprised to hear her voice sound so worn out.

"I just wanted to let you know that you're not alone. Half the people Draco's said he's slept with he's really raped. Either he's gotten so stupid as to attempt it in class, or he's decided he should flash you some kind of warning signal. After all, everyone knows not to surprise and upset you at the same time."

Hermione grinned to herself. So she did managed to make it clear to some people, after all.

"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, if you ever decide to organize revenge, you've got the female half of Hogwarts behind you."

Hermione looked up into Lavender's purple eyes, and felt the corners of her mouth start to stretch. It felt foreign. She hadn't honestly smiled in a week at least.

"Thank you, Lavender. You too, Parvati." The two girls blushed and murmured something like, "Oh, it's nothing," or, "Don't worry about it."

"And I'm really sorry about your rabbit, Lavender."

She appeared puzzled, so Hermione added, "In your third year, your baby rabbit died."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Listen, what's past is past. And it's kind of stupid to argue about the future, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded. "I'm glad you two finally see it the way I do."

There was a pause, and in that pause, six years of enmity was washed away.

"So, what's it been like to be surrounded by boys all the time?"

Hermione shuddered. "It's a nightmare at times, and a blast at others. They forget you're a girl most of the time, and treat you as an equal, but when you can't help but be feminine, they treat you like a porcelain doll. They finally noticed I am a girl and aren't quite treating me the same. But I'm actually kind of glad. I get more respect, I think. Besides, Ron finally worked up the nerve to ask me out. I mean, it's like he thought it would be either an act of treason, or make him look gay."

Parvati giggled. "So what's it like to date him? My sister said the Yule Ball was a nightmare; she said he has two left feet."

Hermione nodded. "He's no worse or better at dancing than Harry." Parvati shuddered. "My feelings exactly."

She sighed, and picked up her fork "Anyway, I've tried to make it clear to Ron that he shouldn't expect me to dance with him at the Halloween Masquerade."

They all laughed, and Colin Creevey looked up and snapped a picture. Maybe it could later be used as blackmail...

Parvati began picking at invisible dirt underneath her manicured fingernails. "Umm... Hermione... we've been meaning to ask you a favor lately."

"Shoot. After all, I am Head Girl."

"Well, that's what the favor's about. Would it be all right if Lavender and I get ready for Halloween in your room? The Common Room is going to be packed, and we don't want our costumes getting messed up."

Hermione shrugged, and began wrapping up the fish to give to Crookshanks. "Sure, no problem. We'll just have to agree when. You wouldn't mind using my bedroom, would you? Most of my own cosmetic issues are resolved in the bathroom."

Lavender and Parvati exchanged looks and agreed.

"That's great. Listen, er..." Hermione noticed Harry, Ron, Dean, Neville, and Seamus walk into the Great Hall, and she stood up. The other two girls turned around, and cracked identical grins.

"Go ahead, Hermione. We'll just be discussing our costumes."

She thanked them, and walked over to them. They seemed to be unsure of themselves, but Hermione didn't blame them. After all, she had given them their first encounter with a silent incantation.

She brushed past them without a word, but she made sure she deliberately brushed shoulders with Ron.

Neville, Dean, and Seamus moved on, but Harry and Ron stared after her with their jaws hanging open. Hermione smiled to herself as she walked to her private room.

***

Now, if there's one good reason to be Head Girl, it's the private apartment within the castle. The interior is decorated to your specifications, and in this case, Hermione's walls were filled with books.

The portrait that covered the entrance did not hold a frivolous woman or an egomaniac, as Hermione had exclusively requested, but held the portrait of Circe. This was very advantageous, for the mere canvas and frame could not contain her magic. She bade her time weaving, but if someone tried to break in, his or her memory would be wiped of knowledge of Hermione's living space. Sometimes, when the visitor would unwisely rile Circe's temper, Hermione would find a pig squealing at her door. Hermione had actually grown fond of talking with the offensive witch, and regretted knowing she would have to leave in seven-and-a-half months.

There were four rooms, if you didn't count the closet. The entryway with the coat hanger by the door blended into the sitting room, with scarlet and gold stripes running down the walls. But there wasn't much room for paint with the seven floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the room. The side of the room opposite the door was a conjured window, and gave a clear picture of the Whomping Willow and Hagrid's hut. It provided good light, and when the sun would set, Hermione simply lit the twenty candle fixtures secured onto the walls. At any time of day, the light was perfect for reading small, faded print. The furniture consisted of a coffee table, couch, made of chocolate brown leather, long enough to seat five seventh years and seven first years, two overstuffed chairs made of the same material as the couch, and Hermione's favorite chair. This chair was old, worn, and the bottom sagged, but Hermione could not imagine a chair more comfortable and inviting. It was sage green with bronze trim and the feet were shaped to resemble dragon-claws carved from black walnut wood. There was only one personal item in the room: a photograph of Ron and Harry practicing Quidditch with Hermione pulling at her hair on the ground.

The door on the right was the closet where Hermione kept her school supplies handy.

The door on the left revealed her bedroom. Her bedroom was perhaps the strangest and yet most fascinating room in all of Hogwarts. The paint was enchanted, if you even dared to call it paint. It showed the view of the sky from the Astronomy towers at all times, without the noise unless you chose to remove the Silencing Charm and let the sound of crickets and katydids fill the room at night. If Hermione chose to stay in her room during a Quidditch Match, she would still be able to determine (slightly) what was going on. A canopy bed with black draperies and light-gray sheets stood proudly in the middle of the room on the same dragon-claws as her custom-made chair. Hermione was surprised that Dumbledore had allowed it to be queen-sized, but she supposed that it wasn't unusual to have a Head Girl Bed Hog. A wardrobe stood in the corner and the top was level with Hermione's eyes. On the wall by the door, a large mirror hung. It was six feet wide, seven feet tall, and framed in fourteen karat gold crafted to show the story of Merlin. In front of this mirror stood a table, precisely as long as the looking glass itself. Made of pine and covered in deep blue velvet with golden stars that showed the night sky at all times, it was where Hermione kept anything of value that she liked to look at. Various photographs (some moving, some not) sat in thin silver frames. Photographs of her blood family stood on the left with her jewelry case. Photographs of her friends and the people she admired were on the right. Among these rested her candy, the Chocolate Frog cards she kept for herself (there were about seven of these), her wand, and the fingerprint lock diary Sirius had given her for her birthday. A pot of scarlet ink and her favorite Merlin quills set in the center on top a fresh pile of parchment. A mahogany desk occupied the other corner. The wooden floor was covered with an immense woolen rug dyed black, blue, and silver.

And in the corner of this small but comfortable room led the final door. This one connected to her bathroom. The walls were a soft but bright yellow, and all of the fixtures were sparkling white porcelain. The sink was delicately carved into a floral motif, mostly lilies, roses, baby's breath, and ferns. The legs of the bathtub had been removed, and the body was sunk into the floor. It wasn't huge, like the prefect's was, because if Hermione took a bath, it was because she felt like relaxing. But it did have three taps: one for water (a simple wand tap made it the temperature she desired), one for honey-suckle scented bubbles, and one for the shampoo and/or conditioner with which she filled it. The toilet was enclosed in a closet-like room with deep purple paint and silver stars. The shower was a stall with a smooth glass enclosure. The glass wasn't at all clear; it produced fog on the walls when it was in use. Her cosmetics were stored behind a mirror along with her headache powders and her feminine products. Again, this was magically sealed with a fingerprint lock and use of the password. Those headache powders were too expensive to have people filch them whenever they felt like it...

Hermione flashed a small smile at Circe, who looked worried that her favorite witch seemed tired. If there was something else Circe was good at, she seemed to be able to smell the amount of magic people had used recently. "Don't over-exert yourself," she called after Hermione while she closed. Hermione kicked off her shoes and hung her cloak on the hanger. She walked past the inviting chair and stack of books beside it, past the relaxing bed, and into the bathroom. She filled the tub with water as hot as she could comfortably stand, reached for the alarm clock perched on the floor and set it to ring at six-fifteen. 'That should give me enough time to dry off and get ready,' she thought miserably. And so she shed her clothes and let her aching body soak in the water.

***

Professor Snape was at his desk grading essays when Hermione knocked. He allowed himself a grin as he noticed the numbers on his clock switch to precisely seven o'clock. She was neither a second early nor late. How typical of students with detention.

He had regained control of his facial muscles when he grumbled, "Enter." The door creaked open, and she slowly walked inside and closed her only means of escape. She kept to the shadows in the back of the room.

"Miss Granger," he sighed, "if we are to share two months of detention together, I suggest you overcome your blatant fear of me, however deserved. I have a proposition for you, and I will not force you to accept it. But I suggest you seriously consider the consequences, and the alternative."

Hermione was interested, but determined not to let it show. She stepped out from next to the jars of pickled rats and sat down halfway from the front of the classroom.

Snape sighed. He wasn't in the mood for this.

"Miss Granger. Grow up, I beg of you. This is not the time to harbor childhood fears. What I'm asking will take great cooperation and immense trust." Her back relaxed perhaps one third of a degree. "Besides, I'm really not in the mood to speak loudly after class if over. I'd much rather save my voice."

Hermione laughed within her mind. He never really spoke higher than a whisper, except to shriek at Harry. But she wasn´t moving.

"If you´re so eager to save your voice, why don´t you leave your desk and sit here instead?" she asked, surprised at the contempt her tone harbored. And to her further surprise, he simply stood up and glided to the seat beside her. And that was the first time he ever compromised with someone in front of their face.

"I´ll ignore the fact that you presume you have some authority in the classroom, because if you agree to my proposition, we will have to compromise more than I would openly admit to."

Hermione was growing more and more interested in this proposition. `If only he would spit it out.´

"Miss Granger, what I´m about to propose to you could be used both for and against Voldemort. So it is important that you do not openly discuss this project." Did he want her to do an extra credit project on the Unforgivables? "As much as I despise the thought, Professor Dumbledore told me that you are allowed to inform your... friends of what we could be working on."

He took a breath, and was obviously going to continue, so Hermione interrupted him. "Professor Snape? Could you just tell me your `proposition´ so I could reject it or not and stop wasting our time?"

Was that a smile? No. It was just her imagination.

He paused, as if uncertain, and said, "My thoughts precisely, Miss Granger. Two months is incredibly precious time to both a student and teacher, and instead of your usual extra credit essay, I believe the time could be put to some use instead of more papers for me to grade and you to write." She nodded. "So I´m proposing that we work together on an advanced Potion that would greatly affect the battle against Voldemort." He could not have had more rapt attention. "What I am offering is that we work together on an Animagus Potion."

Hermione paused. It would be interesting, and he said it could help with the war... and she might become an Animagus out of the deal. But certainly it would take more than two months? She voiced her question.

"Yes, Miss Granger. It would take more than two months. But twice as much ground could be covered with two of us working on it. I will continue with the Potion after your detention is over, but I would greatly appreciate your help. But it is your choice. I can not force you to put yourself in danger, nor do I wish to. You must make up your own mind."

"Professor, I have only one question."

"And that would be...?"

"You wouldn´t take house points off, would you?"

"No, Miss Granger. I do not believe it would be necessary. You are not as incompetent as Longbottom over a cauldron."

"Professor Snape, I accept. When do we begin?"

"I think two weeks of research might be enough to start with. Professor McGonagall has agreed to let us question her. I would appreciate it if you asked Black." He spat the name as if it was a lemon. It probably tasted like one to him.

She nodded. Sirius would have no qualms answering her own questions. "Just tell me what I need to ask."

"We will determine those questions together. I refuse to work with someone who wants me to spoon-feed them a procedure."

She blushed. "I´m sorry."

"Time to stop being sorry and start being mature, Miss Granger. You will be leaving Hogwarts soon, and you´ll find the rest of the world does not rely on extra credit projects."

And until nine-thirty, they discussed the arrangements. They decided that she would have to have two months total detention, but it would be needed to be spaced out. They had weekends and Wednesdays off, and would meet from seven o´clock to nine thirty on the other days. Quidditch games were considered an occasion for a break, Out-of-the-ordinary engagements needed to be confirmed. Except for when Snape would be called to Voldemort. They agreed that if he wasn´t in the classroom when she came by for "detention", she should wait fifteen minutes, and then leave a note that she had arrived and waited. Then she would be allowed the rest of the day basically Snape-less. Apart from homework, of course. They both heartily agreed that he would be as nasty as ever to all of the Gryffindors, and she couldn´t do a thing about it. `Who am I to mess with his poor teaching skills, anyway?´ passed through her mind.

As the second hand made it officially nine-thirty, she stood up. "Good-night, Professor."

He nodded. "Good-night, Miss Granger."

And she brushed past him into the hall, grateful for two things: she had detention that would produce something useful, and Professor Snape had actually understood her busy schedule.

***

Ron and Harry were waiting around the corner from her dormitory. They didn´t trust Circe, and Hermione didn´t blame them. After all, being transfigured into a toilet seat and bronze weasel weren´t very flattering first impressions.

"So, how was it?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, how was the stupid git?" Ron added.

Hermione scowled. "Ron, Snape is on our side. He´s not out to kill Harry anymore."

"Whatever. He´s still a Slytherin."

She sighed. This was patriotism at its worst. But she knew better than to argue with sixteen years of habit. "It wasn´t too bad. He wants me to help him with something. I´ll tell you what it is after a little while. I want to have a little bit of progress before I let you in. It´s supposed to be secret, but Dumbledore said I could tell you two."

They nodded. For once, it seemed, Ron decided not to protest.

There was an awkward moment where the all scuffed their feet on the carpet. "Harry?" piped up Ron suddenly. "Could you leave us alone for a minute?"

"Sure."

"Hermione?"

"What is it now, Ron?"

"I just wanted to know if we´re okay. You seem... tense."

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to smile. "I´m just tired, Ron. We´re okay, really. I just need a little space right now."

"Okay." He stooped to peck her on the cheek, and then left. Hermione went inside and prepared for bed. After today, she was long past ready for sleep.

A/N: Wow. Long chapter, eh?

Thank you! - Anna Black