Ordinary People

Not quite back to normal, after all---

Hermione could not tell whether or not the entire staff had been enlightened as to the events of three nights past. McGonagall's already thin mouth tightened upon seeing her ragged appearance, and Flitwick had sent her a concerned look but said nothing. All in all, this was not indicative of anything. Either they had been told and were behaving accordingly, or they had not and had drawn the worst conclusions possible.

All she knew was that it was becoming increasingly difficult not to scratch at her healing wounds. Nearly every scab on her body itched fiercely, and Hermione had already caught herself countless times digging at various places. Once in the safety of her dormitory after classes, she threw off her robes and blouse with a grateful sigh, the itching lessening as the cool air hit her skin. Unfortunately, she'd forgotten that she had two very curious roommates.

It was Lavender who stumbled across her first. Forgoing supper, Hermione was laying across her bed, absorbed in a physics textbook, scribbling on a bit of stray parchment. She didn't even notice Lavender until she heard a low whistle echo through the room.

"What did you do to yourself, Hermione?" Lavender asked once she'd caught the girl's attention.

Hermione recalled her shirtless torso with a slight blush. She generally did not make a habit of walking around only half clothed. "Uh ..." she managed.

Crossing the room, Lavender laid a surprisingly gentle finger on the scab running down Hermione's left forearm. "What happened to you?"

Mind working as quickly as it could, she spat out the first thing that came to mind. "It was an accident," she grunted.

Lavender's eyebrows rose. "What sort of accident?" she asked sarcastically.

"Broken glass," Hermione managed to stammer. "Fell."

Cocking her head, Lavender studied Hermione for a long moment with a shrewdness that she normally hid under Divination gushing and boy babble. "Right," she eventually said.

Hermione could play this game. She waited Lavender out.

With a final little sigh, Lavender dropped her hand to her side and walked back through the doorway. "Fine," she tossed back, but there was no anger behind it.

Sighing in kind, Hermione returned to her textbook, flicking her eyes to the clock over the door on occasion. She had to be in Snape's office by eight o'clock, and it would not do to be late. In fact, she only had thirty minutes left. Perhaps she ought to go ahead and walk down to the dungeons now, just in case.

It had been a good idea, she later reflected, leaving early for her detention. Somewhere in the second floor corridor, she had been caught up for nearly ten minutes--Peeves had thought it would be amusing to flood the bathrooms and it took a good deal of time to wade through the waist-deep water. As it was, she knocked smartly on Snape's door with barely four minutes to spare.

"Enter," Snape called from within.

She pushed open the door and walked in. "Good evening, Professor," she said, giving him a slight smile. Snape was sitting at his desk, scratching on a piece of parchment nearly absently.

He did not exactly return her smile, but he didn't glare at her either, so she figured the evening had started as well as it was going to. "Good evening, Miss Granger," he replied in a neutral tone. "I hesitate to assign you some sort of task, as I highly suspect that Albus will turn up in the next five minutes. You may have a seat, if you'd like."

Somewhat surprised, Hermione sat down in one of the sparse wooden chairs in front of his desk. "Thank you, sir," she said, once seated.

He nodded silently and went back to his parchment, brow furrowed with concentration and hair hanging in his eyes. She absently noted that he'd smeared ink on his right cheek and wondered how on Earth she would mention it to him. In the end, she decided that if he didn't notice it, she could ignore it.

Snape was apparently working on something complicated--he frowned at the parchment and scratched something out. After staring at his work for a moment, he shoved the parchment to his side and picked up a fresh sheet.

She couldn't help it--her curiosity was almost killing her. Hermione let her eyes slowly wander across his desk and over the discarded piece of parchment.

He was working equations! The same equations, in fact, that she'd been fiddling with lately. Well ... mostly.

"I think that should be psi-star," she said absently, reflectively, completely forgetting who she was talking to. "Complex conjugate, since you're using the dagger operator."

Snape's head snapped up, and she couldn't tell whether he was staring at her with shock or disdain (she was, after all, unfamiliar with his array of emotions beyond rage and frustration). "What?" he asked.

Tapping the symbol in question, Hermione plucked the quill out of his fingers with her other hand and began writing. "Psi-star. Here. See--that's why you were hitting a wall. Of course that wouldn't commute. But it wouldn't make sense if it didn't cancel out." Her hand flew across the parchment but came to an abrupt stop as her mind suddenly screamed, You're correcting Snape here!

Hermione dropped the quill with a start and stared up at him fearfully. "Uh ... I mean ... that is ..."

"Pray, continue, Miss Granger," Snape said, looking slightly cross, but not nearly as furious as she'd anticipated. "I'm beginning to see what you mean. That might actually have a closed-form solution."

Too dumbfounded to ponder what was occurring too deeply, Hermione resumed her scribblings. "Well ..." she said skeptically. "I don't think so. It looks simple and everything, but it's highly nonlinear. And I can't see anything of a harmonic or radial solution in any of this. I wouldn't bet on a closed form existing. Although if you change the gauge ... Professor?" she asked suddenly. "Why are you working on this? I mean ..." Hermione blushed as she realized how her question must have sounded.

Snape looked unperturbed. "I might as well ask you why you know so much about it, Miss Granger," he replied without rancor. "I'm just fiddling with a few theories I've read about. I think the author might have been missing some important point, but I keep getting tangled up in the math."

She paused long enough to wonder why he was admitting all of this to her but then realized that it was her theories he was criticizing. "Why do you think there's something I--uh, the author has missed?" Her tone was slightly injured.

If he caught her slip, he did not comment. "Just a feeling," he said. "Although I don't think it would alter the overall thesis."

Hermione relaxed imperceptibly. And then it tumbled out. "Why are you telling me all this?" She clapped both of her hands over her mouth, eyes widening in horror at her words.

Snape just snorted a bit--the same laugh she dimly remembered from that awful night in the Infirmary. "Miss Granger, three nights ago we more or less saved each other's lives. I would think that that makes us comrades of a sort. Not to mention the fact that, as I have mentioned before, we've been punished by the headmaster to serve our detentions together."

"I'm glad you're so perceptive, Severus," an unmistakable voice said from the doorway.

Both Snape and Hermione turned toward the source of the sound, Hermione dropping the quill and Snape's cheeks reddening slightly. "Albus," he said. To his credit, his voice did not waver.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Come, Severus. If I did not get angry at you when you referred to me as a 'sanctimonious old bastard' to Minerva two weeks ago, I'm not going to be angry at you for telling the truth. In fact, I'm somewhat pleased that you've discerned that you have detention as well."

Snape muttered something under his breath that Hermione did not catch. And then, "Well, what do you have for us to do, then?" he asked impatiently.

"Funny you should mention," Dumbledore replied with an innocent tone in his voice. "I do recall Hagrid mentioning at supper this evening that his stables were in great need of mucking out, and I also recall volunteering the two of you for the job."

Hermione sighed a little, and Snape groaned out right. "Really, Albus," he said, all wounded dignity.

"I've even remembered to bring more appropriate clothing with me," Dumbledore said, depositing a sack Hermione hadn't noticed he was carrying on the floor of Snape's office. "Well, have fun, then." With a jaunty smile that led her to believe that he was very much enjoying their discomfort, Dumbledore closed the office door.

As soon as the lock snicked, Snape gave the door a heavy glare and growled. "That old codger," he spat, giving the bag of clothing a vicious nudge.

Picking up the bag gingerly, Hermione opened it and surveyed the contents dismally. "I suppose we ought to get started," she said.

He continued to glare at the door but nodded a bit.

She shuffled through the bag, pulling out the smaller pair of dungarees, the somewhat smaller, ripped t-shirt proclaiming "Beware of the Leopard" and the smaller pair of work boots. "Uh ..." she began, holding the clothes helplessly in her hands.

Not even looking in her direction, Snape flapped his hand at another door on the other side of his office. "You can change in my supply closet. I trust you won't disturb anything?"

She didn't feel like that needed a response, and she made sure to close the closet door quite firmly.

The clothes were too big, of course. The hem of the t-shirt very nearly reached her knees. Tucking it into the jeans, Hermione grimaced as she saw the jeans hems hanging about four inches off her socked feet. She rolled them up with a little sigh and shoved her feet into the boots. At least they fit. Now her only problem was that the dungarees were at least two sizes too big and threatening to slide off her hips completely. Maybe Snape had something she could hold them up with. Knowing she looked ridiculous but realizing her night would only get worse, Hermione tapped gingerly on the closet door. "Professor?" she called through the wood. "Can I come out now?"

"If you want," came the dull reply.

She opened the door with her right hand, holding her robes in her left. "Do you ... gracious," she unthinkingly exclaimed as she caught a glimpse of the clothing Dumbledore had brought Snape.

He was also wearing dungarees, although his fit slightly better (not much, though, she reflected), and his boots were identical to hers. It was his shirt that made her stop and goggle soundlessly at him. The sight of stern, evil Professor Snape engulfed in a huge red t-shirt informing her that he'd "Gone crazy. Be back shortly." with a large tear right across his stomach was very nearly enough to make her faint.

"Not a word," he snapped, plucking at the shirt. "I'm going to kill him."

"Would ... would you, um, like to switch shirts?" she asked in a near-whisper.

"Not particularly, Miss Granger. Somehow 'Beware of the Leopard' isn't much better," he said dryly. "Here!"

She caught the object he threw at her mostly by reflex. Upon further examination it turned out to be a hat.

"You'll want to cover your hair," he said in reply to her confused look. Snape picked up a similar hat and swiftly tucked his hair into it. She copied his motions sloppily. "Ready to go?" he asked with absolutely no expression in his voice.

"Would it matter if I said no?"

"No." He walked over to the door, raised eyebrow clearly indicating for her to follow.

----------

Mucking out stalls was possibly the worst detention she'd ever had. Hermione doubted that she'd ever get truly clean. "I'd kill for a toothbrush and a toilet right about now," she said through gritted teeth, swiping at something unspeakable smeared across her forehead.

"Albus always did come up with the worst detentions," Snape said from the stall across the way, carrying a load of something awful on his shovel.

"At least with bathrooms you know exactly what sort of filth you're wiping up. This stuff is a bit more ... ubiquitous," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I don't know what Hagrid's been keeping out here."

"Or what he's been feeding it," he replied, coming back through the door with a relatively clean shovel.

"Thank you, sir," Hermione retorted sarcastically, scraping the last bit of muck out from her stall. "There! Only two more to go, right?"

He let out a deep breath, squatting and holding his shovel between his knees. "Yes," he said, hissing. "After which I will go try to find a potion that causes someone to shed their skin. Twice."

Hermione hitched her trousers up yet again--she'd found a length of rope in the stable to tie them up with, but they still crept down her hips an uncountable number of times during the night. "What time is it?" she asked, using Snape's lethargy to take a break herself.

"Haven't a clue. Late, I'm sure. Maybe tomorrow night Albus won't make us stay out so late," Snape replied. "I wonder how angry he would get if I burned these clothes." He plucked at his shirt for the umpteenth time.

"Where on Earth did he find these things?" she asked, swinging her shovel over her shoulder in preparation of tackling her last stall.

Snape stood with a sigh and walked over to his. "I think he goes to the lost and found booths in the London Underground sometimes. Oh, God," he sighed upon seeing the contents of the stall. "I don't think this place has been cleaned for a decade at least."

They'd discovered within their first five minutes that someone--Dumbledore, probably--had placed a charm that prohibited them from using Cleaning Charms anywhere in the vicinity of the stables. Snape spent at least an hour moaning over that, but he'd paced Hermione in cleaning out stalls. They'd worked even faster once he'd fallen silent.

Silence reigned again as they went back to work. The only sounds were soft grunts as someone hefted a particularly heavy load and the scraping noises of the shovels. An indeterminate eternity later, they were done and stumbling out of the stables covered in unidentifiable stains.

"I don't care how filthy I am," Hermione said. "I'm going to sit down and cool off before I go back in the castle."

He gave her a sideways glare. "You can't go off alone, Miss Granger," he said testily. "It's long after curfew. Besides, your robes are still locked in my office."

"Again, Professor, I don't care. I'm hot and my scabs itch. And I know at least one of them broke open." Not wanting to argue any more, Hermione simply plopped herself down on the ground and stretched out beneath a tree, closing her eyes as a cool breeze kissed her cheeks.

His next words sounded concerned, but that was highly unlikely as she was talking with Professor Snape. "Broke open?"

She flapped a hand. "It doesn't hurt, and I checked; it's not bleeding much."

"Miss Granger," Snape said sternly, "you've just exposed an open wound to an extreme level of bacteria."

Ignoring the warning in his tone, Hermione kept her eyes shut. "Ten minutes and then I'll go straight to the Infirmary."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for lack of personal concern," he replied.

She resisted the urge to poke her tongue out at him. "As I told you three days ago, Professor, you can take a thousand points for all I care. Ten minutes."

"I'll drag you there myself," he threatened. "I'll catch ten shades of hell from Albus and Poppy if I let you catch an infection."

"It's none of your concern, sir." She did not budge.

And then Hermione let out a shriek that was part surprise and part anger as she found herself slung in a fireman's carry over Snape's shoulder.

"Put me down!" she cried.

"I warned you," he retorted mildly. "I'm taking you to the Infirmary, and I advise you not to struggle--it will only open your wounds further."

Realizing firstly that he was not going to let her go and secondly that he was right, Hermione stopped struggling and settled for the occasional dig in his ribs with her feet. "I said I would go to the Infirmary," she said, irritated at his presumption.

He did not put her down.

"I can walk, you know," she continued.

Snape pushed open the door and walked into the castle. Hermione realized how badly they smelled as the warm, good air filled her nostrils. "Good Lord, we stink," she said conversationally.

"I'm not going to put you down, Miss Granger," Snape retorted. "I don't trust you."

"I hate you," she said contemptuously.

"Good," he said. "I would hate to think that all my efforts have been wasted."

They remained silent as he strode down the hall until after one particularly vicious jab in his ribs with her right boot, Snape gave her kneecaps a warning squeeze. "I'm not interested in matching bruises, Miss Granger."

"You could put me down."

"No," he said and quickened his pace.

Madam Pomfrey was amazingly awake when Snape strode into the Infirmary with Hermione slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "What on Earth ...?" she asked, taking in their filthy clothing and the mutual irritation.

"Miss Granger's wounds need to be reexamined and cleaned," Snape said, depositing Hermione on her feet finally. "I'll bring her robes by. I expect you'll want to keep her for the night."

"Yes ... of course," Pomfrey said absently, eyeing Hermione. "May I ask what you've been doing?"

Hermione yanked off her hat and threw it on the floor. "Mucking out Hagrid's stalls," she replied. "For detention."

Much to Hermione's glee, Pomfrey gave Snape a sly sort of smile. "Both of you, eh?" she said, appraising Snape's similarly soiled clothing.

"Not a word, Poppy," Snape said icily. "I will return shortly with Miss Granger's clothing." He spun on a booted heel and strode purposefully from the Infirmary.

Pomfrey clucked a bit as she looked her patient over. "I suppose the first thing we ought to do is get you out of those clothes and cleaned up. Where did you find those things, anyway?"

"The headmaster," she replied with a grimace, shedding the shirt and kicking off her boots. "Professor Snape is of the opinion that they ought to be burned."

Frowning, the mediwitch gazed at Hermione's newly oozing scabs. "I'll have to disinfect those, dear, if you've been mucking out stalls. And give you an antibiotic as well. Just in case. And I'll make sure to have a word with Albus about the nature of your detentions from now on. I highly doubt, Miss Granger, that it was Severus' choice to clean out stalls for the evening," she said to Hermione's surprised look. "Sounds more like the detentions Albus used to give out when he was still teaching."

With a conspiratorial look, Pomfrey guided her back into the Infirmary and all but pushed her into a very medicinal smelling shower.

An hour later and feeling infinitely cleaner, Hermione was snuggled in between crisp sheets, lightly dozing. Her wounds were newly bandaged and stinging from the cleansing Pomfrey had given them. She was in that place between sleep and wakefulness when she heard another voice in the room.

"How is she?" a man asked.

"Fine," Pomfrey answered, hushed. "She's asleep now. But it's a good thing you brought her in as quickly as you did, Severus. Who knows what she was exposed to out in that stable. Shame on Albus for asking that of her."

"I don't think the headmaster knew that she was still healing," the man--Snape--replied. "At least, I hope not. I'm fairly certain he wouldn't have assigned that detention if he'd known. I brought her robes, by the way."

"I assumed," Pomfrey said. "At least, I didn't think you've taken to suddenly bringing me clothes for no reason."

Hermione heard a few rustling noises that her drowsy mind refused to identify and felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. A pleasant scent tickled her nostrils and she sank closer to sleep, sighing a little. The hand moved to her hair and then withdrew.

There were a few more words exchanged across the dark room, but Hermione was falling into sleep and did not understand them.

----------

The next day at breakfast, Hermione was very tired. Pomfrey had roused her at seven and informed her that she was able to attend classes and sent her off with another warning about her scabs that she mostly ignored. She'd put on the same clothes she was wearing the day before, uncaring, and stumbled back to Gryffindor tower, grabbing her books for her classes idly, longing only for a cup of tea.

"Great Merlin, Hermione, didja go for ten more rounds with your mysterious attacker?" Ron asked as Hermione seated herself at the table and began buttering a piece of toast.

"Detention was ... unnecessarily rigorous," she said, stuffing the entire slice in her mouth and chewing mightily.

Ron nodded knowingly. "Well, Snape's a prat. What more could you expect from someone like him? I bet he enjoyed watching you suffer. That's how he gets his jollies, you know, torturing us. He probably sits around after a particularly nasty class and just laughs and laughs. If he's even capable of laughter."

As soon as she swallowed the toast, she immediately buried her nose in her teacup, unwilling to discuss the matter with him. He didn't know the entire situation, and she was not in a position to enlighten him--it was better for everyone if she just let Ron chatter until he forgot the matter. She was startled from such musings, however, by a large hand wrapping itself around her shoulder. Jumping in her chair a little, Hermione turned around to look up into Dumbledore's mildly concerned eyes.

"I received a tongue lashing from Poppy Pomfrey this morning, Miss Granger, and I must apologize about last night. If I'd known the full extent of your injuries, I would never have given you such a task."

Hermione shrugged a little, taking another sip of tea. "Madam Pomfrey didn't want to heal my cuts fully with magic--she said that it would make the scarring worse with such deep injuries. Don't worry about it, sir."

He gave her another look of compassion. "If it's not too much trouble, may I ...?"

She sat her teacup down hastily. "Sure." Pulling back her collar to show him the same gash she'd shown Harry the day before, she tried to smile self-deprecatingly. "Madam Pomfrey said they should be completely closed up in the next three weeks or so, and she said that if I come back to her bleeding again, she'd make sure to use the antiseptic without the cooling gels."

Dumbledore winced a bit. "Again, I'm sorry, Miss Granger."

She let go of her robes and picked up her cup again, draining it and giving him a little shrug.

"Tonight, I think it might be better if we found something less ... physical for you to do. Perhaps you and Severus could offer your services to Madam Pince for the night? I know she has a lot of re-shelving and cleaning that she could use a hand with."

Apologies and gentleness aside, Hermione knew a command when she heard one. "Yes, headmaster," she replied, head bowed.

With one final pat on her shoulder, Dumbledore ambled away toward the professors' table.

Ron gave her a goggle-eyed look. "What was that all about?"

Inwardly she sighed--she just wasn't up to evasiveness this early in the morning. "Dumbledore's handing out the tasks for my detentions. And he's more devious than Filch--last night I had to muck out the stalls in Hagrid's stables. Without magic. But some of my cuts re-opened, and Professor Snape dragged me to the Infirmary--Madam Pomfrey was furious." Hermione grinned a little at the recollection.

"Just how badly did you get hurt, Hermione?" he asked, giving her that same shrewd look Lavender gave her wounds yesterday.

Again, she shrugged a little. "He had a knife. I got cut badly a few times, and Madam Pomfrey was worried about the scars so she's letting my body heal itself."

His eyes narrowed. "There's something incredibly important you're not telling me."

She flicked her hair behind her shoulders. "Obviously. Now ... I've got to get to Potions. Don't want more detentions." And Hermione left Ron still staring behind her.

----------

Severus wanted nothing more than to drag his sorry body back to bed and spend the next day there, motionless. He hadn't gone to sleep until nearly four in the morning, and some sadistic bastard (read, Albus Dumbledore) decreed that the first classes started at eight. That gave him about three hours of sleep and an hour of drinking coffee and attempting to focus on his lesson plans. The ink kept blurring together in front of his tired eyes.

He was now thoroughly convinced that Dumbledore had been a Slytherin in school--no one else could have come up with such a horrific detention. Of course, no one really knew what House Dumbledore had been in. Not for sure. Most suspected that he was a Gryffindor, Minerva McGonagall included, but during his stint as Transfigurations professor, Dumbledore was not a Head of House, and if any of the students ever asked about his old House, he just smiled vacantly and offered them whatever sweet of the week he was exploring. Severus knew, of course, that his doddering old man impression was just that--an impression--but he often questioned his employer's sanity.

The only thing he was absolutely currently sure about was that Dumbledore truly hadn't known how badly Miss Granger had been injured. Dumbledore was many things, but he would never try to deliberately hurt a student. Physically, that was, Severus mentally added with a bit of a smirk.

The clock chimed quarter until eight--nearly time for his awful seventh year Gryffindor-Slytherin class. Maybe Longbottom would refrain from setting a fire this morning. Probably too much to hope for, but Severus had long since abandoned hope of that particular group of students ever getting along. It would be a good day if no one hexed anyone, and he only had to subtract a hundred points from each House. The only bright spot was that since Lucius (and Voldemort, his rebellious mind whispered) told him that they knew of his duplicity, he didn't have to treat that little prick Draco as the Heir Apparent any more. Severus tried to take pleasure from the small things.

He strode into the classroom early, somewhat surprised to see a relatively healthy looking Miss Granger regarding him neutrally. "Professor Snape," she said with a slight nod.

Returning the nod, Severus turned to his class notes and began scanning them. "Miss Granger. I trust you are better?"

"Enough," she said in that same even tone. "I spoke with the headmaster at breakfast."

He raised his eyebrow and stared at her. Was she attempting small talk?

"He wanted to inform me that we are to spend our evening with Madam Pince," she continued.

Ah ... apparently Miss Granger was intelligent enough to know not to try to chat with him. This was shop talk after all. "The library, then," he said by way of clarification.

"Re-shelving and cleaning," she elaborated with a small grimace. "I think Madam Pomfrey had a word with him this morning about my ... uh ... re-injuring myself."

He put his notes down and began copying ingredients on the board behind him. "Very well, Miss Granger. Eight o'clock in the library, then?"

She did not reply, and Severus heard the small noises marking students shuffling in and finding their seats. A few little conversations sprung up that he ignored with great effort. Miss Granger began her usual banter with Longbottom, and Parkinson tried unsuccessfully to flirt with a very bored sounding Malfoy. He let the chatter continue longer than he might have otherwise if he weren't dozing on his feet.

"Enough," Severus finally said sharply. "The ingredients are on the board. You must brew this potion successfully and properly identify it at the end of the period. Begin!" he barked, relishing the clatter of vials and cauldrons.

Longbottom looked a little more relaxed than he usually did. Severus was not an idiot--he knew the boy was properly terrified of him and tried neither to encourage nor discourage that fear. Although he dimly wondered why the boy had decided to continue in Potions after his OWLs. His scores had proven barely sufficient for Severus to extend an invitation, and he clearly hated the subject. The only reason Severus could come up with was that Longbottom was planning to enter the Aurory like Potter and Weasley. In fact, those three boys and Miss Granger were the only Gryffindors left in the classroom of seventh years. Of course the most volatile Gryffindors would stay, he reflected miserably.

Severus caught his eyelids drooping and berated himself for it. He'd just handed his students the list of ingredients for a simple Healing potion they'd brewed during their fourth year, but there were a few places where a miscalculation could be disastrous--he needed to be alert.

Longbottom was progressing very slowly but, for once, carefully as well, and Severus allowed his eye to slide past the boy without comment. Miss Granger, of course, was working adroitly and quickly. She had almost a surly look on her face, as if Severus was somehow insulting her by asking her to brew such a simple potion. He made a mental note to take points off her some time this period, even though she swore up and down it didn't bother her. Potter and Weasley were both brewing with characteristic sloppiness--he could predict that Weasley's cauldron would over boil within the next half-hour, and Potter's final product would be entirely too orange. He would enjoy taking those points off.

And then on to the Slytherins. Malfoy's potion was very nearly as correct as Miss Granger's, but Severus knew that the boy wouldn't know what he was brewing. He could follow directions competently but had no eye for inspiration. If Malfoy pursued a career in Potions, he would wind up in a factory somewhere, happily mass-producing potions without an original thought in his brain. That was the difference between competence and brilliance.

Parkinson's potion would wind up too orange, like Potter's. She was too busy complimenting her 'dear Draco' to produce anything noteworthy herself. And Blaise Zabini was well posed for an explosion in the next little bit--if he'd added too much ...

BOOM!

Zabini's cauldron went up as soon as Severus bent over it, as if on cue. The boy blanched as Severus gave him a drippy-faced glare.

"Why thank you, Mr. Zabini," Severus said dryly. "I note that in addition to your brew's ... explosive capabilities, it is also a bright shade of yellow. There is not a single stage in the brewing of this solution that is yellow, if done correctly. I suggest you begin again. And that will be thirty points from Slytherin. Yes, Mr. Zabini, from my own House." Mopping off his face, Severus moved on to Millicent Bulstrode's passable potion.

On his way, he happened to see one Draco Malfoy smirking mightily at a red-faced Zabini. Inwardly, Severus grinned and shouted with glee. "Mr. Malfoy," he said in the silkiest set of tones he possessed. "Pray, what do you find so amusing?"

The boy was caught--his face blanked. "Sir?" Malfoy asked insolently.

And Severus pounced, grateful for the chance. "Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. The idea of having Houses is for you to support your peers, not ridicule them."

Malfoy's mouth dropped. In the brat's six and a half years at Hogwarts, Severus had not ever taken a single point from the boy. Far from it--he'd shown such disgusting favoritism that Malfoy had come to consider himself above the system. "But ... but ..." the boy stammered, grasping for a reply.

"Another word, Mr. Malfoy, and it will be twenty. Shut your mouth," Severus replied, biting back a wide grin. After six years, Malfoy was finally getting a bit of what he deserved. Miserable whelp.

The entire classroom was silent--even the inestimable Miss Granger was giving her Potions professor a quizzical look, and Weasley had the stupidest look on his face Severus had ever seen.

"Get back to work!" he barked. "All of you!"

Miss Granger raised an eyebrow at him, but returned to her potion along with the other students.

----------

Severus wanted to die, and that's all there was to it. The second year Hufflepuff and Slytherin class that afternoon had been one disaster after another winding up with at least a dozen students in the Infirmary and the loss of about a hundred and fifty points from each House. Not even the unadulterated joy of subtracting points from young brat Malfoy could compensate for that. He'd had to work through the evening meal, cleaning up the classroom. Somehow one of the exploded cauldrons contained a rubbery substance that defied all magical cleaners and required deep, elbow-wrenching scrubbing. Of course this substance covered about two-thirds of the floor and fifteen workbenches.

Swearing under his breath and muttering about 'idiot children,' Severus dropped the brush resolutely into the bucket filled with filthy water and glared at the clean classroom. No supper in sight and now he had to go to the library with Miss Granger and help Madam Pince with whatever new devilry she had been dreaming up with Albus. Maybe he had time to slip down to the kitchens and get some food from the house-elves. His pocket watch read seven--just enough time to go to the kitchens, eat, and then make it to the library, if he ran most of the way.

The house-elves were delighted to see him and provided him with a huge ham sandwich. Severus tore into it gleefully, sticking an apple into his pocket for good measure as he ambled toward the library, hoping against hope that he wouldn't run into any students on the way.

He'd long since finished the sandwich and was making short work of the sweet apple when he very nearly knocked over Miss Granger about five hundred feet from the library door. "Sorry," he garbled through a mouthful of food, not realizing who he'd run into.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he heard a distinctly female voice reply.

"Oh, Miss Granger," Severus said, swallowing quickly. "Good evening." He coughed a bit as she stared at the apple in his hand. "I missed supper," he continued, wondering why he felt the need to continually justify his behavior around her. He didn't feel that urge around anyone else for certain.

The girl simply nodded. "I do that a lot myself," she said. "It's nearly eight, anyway. Madam Pince will be expecting us. And I bet ten Galleons that the headmaster comes in to make sure we both showed up."

Severus gave her an amazed look. Whether he was surprised that she could discern so much about Dumbledore or that she would choose to share her insight with him, he was unsure. "As long as he doesn't come in with awful clothing to foist upon us ..." he mumbled.

Miss Granger let out a surprised laugh. "I keep forgetting that you have a sense of humor," she said, blushing a bit at her forwardness.

"Don't worry, Miss Granger. So do I." Severus finished his apple thoughtfully and regarded the core as if it held the secrets of the universe. "Shall we go in?"

Shrugging, the girl reached for the doorknob. "Best to get it over with."

Madam Pince was practically waiting at the doorway for their entrance, a faintly smiling Dumbledore at her side. She frowned at Severus' apple core but let him deposit it in a nearby trashcan without comment. "The headmaster told me to expect you two," she said with a nod in Dumbledore's direction. "And I must confess, I'm grateful for the help."

"Severus, Miss Granger," the headmaster said, smile widening. "I'm glad to see you both present."

"What do you need?" Severus replied curtly--he wasn't in the mood to deal with a smug Dumbledore.

Her frown deepened, but then again, to his knowledge, Severus had never actually seen the stern librarian smile. "You can start with today's re-shelving, Miss Granger. And you, Professor Snape, I have something in the Restricted Section that requires your attention." She waved Miss Granger toward an enormous stack of books and took Severus by the arm, dragging him into the bowels of the Restricted Section. Dumbledore made his exit with a polite nod in Severus' direction.

He felt unduly nervous. "What's the matter, Madam Pince?" he asked formally.

"One of the chained books broke free last night, and I haven't been able to catch it," she said by way of explanation. "It won't respond to a Summoning Charm, and it's one of the Darker texts we have."

Severus inwardly sighed. Last night, covered in unspeakable filth, tonight, chasing evil books. Dumbledore had a devious streak a mile wide. He was beginning to worry about what the headmaster would decide they would do tomorrow.

Hours passed. Long seconds ticking into eternal minutes ticking into infinite hours. Severus had managed to catch about three glimpses of the rogue text and each time had made a total fool of himself throwing himself eagerly at it.

After the last time, Severus simply sat down in the middle of the Restricted Section on the floor, glaring at the empty space the book had left.

"What on Earth are you doing?" an incredulous voice asked behind him.

"So you're finished shelving books, then," Severus replied tiredly, not even turning around.

Miss Granger sat down beside him. "Yes ... Madam Pince said that you might need my help, but I confess, you seem to be managing to sit without any aid on my part."

He looked down at her. "She didn't tell you, then?"

"Tell me what?" Miss Granger was all innocence. "She didn't have to. I saw that last attempt, Professor. I assume a book got loose."

Severus sighed. So she'd seen him topple over a stack of biting books and then wrestle himself free. "If you tell anyone what you saw, Miss Granger, I promise to take away a thousand points from Gryffindor. And yes, a book got loose. Last night, according to Madam Pince."

"I also assume that a Summoning Charm doesn't work."

He gave her the fiercest glare he could manage. "No, a Summoning Charm doesn't work," he said mockingly. "And it's a Dark text, besides. I don't think Madam Pince knows exactly which one it is--she doesn't keep as thorough catalog of those books since we don't let students near them. Even you." But that last was not as biting as it could have been.

"Could we lure it?" she asked, brow furrowed.

"With what? Perhaps you know what books like to eat, Miss Granger, but I don't."

She gave him a long-suffering look that under other circumstances would have earned her a detention and twenty points from her House. "If it's a Dark text, Professor, wouldn't it be drawn to other Dark Arts?" He chose not to comment on the unspoken you idiot at the end of her question.

"Are you suggesting that I lure an evil textbook with an Unforgivable Curse, Miss Granger?" Severus found himself asking with a sarcastic grin.

She grinned back at him. "Well, maybe not quite an Unforgivable," she said in what Severus highly suspected was a teasing tone (but that wasn't possible, his mind told him). "Maybe one of us could use ... oh, I don't know ... a Willful Summoning Hex on a quill or something."

He regarded her suspiciously. "You know an awful lot about this, Miss Granger."

Her grin widened. "Didn't Professor McGonagall ever tell you about my fifth year? When we held our own Defense Against the Dark Arts classes?"

"Oh, yes," he said distastefully. "You had young Potter as your instructor."

"Well," Miss Granger continued, "as soon as she found out, she gave me a year-long pass to the Restricted Section for 'research purposes.'"

Severus felt something in his jaw loosen. "So you've read the entire Restricted Section as well." It was not a question.

"The parts open to students," she said. "Obviously not all of it. There are books in here that I don't think Dumbledore himself would dare to read."

Sighing, Severus raised his wand. "Very well," he said. "Come to me," he whispered, feeling the shadows lace his voice as he pictured the quill on Madam Pince's desk and urged it to approach him.

Miss Granger's eyes were dinner plates.

He dropped his wand. "What?" he asked irritably.

"It's just ... I've never seen anyone actually use that hex," she muttered. "It's ... strange."

Severus gave her a careful look. "You can say it, Miss Granger. It's creepy. Ah, here we go." He plucked the quill out of the air and tucked it carefully in his pocket. "Let's see if our damned book responds."

They waited in silence for nearly ten minutes. Suddenly, Miss Granger tapped his forearm lightly. "There," she whispered.

"Where?" he replied equally quietly.

"By that stack of Potions texts. It's fluttering like. Don't move."

Severus immediately wanted to shift his position but resisted upon seeing the book hovering in mid-air. "What now, Miss Granger? It is your plan after all."

She glared at him and again he let it pass. "On three?"

"How about on 'now?'" he retorted. "I hesitate to give it three."

Miss Granger nodded and tensed to spring. "Ready ... now!"

Her cry was quiet, designed to reach Severus' ears only, and together they threw themselves at the book.

For one glorious moment, Severus felt his fingers brush the front cover of the floating text. But then the precariously balanced potions books came tumbling about their ears. Fortunately, these books were relatively inanimate and Severus and Miss Granger untangled themselves with ease. "Chase it!" Severus heard himself cry. "Don't let it get away!"

The book had not vanished as it had before. Instead, it was fluttering out of the Restricted Section. It wanted to play, Severus realized with a flash of insight.

He and Miss Granger both dashed after the text, every now and again one of them making a calculated leap as they got close enough to try.

"This isn't working," Miss Granger said, picking herself up off the floor for a fifth time. "And I think I'm going to rip something open again if I keep at it."

"Heaven forbid," he replied tartly. "Maybe if we get on either side of it. Corner it."

Miss Granger nodded and slipped down one wall, trying to get on the other side of the textbook. They were in a relatively open part of the library, thankfully empty, and soon, Severus and Miss Granger stood on either side of the book, looking at each other steadily. He met her eyes, saw the question in them, and nodded slightly.

In an odd sort of synch that Severus would not have believed them capable of, they rushed the book, leaping in the air simultaneously and falling over the book, crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.

"Ouch," he heard Miss Granger say from beneath him. "Come here, you horrible little bugger." He heard her hands scrabbling around on the floor and recovered enough of his senses to roll away and join her in the fray.

The book was threatening to escape her hands, but once Severus wrapped his fingers around the book as well, they were able to more or less force it to the floor. "Madam Pince," Severus immediately shouted, realizing with a start that he didn't know the woman's first name. "We've got it!"

There was a slight rustle among the stacks, and Madam Pince came bursting into the clear area with the closest thing to a smile on her face Severus had ever seen. "Excellent," she said. "Just hold it while I go find some more chain."

Swearing a bit, Severus tightened his grip on the struggling text. Miss Granger bit her lip, and he saw her knuckles whiten.

After what seemed like three eternities at least, Madam Pince returned with a long length of chain. Miss Granger helped the librarian bind the book tightly. "Well," Madam Pince said, holding the book on its new leash. "I think you two have done enough for this evening. You may go. Thank you, again."

Once clear of the library, Severus let his shoulders slump. "Evil books and dragon dung," he muttered. "What's that horrible old codger going to do next?"