Perfection

Yellow bird flying gets shot in the wing

Good year for hunters and Christmas parties

And I hate

And I hate

And I hate

And I hate elevator music

The way we fight

The way I'm left here silent

Oh these little earthquakes

Here we go again

Oh these little earthquakes

Doesn't take much to rip us into pieces

We danced in graveyards with vampires till dawn

We laughed in the faces of kings never afraid to burn

And I hate

And I hate disintegration

Watching us wither

Blackwinged roses that safely changed their color

~Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos

Perfection

Chapter 7: Earthquakes

It was a repeat of September first. Hermione was standing in the train station, her mother standing beside her, professional and cold once again. There was no sign of the fragile person she caught a glimpse of over the holidays, nothing to suggest that there was any sort of emotional turmoil taking place. Except the expression on her face, which was brittle as she bid her farewell to her daughter and made any notion that Hermione had allowed to enter her mind about telling her mother flee.

"Have a nice time at school," she said blankly.

"Yes, don't worry." Hermione wondered if the lack of sentiment was catching. She hoped so.

"I've never had to, sweetheart."

There was a brief flash of something behind those words that sent a pang through her. Hermione suddenly wanted to break down and sob helplessly, to pour out everything. So, naturally, she remained still.

A moment passed, where mother and daughter faced each other, one almost a reflection of the other, before Agrippa turned to go.

"Good-bye," she said, giving a brisk wave, which Hermione returned slowly.

Slowly, the girl made her way towards the barrier and slid through, back into the world that was now her home and took a seat in an empty compartment. Leaning against the pane of glass, she stared out at the gray day as the train pulled into motion.

A few minutes passed before there was a thud on the door, causing her to jerk to alertness as it opened, revealing Severus Snape.

"I can leave if you want," she burst in quickly, before he could even open his mouth. "Sir." Once again, they were teacher and student.

"Everywhere else is full."

"Oh."

Silently, she mused on the incredible intelligence of the conversation. They continued to stare blankly at each other.

"Well, then, you can sit in here I suppose. But shouldn't there be enough cars?"

He scowled. "Mechanical difficulties. And they didn't account for all of the rubbish that would be coming back with other students. I said it was an overly-commercialized time of year..."

He pulled his suitcase in and sat down opposite her.

"And I said it didn't have to be. I never said other people shared my views."

A ghost of a smile graced her face.

"By the way, the coffee was disgusting," he added offhandedly.

"It was French Vanilla," she defended.

"Precisely."

"Well, then, next time it'll be English Toffee. But it was better than hotel coffee, wasn't it?"

A corner of his mouth twitched. "Barely."

*

Ginny sighed, staring out the dorm window. Christmas was over, and soon everything would be back to normal. Hopefully. The fight that had resulted between her and Ron over the events of Christmas dinner had been violent, and Harry had ended up refereeing, although Ginny maintained that he had been biased in Ron's favor. But at least he was still speaking to her. Barely.

The thing was, she realized why Ron was so furious, understood it completely, yet a reckless part of her didn't care. So what if he was a Malfoy? Well, that would be fairly damnable, but that was under normal circumstances. And it wasn't as if they had committed some sort of immoral liaison, although she was pretty sure that in Ron's mind, they were already sharing sheets.

Really, dancing a polka was hardly a sin, and she had made sure to point that out in the common room after.

She was sure that the rafters were still shaking. There was a knock at the door, and she resisted the urge to tell whomever it was to screw off. Opening it, she came face to face with Harry, and wished that she had.

"Yes?" she inquired tersely.

"I'm going to go meet Hermione in Hogsmeade, and I was wondering if you wanted to come."

She sighed. It was apparent that Harry was trying to smooth things over, but so far it hadn't worked all that well.

"Fine," she replied. "Let me get my coat. And isn't her train not due for another hour or so?"

Harry shrugged. "It's butterbeer weather."

"And what about Ron?" she added as an afterthought.

He inhaled sharply and she grabbed her cloak. "That. Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"How did I guess?"

"Can you lay off the sarcasm?" he remarked as they left the portrait hole.

"Nope, sorry."

"Didn't think so."

"So what about Ron?" she asked.

*

Severus looked up from the magazine he was reading just in time to see Hermione glance away. He was momentarily spellbound by the way a lock of hair fell into her face and she brushed it away impatiently.

"You know," he remarked, "you're still on the same page you began on."

"Wha--oh," she replied as color tinged her cheeks. "I was thinking. You know, I do that on occasion."

"If that is the case, what is your opinion on naming the uses of mind-altering potions?" He set down the article as she chewed on her lip.

"You mean, potions that are like drugs, or ones that can be used for mind control?"

"The former," he replied, realizing that she was the first one he had asked to counter with that question.

"Well," she said slowly, "isn't that sort of beside the point? Like, we're in the middle of a war and the Ministry is worried about that? Half of the people are committing more serious crimes and they don't care, creating another law won't change that."

Another surprising answer. He was getting used to expecting the unexpected. Especially since the unexpected tended to agree with him.

"Point taken."

"Why?" she asked, in a tone that suggested, Why do you care what I think?

And Severus Snape found that he, for once, had no answer.

*

Well, that was certainly mind-boggling. One minute, she was a silly little girl who wasn't worth his time, and the next he was asking her questions like she was an intelligent human being, or stranger yet, an equal.

Her hands trembled slightly as she put the book back into her bag and pushed the ever-annoying hair out of her eyes. The witch with the trolley strolled by and stuck her head into the compartment cheerfully.

"No, thanks," Hermione replied quickly, before she had a chance to say anything.

Professor Snape glanced at her sharply, and said, "Some chocolate frogs, please."

Once the transaction of trading money for goods had been completed and the woman was gone, Hermione felt free to glare at him.

Oblivious, he handed one to her, and took a bite of his own.

"Nice try," she commented, setting it on the seat next to her. "I know what you're thinking."

"As your teacher, it is my duty to look after your welfare," he replied flatly.

"Not like you ever cared before. Besides, I thought I told you, I don't need anyone looking after me."

Her tone was dangerously quiet, and he chose not to comment, only let his eyes bore into her.

"I don't want it!" she burst out. "Is that hard to understand?"

Still, silence.

A feeling welled up in her chest, so large it made her feel about to explode. She felt torn between anger and bursting into tears. Part of her wanted to lash out and strike him in every way possible, the other wanted to be cradled and rocked until the pain subsided. It took a moment before she was under control and then, she noticed him studying her, the offered chocolate frog still resting in his palm.

"What the hell," she said, grabbing it in a moment that was partly rebellion, partly anger, and unwrapping it with fumbling fingers. It dropped from her hands, and both of them reached down for it at the same moment.

He picked it up first, and glanced at it dubiously.

"Five second rule," she told him, opening her mouth.

He slipped it in, and she closed her lips around his fingers. The chocolate was milky and dark, kissing her throat, and she shut her eyes, enjoying the flavour...

"Miss Granger, as amazing as my hand might taste, you are sucking on it, and I would like it back."

She opened her eyes foolishly, flushing a brilliant scarlet, and slowly parted her lips. He studied the melted chocolate on his hand, before wiping it on the seat.

"Use a napkin," she mumbled, tossing one idly at him.

He obeyed, raising an eyebrow.

"How was I supposed to know you stuck your hand in my mouth?" she defended. "It's not my fault you taste like chocolate."

The eyebrow shot up further, if possible. She glanced away, feeling her lungs constrict with some frightening emotion, and reached out for another chocolate frog.

"If this was term, I might take away fifty points," he continued, almost lazily. "But it isn't."

"Damn right."

He reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could eat the second frog.

"I thought you didn't want anything. That would be another ten points. You've just lost Gryffindor sixty points."

"Except we aren't at school. So I don't have to listen to you," she replied boldly, half-wishing he would let go of her, half-wishing he wouldn't.

What was she thinking?

She peered through her lashes at him, and saw something alien yet familiar scrawled across his face. Without thinking, she pulled his mouth down to hers, and eased her lips over his. At the contact, something in her stomach began to soar and she felt light-headed as everything melted away as if it were ice cream slipping down her throat.

It lasted only a moment, before they both pulled away, and Hermione began to tremble slightly. He released her arm, and she hastily returned to her previous position.

"I'm sorry," she apologized thickly. "I didn't mean--"

Slowly, she realized he was apologizing as well, and that was what the buzzing in her ears was.

"It didn't mean anything," she added quickly, as he said the exact same thing.

The sat in silence for the remainder of the trip, and gradually the rhythm of the train racing over the tracks lulled Hermione to sleep.

*

"Ginny," Harry interrupted slowly, taking a long sip of butterbeer.

She stopped her mindless babbling and stared at the wooden surface in front of her. He reached over and raised her chin so the table was replaced with his face. She instantly averted her eyes from his.

"Ron's only worried about you," he continued, choosing to ignore the almost silent sigh she emitted.

She had Harry's entire he's only trying to help speech memorized.

"You shouldn't be so hard on him," she recited with him. "And he has reason to be angry."

Harry rested his head in his hands in defeat.

"Yes, I know," she snapped. "But which bothers him more? The fact that it's Malfoy or the fact that it's a Slytherin?"

"I guess that's something you'll have to ask him," Harry moaned.

"Brilliant," she replied sarcastically. "Except for the fact that he won't talk to me."

"What did I do?" Harry asked his mug. "I must have done something to deserve this."

"Cut the pity," a cold, recognizable voice commented. "Heroes are supposed to be self-sacrificing."

Ginny rolled her eyes. Ah, the wonderful component of life known as irony.

"Don't seem to remember issuing an invitation, Malfoy," Harry snapped harshly.

"Oh, well, I'll overlook your absent-minded behavior this time, Potter."

Ginny remained silent. Maybe his presence would end Harry's lecture. But she wasn't particularly looking forward to them butting heads. Interfering in their rivalry was like trying to stop a dog from fighting for a piece of meat. At best, you'd come out with a few teeth marks.

Still, she didn't think that Madam Rosemerta would appreciate the tables being overturned and the dust being shaken from the rafters, so she made a show of checking the time and announcing, "Harry, Hermione's train is due in ten minutes, don't you think we'd better go?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied, still eyeing Draco suspiciously.

They stood to go, and Malfoy feigned hurt. "Aww, no good-bye kiss, honey?"

She spun around to glare at him, but there was no real malice in his tone, so instead she laughed, somewhat harshly. Harry turned too, staring him down.

"What, jealous, Potter?"

"You wish."

*

The train pulled to a stop in Hogsmeade, and Severus stared at the sleeping girl opposite him. He knew he would have to wake her, but hers was the sleep of someone who had gone too long without, and he wanted to delay it as long as possible.

She was so innocent and exposed, practically the definition of delicate. Not that it showed when she was awake, or at least not often.

The stabbings of guilt that had started after the kiss had turned into large, sickening daggers in his stomach. It hadn't been planned, and it wasn't as if he had designs on her, but he felt as if he would taint her somehow, harm her in some way.

He pushed his thoughts away, and shook her gently by the shoulder.

"Miss Granger? We're here."

She wiped sleep out of her eyes and raised herself from her semi-prone position to look at him, wide-eyed in confusion.

"Hmm?" she inquired.

"Hogsmeade," he reminded her. "I suggest you get up."

"Yes, sir," she replied, falling into the role of obedient student.

She attempted to lift her baggage, but swayed unsteadily and yawned. He took it from her, and helped her down the steps, seeing Potter and the Weasley girl with a jolt. His expression became automatically disdainful, and he lifted her bags into one of the waiting carriages, realizing with annoyance that it was the last one, and he would have to ride with her two friends as well.

Well, it would be interesting.

*

The rocking of the carriage trundling along the road caused Hermione to feel slightly ill--or at least that was what she told herself. Several times, bile filled her throat and mouth, and several times, she forced it back down.

To take her mind off of it, she focused on Harry and Ginny. She was pleased that they had remembered her, but also wondered where Ron was, and said as much.

Both Harry and Ginny shuffled somewhat uncomfortably and glanced surreptitiously at Snape, who was staring out the window, doing his best to ignore them.

Finally, Ginny replied matter-of-factly, "He isn't talking to me. I did the polka with Malfoy and he's acting like I committed all of the bloody seven sins in one breath."

Harry nodded in confirmation as Hermione laughed in astonishment.

"The polka?" she repeated incredulously. "Where on earth did you learn to polka?"

"Dumbledore," Snape replied flatly, averting his gaze from the window. "He called me into his office at one in the morning last month to play me the Beer Barrel Polka."

Hermione giggled harder as Harry and Ginny stared at them. "And he lived to tell the tale?"

"Barely."

Hermione whooped, and much to the obvious shock of her two friends, the corners of Snape's mouth turned upwards. But the laughter was more an attempt at relieving tension, and in a few minutes the carriage was silent once again.

"So," Ginny broke in, "how was Christmas?"

Hermione glanced sideways at her professor.

Well, she replied mentally, which part do you want to hear? The several occasions on which my family turned ugly? The night I spent in a hotel room with Professor Snape? Don't worry, nothing happened, I only found out that my uncle is abusive and I can't eat. Or how about the highlight, Christmas Day, when I thought my parents were about to kill each other driving home? Yeah, it was great, Ginny. How was yours?

Of course, it hadn't all been horrible. The drink mix in the hotel restaurant had been fun, and so had the snowball fight in the park. The kiss in the train--Hermione squirmed at the thought--had been almost, well, nice...

But she pushed the thought aside. She couldn't dwell on it. He was a teacher. She was a student. It wasn't a possibility.

"Hermione?"

Harry nudged her, and she realized that she hadn't yet answered.

"It was... nice," she replied slowly, smiling at them. "What about yours?"

*

Agrippa brushed in the front door, running a hand through her tousled hair, and removed her boots and coat, heart set on a nice warm shower. She hated being the one to drop Hermione off at the train station, hated watching her daughter walk away without a second glance.

And the fact that she went straight to work after didn't help. She had spent the entire day wondering why Hermione was so closed off, dwelling on the fact that her own offspring was a complete stranger to her.

Sure, she wasn't the best of parents, but it seemed like a wall was between them, and it stung. Several times during the drive to King's Cross, she had watched her daughter open her mouth as if to say something, then close it again almost instantly.

She started up the stairs, and flung the bedroom door open, then froze at the sight that met her eyes.

Steve and a blonde woman in her early twenties. On the bed.

She could tell by their clothing that they hadn't gotten very far. But that didn't mean anything to her.

They had frozen when the door opened, and were now staring at Agrippa, who was shaking in anger.

"You didn't mention that you're married," the woman hissed at Steve, wrapping herself in a blanket and taking her clothes into the adjoining washroom with her.

Steve was still gazing, stunned, at his wife, who couldn't seem to find words strong enough to express what she wanted to say.

"So," she finally snapped, barely containing the urge to strangle him, "forgot to mention one tiny detail, did you?"

"Agrippa..." he began, attempting to appeal to her better nature.

But Agrippa' better nature had gone missing in action and her rage-filled other half wan't hearing any of hit. At the sight of that, something inside of her had died, and with its death a new resolve had been born.

"Out," she barked at him.

"I didn't know--"

"What, that I would walk into my house sooner or later and notice that there was someone else in my bed with the person I am supposed to be married to?"

"And I suppose you are the ideal spouse?" he challenged. "For all I know, you've been doing the exact same thing."

Her hand connected solidly with his face, a force that was surprising in such a small woman, just as the blonde woman stalked out of the bathroom.

"Natasha," he called out to her, and she turned to glare at him.

"Don't even try to drag me into this, you bastard!" she shrieked at him. In a polite tone, to Agrippa she added, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Granger, I had no idea."

"Doctor," she corrected, falsely bright. "And don't worry, I won't sue. I made the mistake of marrying him." Agrippa smiled. "The door is down the hall to the right."

"Thank you."

Agrippa turned back to her half-dressed husband--soon to be ex--and gave him a look that would freeze a charging elephant.

"I meant what I said. Pack your clothes and get the hell out of my house."

"Your house?" he repeated, flushing in anger, opening his mouth to protest.

"It is now," she replied coldly.

In a way, she was relieved that this had happened. It had brought about the inevitable, and she wouldn't have to wonder about doing the right thing.

*

Hermione awoke to the familiar sound of the two other girls breathing and sighed with relief. It was good to be back, away from the squalor of living at home. She sprung out of bed with more than her usual energy and began to prepare for class. Her almost-forgotten uniform which been carefully placed on a chair the night before was now pulled on, and for a change, she decided to pull her hair out of her eyes.

That was what this term would be, she decided as she carefully drew on her eyeliner, making it lighter than usual. A time for changing.

Filled with the excitement of a new beginning, she woke up Lavender and Parvati.

"Hermione," Lavender moaned, "it's the day after Christmas Holidays. Let me sleeeeeeep..."

"So you can be late and lose us points? Like I'll let that happen," she replied laughing. This was the way it was after every break, and she knew that she would wear them down in a couple of minutes.

After about five minutes of cajoling, she managed to drag Parvati out from under the bedcovers and after that, Lavender wasn't long in following. She then proceeded to the common room, where Harry and Ron were sitting bleary-eyed in the armchairs.

"Good morning!" she chirruped, knowing the effect it would have on them.

Ron closed his eyes and moaned, "God, who spiked her coffee... I'll kill them, I swear..."

Hermione laughed, then brightly suggested breakfast, ignoring the sinking feeling she felt at the thought of it. Dwelling on it wouldn't help her, so she led the way to the Great Hall like a general leading troops to do battle. With what, she wasn't sure.

When they reached the hall, she wanted to turn and run.

Mountains upon mountains of food awaited them, and just the sight of it made her feel ill. She couldn't do it, she wouldn't, she wouldn't be able to take it...

Her traitorous feet were already making their way to the Gryffindor table.

You don't have to eat it all, she reminded herself. Just a little bit. A piece of toast with some cheese on it. What is it? Ten calories? You can handle that...

Slowly, almost painfully, she reached out and picked up the golden bread and placed a slice of cheese on it, then stared at it for a moment, fighting with her conflicting emotions.

Silly, really, that a single slice of bread could cause so much indecision. After all, what was it in the long run?

Gradually, she raised it to her lips and bit a piece off, chewing slowly, unaware that from the far end of the room a pair of dark eyes observed her every movement.

"Hermione," Harry broke in. "You have mail."

She set the half-finished breakfast on her plate and took the letter from the owl that had landed beside her, guessing it was a reply to the note she had scrawled to her mother the night before. She placed it to the side until she finished eating, then tore it open, and read the hurriedly written message.

Hermione,

Your father and I have reached a mutual agreement that our marriage is no longer working and we concluded that it would be best for everyone involved if he and I discontinued living in the same house. I will continue to reside in our home in London while he searches for a new place to live. I have filed for divorce and do not know how long processing the information will take.

With Love,

Mum

Hermione read it over to make sure she had read correctly. I have filed for divorce... Her eyes remained dry, but her chest constricted and it hurt to breathe. This wasn't supposed to happen to her. It was something that only happened to other people. Not her. She hadn't done anything to deserve it.

Mutual agreement... sure...

She began to feel dizzy and was aware of everyone staring at her.

Tucking the letter in her pocket, she stood to go.

"Is anything wrong?" Ron asked, furrowing his brow.

She shook her head. "I need a breath of fresh air."

Which was true. Her head was splitting and she was beginning to tremble.

Trying to hide her shaking, she walked briskly out of the Great Hall and out into the courtyard, where she collapsed onto a step and inhaled deeply. It wasn't fair. It just... wasn't fair. Wasn't fair. Wasn't fair, dammit. She wanted to shriek her rage to the sky, let everything out, show herself to the world.

But instead, she watched the trees blow in the wind, felt the sleet against her face, and sat, perfectly still, until she felt her hands and feet go numb from the cold. She then stood and made her way to Charms.

*

Severus Snape almost missed London as he glared at the brown-haired third year in the front row. She was visibly cowering under his gaze, and he found himself wishing that the girl would fight back. What was the worst he could do to them, anyway?

Once he had enjoyed the control he could exercise over students, but now he wished they had a bit of backbone.

It had already occurred to him several times that Hermione wouldn't have listened this long to criticism without protesting.

"Did I not instruct the lacewings to be added after the dragon scales?" he thundered.

"Yes, sir."

"And did you not do precisely the opposite?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"I don't know sir," she mumbled.

"I can't hear you, Miss Whittaker."

"I don't know, sir," she repeated, barely increasing her volume.

"Louder," he ordered.

"I don't know sir!" she finally cried out in exasperation.

"Thank you," he barked. "A point to Hufflepuff for raising your voice."

He thought the other students would fall to the ground in shock.

Let them, he thought savagely. It made no difference.

*

The week sped by, much to Hermione's relief. She didn't think she would have been able to stand it had it chosen to pass by any slower. She went through the motions of living--sleeping, forcing herself to eat, laughing at Harry and Ron's jokes. She went through the motions, but none of it meant anything. She had vomited once the whole five days--the second evening back--and although she knew there would be a long road before she entirely recovered, she was determined to do it on her own. You couldn't trust other people, she had learned. Not even your own family.

She tried as hard as she could not to think of Professor Snape and the train-ride, convincing herself that it meant nothing. But late at night, when she lay awake, she couldn't help thinking about it, and it filled her with something so powerful and terrifying that she was left exhilarated by the mere memory.

So, when she found herself in double potions on Friday afternoon, steadily meeting his dark gaze, she was not surprised to feel the tingling in the pit of her stomach.

Eventually, she wrenched her gaze away from his and became fascinated with the place where someone had carved JM+FT on the desk. She wondered what the initials stood for, and as she waited for class to begin, she randomly guessed names.

Jimmy Mathers and Fanny Timothy... or maybe it was Joan Marksfield and Frederic Tillingsworth...

Her thoughts trailed off as she felt eyes on her. She looked up to see Severus Snape staring at her, with a mixture of amusement and annoyance in his gaze.

"Miss Granger," he began silkily. "Where you aware that class had started?"

She hesitated momentarily, then decided to call the bluff. "Not at all, sir," she stated cheerfully. "But don't let my poor attention span cause the rest of the class to suffer."

Beside her, Harry looked about to have a heart attack, and Hermione had to fight the giggles.

"But do you not wish me to be concerned about your learning?" he challenged, shooting her a malicious smile that quick enough to be missed by everyone but her.

"Of course, sir. But the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the individual. Well, if you believe in communism... or socialism," she babbled purposely, enjoying the somewhat surprised reaction on his face and the gasps of her classmates. "Do you agree with communism? I'm not sure yet. All the communist governments so far have been brutal..."

"Miss Granger," he interrupted, "as fascinating as the various communist regimes throughout history may have been, you are delaying the class, and therefore will receive detention. See me after class."

But she could tell that he was secretly amused and she had to hide her smile with a cough.

The rest of the class continued as normal, which was met with relief on Hermione's part. All she wanted was for the week to end.

As she was shredding a root, Neville leaned over to ask her if he'd made his potion right. Hermione knelt beside his cauldron and stirred it carefully, then, making sure to praise what he had completed correctly, explained the final steps.

Draco Malfoy chose that moment to interrupt, "Pathetic, isn't it? A pureblood having to ask a Mudblood about magic."

Hermione's back stiffened, and she raised her chin slightly as she stood to face him. He was wearing an expression of false sorrow, and she barely resisted the urge to knock some sense into him.

"Would you care to repeat that?"

Her voice was dead calm, almost dangerously so, and her gaze never wavered.

"Miss Granger," Snape warned, but she barely heard him.

Blood rushed through her veins, and there was a tiny heart pounding in her temple as something inside of her finally snapped. She had a feeling that it had been waiting for this moment for a while. Draco hadn't even opened his mouth a second time when she flew at him, knocking him to the ground.

She flailed wildly, striking him in every way possible. She didn't care if she got hurt in the process, all she wanted was retribution. She wanted him to hit her back, wanted to make him feel something, wanted him to make her feel something. She felt someone pull her away, and she struggled against them fiercely, but their grasp was harsh and unrelenting. Dimly, she heard Snape roar at the class to get out of the room and realized that it was him holding her back.

"Let go of me!" she shrieked.

"Only if you calm down!" he retorted in her ear.

"Well, it's bloody hard with you clinging to me!" she snapped, and he released her. She stumbled forward, massaging her wrists.

She started towards the door where she was sure about thirty students were eavesdropping, but he stopped her.

"Sit," he ordered. "Explain."

"I'm not a dog," she grumbled, obeying. "You heard what he said."

"I asked for and explanation, Miss Granger, not an excuse. It was no reason to lose--"

"You think I'm out of control?" she snarled at him. "Do you want to know what out of control is? I can tell you--"

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her sharply. "Relax you silly girl!"

"I'm not stupid!" she cried, pulling away sharply.

He stared at her for a moment. "I never said you were."

"It's what you've been telling me for six years of potions," she replied coldly.

"Miss Granger," he began dryly, "you are far from stupid."

"That makes sense. You go from telling me how stupid I am to saying that I'm intelligent."

"The word 'stupid' has not escaped my lips."

"Well, if you didn't mean stupid, what did you mean?" she snapped.

He sighed in exasperation, and she felt a small degree of satisfaction in irritating him. "I meant," he replied slowly, as if speaking to a small child, "what I said. What you did was silly. Not stupid. There is a difference."

"Please clarify," she said mechanically.

"It wasn't the smartest thing to do!" he cried out. "It didn't--doesn't--make you stupid!"

Hermione suddenly realized that they seemed to have switched roles momentarily. She was now the interrogator, making him shift in his seat. It made her feel powerful, albeit a bit unnerved.

"Do you really know what we're talking about?" she blurted suddenly.

He froze for a moment, and she could tell that he was caught off guard. "Well," he replied slowly, "you managed to successfully avoid the original question."

"Which was...?"

"Why you chose today to attack Draco Malfoy, when there most likely more inconspicuous opportunities in the past."

"Oh. That."

"Yes," he replied in a tone that would slice steel. "That. Now, Miss Granger, if you would care to explain."

"I wouldn't." If his tone was icy, it was nothing to hers. "It has nothing to do with you."

"It does if you injure a student."

"Not to mention your prize Slytherin student," she answered, not flinching under his gaze.

"May I remind you that it is no longer holidays," he snarled, "and I no longer have to tolerate your cheek?"

"Fine!" she bellowed at him. "You really want to know?"

Standing up, she thrust a hand into her pocket and hurled the letter, heavily creased from continued reading, at him violently. Trembling with fury, she watched him unfold it and skim over it slowly, comprehension dawning on his face.

Once he lowered it to study her, she snatched it from his grasp and turned on her heel, not bothering to watch his reaction. She was halfway out the door when his voice stopped her.

"Miss Granger, I believe I owe you an apology," he said, strangely quiet.

"Why?" she replied flatly. "It doesn't change anything."

"All the same, I owe it to you. Would you like a cup of tea? It might help to calm you."

She turned to face him warily. "I don't want your sympathy."

He laughed shortly. "And I don't want to turn you loose on the Hogwarts population this livid. I shudder to think what the consequences might be."

A careful grin spread across her face. "Then I accept."