Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Just to let you know, I've played with OotP's timeline a bit here and have the scene starting this story on February 25th, rather than Easter break like it is in the book. In case anyone is interested, this will probably be a rather long story. Comments and constructive criticism are quite welcome, as are misspellings and typo corrections. Rated T for probable eventual language. Anything you recognize belongs to JKR, especially any sentences that are in italics. Those are lifted directly from OotP and upwards. I hope you enjoy it!

**Edit:** Looking back, I wasn't happy with this chapter. So I've tweaked a few sentences and added a bit of text here and there.

**Edit 2:** This chapter has been beta'd and made generally better by the wonderful Nargles394. Thank you so much for your help!

"Hey mate, it's nearly six. You'd better get down to the dungeons or you'll be scrubbing half-melted cauldrons for a week."

Ron's whispered voice barely floated its way into Hermione's consciousness as she was engrossed in her latest assignment for Arithmancy (minimum length of two feet, one-and-a-half feet of parchment used thus far, quarter inch margins, assigned this morning, due next Wednesday). It was a fascinating prompt regarding the usage of magi-mathematical probabilities in the creation of charms and potions. She was so excited by the essay's subject and had such a wealth of information at her disposal that there was no question as to whether or not a third sheet of parchment would be necessary for the completion of this assignment.

"Harry? Hey, did you hear me? You're going to be late for your lessons with the Bat," Ron whispered again and reached across the table to nudge his friend's elbow.

"Er, well that's something I've meant to talk to you two about," Harry said in a low voice, "I haven't got extra lessons with Snape anymore, he says I don't really need them now."

Hermione's quill froze over her inkwell as she tore her eyes from her Arithmancy essay, a feat she was sure Harry would have relished if he had been looking at her to notice it. Instead, he was staring at the frayed seams on his jumper sleeve. His muted declaration was met at first with stunned silence, and then with simultaneous exclamations of "What?" from Ron and _"Why haven't you got Occlumency lessons anymore?"_ from Hermione. This gained the three of them a hawkish glare from Madam Pince at her desk down the row.

"Well you see, _Snape reckons that I can carry on by myself now that I've got the basics..." _he muttered, avoiding their gazes.

"That's mental, you dreamed about You-Know-Who just last week. Screaming in the middle of the night about Death-eaters and that imperiused Bode bloke," Ron whispered back.

"Ron's right, Harry. I hate to say it, but Professor Snape must have made a mistake, you need to keep taking lessons," Harry continued the ongoing examination of his sleeve, _"I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them! Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask-"_

"Really, Hermione, it's fine. I've...I've got it under control, okay?" Harry seemed to cast about for something else to say before standing abruptly enough that he jarred his knee on the library table. He then grabbed his transfiguration book and shoved it into his bag, "I-I've left my Divination book up in the tower, see you guys in a bit."

Spying the misty blue cover of _Unfogging the Future_ peeking out from under a pile of Quidditch books that Ron had open, Hermione called after her friend's retreating back, "Oh, but Harry, Ron has his righ-" She stopped when she felt Ron's hand on her arm and saw him shake his head.

"Leave him be, 'Mione. I don't think it's his book he's after."

Trying to ignore the sudden feeling of butterflies that had popped up in her stomach at Ron's touch, Hermione stared for a moment at the library door as it swung shut, and asked with no small amount of uncertainty, "Ron, did...did Harry just lie to us?"

"Well," he began with a bit of fluster, "Maybe not so much as lie as...as..." He seemed to deflate a little, and sighed, "I don't know. It's not really any of our business, now is it?"

This attitude did not sit well with her at all. "Ron, if he didn't finish his lessons with Professor Snape, who knows what Voldemort might do to Harry. It's of the highest importance! We...We have to make him see reason!" She finished resolutely with a small bang of her fist against the table.

Her tone must have been a little too resolute as she now earned an irritated, "Shhhhh!" from the ever-vigilant Madam Pince.

"Aw, come on, 'Mione," came Ron's cajoling whisper, "For all we know, Snape could have really cut Harry loose from his lessons."

One glance at the mulish expression on her face and he opted for compromise, "Look," he began with a slight tone of resignation, "If he has any more dreams, we'll talk to him. Alright?"

She wanted to protest, but stopped herself. As much as she would like to chase Harry down and demand some actual answers from him, she knew it would be better to have more evidence on their side than one moment of shifty behaviour. Letting out a strangled sigh, she scrubbed her fingers through her wild hair, "Alright, fine. But if there is even the slightest hint of him getting into Voldemort's head again, we're talking to him. Deal?"

"Deal." He agreed, somewhat relieved. Wasting no time, he returned to his Quidditch books, firmly ignoring whatever actual homework he may have had.

Tried as she might to refocus on her Arithmancy essay, Hermione couldn't shake an unsettling feeling of suspicion that had taken up lodging in the pit of her stomach. She hated to think it, but she was almost certain that Harry was being less than truthful about his lessons. Perhaps that third piece of parchment for her assignment wouldn't be called for after all.

* * *

As icy February winds howled their way round the castle's many spires, Hermione lay sleepless in bed replete with a purring Crookshanks curled on her stomach. She burrowed her hand through his warm fur and continued to ponder over what Harry had said (or rather, refused to say) in the library. No matter what way she looked at it, it was impossible to achieve such proficiency in Occlumency in less than one week. She was almost tempted to think that Harry had skived off the hated sessions if not for the fact that it would be nearly suicidal to cross Professor Snape in such a manner.

Professor Snape! She sat up at the thought, much to her cat's displeasure. That was a perfectly reasonable way to find out if Harry was being truthful without confronting her friend at all: ask the Professor. Ignoring the feline's disgruntled cries, she muttered a quiet _lumos_ and reached between her bed curtains to withdraw a small muggle notebook and pen from her nightstand. In her experience, they were the most practical tools for late night spurts of inspiration. She began organizing her thoughts and worries on paper, composing something that resembled a loose outline to help her address Professor Snape. Hopefully, he would not need much convincing. After all, if he actually had dismissed Harry from his lessons, then all she had to do was explain that Harry had been having the dreams up until last week. Being an Order member himself, he would no doubt agree that a few more weeks of lessons would be wise, if only to make sure Harry was fine on his own. Besides, with a matter of such great importance, she was positive everyone could agree that safety was best option.

After looking over her outline with a small sense of satisfaction, she wiped the notebook's page clean with a concealment charm and replaced it in her nightstand drawer. Laying back down, she resolved to go see the Professor the next day during his office hours and ask him directly about Harry's lessons. Content that she had struck on the right course of action, and happy that she now _had _a course of action, she found it much easier to relax and drift off to sleep.

* * *

Hermione counted it as a stroke of luck that Harry's announcement came the night before their Thursday Potions class. As she laid out the needed ingredients and instruments for the day's practical, she decided to take this as an opportunity to gauge the Professor's possible receptiveness to her inquiry and pay close attention to his mood. Though some students would claim there was no such thing as an actual "good mood" for Professor Snape, Hermione was positive that even someone as dour as he had to have good days occasionally. No matter what reputation or unsavoury epithets he had gained from the student population over the years, he was still only human.

At first, it seemed as though luck were on her side. So far they had been in class a full twenty minutes and Professor Snape had not once criticized or goaded she, Ron, or Harry. It was quite miraculous, Hermione wasn't sure if that had ever occurred, certainly not in recent memory anyways. Twenty minutes stretched into thirty, then forty, and Hermione realized that Professor Snape had not so much as looked in the direction of their table for the entirety of the class period. Even more bizarre Harry had barely uttered a full sentence while brewing his Invigoration Draught. He likewise almost never looked at Professor Snape with the exception of the occasional furtive glance. Even Ron couldn't pry more than the occasional grunt or monosyllabic answer out of him. Although his silence was rather alarming and seemed to confirm the worst of her fears that something had gone awry in his Occlumency lessons, a small, stubborn part of her was pleased to note that Harry's potion was the correct colour for once.

Despite her misgivings towards the current state of relations between her friend and the Potions Master, the remainder of the lesson continued in a surprising peace. Hermione had just finished cleaning up her workspace at the end of the lesson when she saw Harry turning in his bottled potion at the front of the classroom. Hoping to save her friend a bit of effort, Hermione cast an _evanesco_ on the remaining dregs inside of Harry's cauldron and began putting away his leftover ingredients. Just then, there was a loud crash and the tinkling of glass followed the too-familiar cackle of Malfoy's gleeful laughter up by the Professor's desk.

_"Whoops,"_she heard Professor Snape's voice sneer softly,_"Another zero then, Potter..."_

The colour drained from her face and her stomach seemed to sink into the floor as she watched Harry stalk back towards their table to grab another vial of potion. The look of horror on his face upon discovering the empty cauldron was enough to make the leadened feeling of her insides twist into a complicated series of knots.

_"I'm sorry!"_She whispered, both hands flying up to cover her mouth,_"I'm really sorry, Harry, I thought you were finished, so I cleared up!"_

Harry didn't say a word. Instead, he merely sat on his stool, staring at the tabletop in angry silence, until the bell rang. He seemed to be up and out the door as fast as he could without running, and sat between Neville and Seamus at lunch. Hermione felt awful.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent in anxious mental debate as to whether she should approach Professor Snape or not. She was so distracted by the thought that she barely managed to silence her canary in Charms, only picked at her dinner, and even got her foot stuck in one of the Grand Staircase's trick steps on the way back to Gryffindor Tower, something she hadn't done since her first year at Hogwarts. It was evident that the Professor and Harry were on worse terms than usual. She was appalled to even consider it, since she didn't see it happen, but she suspected that Professor Snape had purposefully dropped Harry's potion. What was worse, however, was how Harry didn't fight the professor's misconduct or call it out to the class with his usual bravado. Instead, he seemed to be taking the Potion Master's ire willingly, as though it were a punishment for something he had done.

Did she want to get into the middle of a mess like that? She sighed at that thought. It wasn't a question of "Did she?" or "Would she?" but rather "How much worse would she make everything when she did?" With Harry's safety at stake, what were a few (or even several dozen) zeros in Potions compared to that? There had not yet been an "Educational Decree" condoning corporal punishment, so it stood to reason that Professor Snape, no matter how angry he got at her for questioning his judgment on the matter, could not do her any real harm without getting in trouble himself. She could probably expect a loss of House points, yes. Detentions handling or scrubbing a myriad of disgusting things? Most likely. A drop in her Potions grades at a critical time in her educational career? Maybe. But actual harm? No, she didn't think so.

Her mind now made up, she took to watching the mantel clock in the Gryffindor common room in between the final paragraphs for her Arithmancy essay, waiting for seven o'clock to come. If this were any other night, the warmth rolling out from the hearth combined with the cozy armchair would bring drowsy comfort. Instead, the heat was stifling and a nauseous feeling began climbing up the back of her throat. She wished she could talk to Ron about her impending meeting with Professor Snape, but she didn't dare to do so. He would no doubt make her see reason and talk her out of it. A small snort escaped at that idea. Ron? Being the reasonable one? That was a new thought. The bubbly feeling of mirth helped a little to uncoil the knot her stomach had contorted itself into since that morning, however she still gave a small jump at the sound of the clock chiming seven.

With a shaky sigh, Hermione put away her essay into her book bag and made her way to the portrait door. Stepping into the chilly hallway, she began what felt like was her death march to the dungeons. Her footsteps made a lonely, melancholy sound that echoed off the walls of the abandoned corridors, and the temperature seemed to plummet in correlation with her descent into the lower parts of the castle. It was so cold she swore that she caught glimpses of the occasional puff of breath floating in the air.

Much to her dismay, she found herself in front of the wooden, wrought iron door to the Potion Master's office much sooner than she would have thought possible, the moving staircases had given her an almost direct path to the dungeon stairway. That would be her luck, wouldn't it? The stairs could give you the most convoluted path imaginable when you're running late to an astronomy lesson in the tallest tower of the castle, but if you're on your way to an unscheduled meeting with the school's most dreaded professor? Then the stairs would be more than happy to oblige you on your journey. Sometimes, it felt as though the castle possessed more sentience than most thought possible and drew its source only merriment from playing with the students.

Taking one more weak breath and gathering every shred of that overly-vaunted Gryffindor courage she possessed, Hermione rapped her knuckles against the coarse wooden door. "Enter," drawled the Potions Professor's muffled voice. He sounded rather bored.

'Well, I'm sure that will change quite soon,' She thought to herself in grim humour before she pushed open the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors note**: Sorry there was a bit of a delay in getting this chapter out. It's due to a mix of it being much longer than the last chapter, working extra hours the last few weeks, and the fact that the darn thing is chock full of conversations. Apparently, they're the bane of my literary existence. However, I think that it came together alright in the end, it just took more work than I expected. Thank you to everyone who favorited or followed this story, I was overjoyed at seeing that there were people who enjoyed it. A special thank you to stiffstarkknees for a lovely conversation about the story and encouragement. On to chapter two!

It had been over three years since Hermione had been in Professor Snape's office, the first and last time having been when she nicked the ingredients for her Polyjuice Potion in second year. She didn't remember much from that little escapade, as it she had been far more concerned with pilfering his storage cupboard than she was with a thorough inspection of the chamber. All she could recall from her race through the dim chamber were towering stone arches, vaulted ceilings filled with shadows, and shelves upon shelves of various pickled creatures. When she was stressed, whether about upcoming exams or whatever new spot of trouble the boys had managed to get themselves into, her more anxious dreams tended to return here. She wasn't quite sure why that was, maybe because there was such a sinister atmosphere about the place or because her adrenaline-fueled, mad dash into the office had cemented it in her mind as a location to be feared. Regardless of the reason, her anxiety had spiked ten-fold as soon as she opened the door.

A cursory examination of her surroundings, however, showed it to to be a touch less less foreboding than her memories insisted, which helped a little to calm her near panic. A fire flared in the hearth, and though it strew about several long shadows that clutched at the ceiling, it also cast a warm, flickering glow over the chamber. The fire didn't do much for the temperature, as she was still thoroughly chilled through both her jumper and her school robes, but the added illumination revealed a few interesting details she had been too rushed to notice all those years ago.

There were more books than she remembered, which piqued her interest, despite the fear clawing at her insides. A rather comfortable-looking black leather armchair sat by the fireplace, beside it an end table piled high with even more books and various bits of lab equipment. On the far wall of the room...Was that a window? How could there be a window this far underground? It was as a blurred shape swam by, its shadows undulating with the rippling moonlight, that she came to the awed realization that the window was view of the depths of the lake.

"Do you plan on coming in, or are you going to continue gaping about like a hooked plimpy?" she heard Professor Snape inquire irritably. He was ensconced in a chair matching the one beside the fireplace, and sat behind a round, dark-stained wooden table. Homework scrolls covered its surface and he seemed to be focused in marking what looked to be a particularly poor essay, judging by the amount of red ink marring its surface. She was not surprised to find that there was no visitor's chair on the other side of the table. Hermione shut the heavy door with as little noise as possible, clasped her hands in front of her, and waited for him to finish critiquing his current paper.

"All marks are final," he spoke in a disinterested drone, still looking at the scroll in front of him. He had the air of one who had given this speech far too many times, "No amount of whinging, crying, pleading, needling, or protesting will get you a better grade. If you insist on the issue, I can guarantee it will lower whatever your current marks-," he stopped mid-sentence when he raised his head to look at the doorway. Whoever he was expecting to see in his office, she was certain it was not her.

"Miss Granger," he scrutinized her with a suspicious gaze, "To what do I owe the purpose of this visit?"

She cleared her cleared her uncooperative throat, "P...Pardon the interruption, Professor, but I was hoping to ask you a question." It was encouraging that she sounded much calmer than she felt. She could do this, all she had to do was go through her mental outline item by item. Easy. It was just like approaching any other teacher.

"I see," was his only response and said nothing more, instead continuing to scowl his displeasure at her presence. Alright, so it was not at all like approaching any other teacher.

Not wishing to wear thin whatever small amount of patience the Potions Master had for her, Hermione opted for a direct approach, "I wanted to ask if you had really ended Harry's Occlumency lessons, sir." There was no notable twitch or deepening of his scowl, but at the sound of her friend's name, Professor Snape's cold gaze lit with anger. This did not bode well at all.

"The reason I ask, sir, is because he has had his dreams as recently as last week. I thought it would be important to make sure that you, as his teacher, were informed of this," the Professor's answering silence was daunting enough that she found it hard not to fidget with the edge of her jumper, "To be honest, I've done a small bit of reading on Occlumency-"

"Yes, I'm sure 'a bit of reading' makes you _quite_ the expert on the subject. Doesn't it, Miss Granger?" he sneered as he rose from his seat, eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance. He grabbed a thick stack of books off of the end table and began placing them with meticulous care into a narrow bookshelf by his desk.

"N-Not at all, sir," she stuttered in protest, "But I do know Harry, and I don't believe he has the temperament to use Occlumency to much effect without ongoing pract-"

"Miss Granger," he interrupted again without sparing her a glance, "You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I require a student's council on the subject of Mr. Potter's private, and supposedly secret, lessons. Allow me to alleviate your concerns: I can assure you that your vastly under-informed opinions are neither needed nor desired in this matter."

Hermione bit her cheek, forcing herself to ignore his barbs and the sudden indignant flush she felt about her ears. He could insult her all he like, she would not let herself be distracted from her point, "I understand that my interest is unsolicited in this situation, sir, but I have great concern for Harry's safety. I'm afraid that instead of using his Occlumency at all, he will keep pressing his luck to find out what's behind the door in his dreams, or perhaps even what Voldemor-"

"Do not say that name!" he snapped, his face contorted in livid fury. Hermione jerked back a step in alarm and felt the wild urge to reach for her wand. Her reaction must have shaken his anger, as he turned back to the bookshelf for a pause before continuing in a calmer voice, "If Potter lacks the self-preservation to follow through on my teachings, then that is hardly my concern."

Inhaling a measured breath to calm and steel her nerves, Hermione chose the wording of her next question with care, "But, Professor, don't you agree it might be sensible to carry on with his lessons a while longer? Perhaps he just needs more time and instruction to understand how important this is."

"No, I most certainly do _not _agree. I can assure you that two months is more than enough time to grasp the gravity of the situation," he shoved the final book into its place with more force than she thought was strictly necessary and turned towards his desk, "Now, if you have no further concerns, Miss Granger, I would suggest you return to Gryffindor Tower."

Hermione knew a dismissal when she heard one, but refused to be deterred by his ire or his stubbornness. He was a teacher, spy, and Order member, for goodness sake! If anyone were to understand the full consequences of the dissolution of Harry's Occlumency studies, it should be him. Squaring her shoulders and gathering as much bravado as she could muster, she took a step further into the room, "With all due respect, sir, if the situation is so dire, isn't that all the more reason to continue with his lessons? Otherwise-"

"Enough!" he growled, "I refuse to explain myself to a child who knows next to nothing about the issue at hand." His jaw was set tight and there was a certain rigidity to his movements as he sorted through the papers on his desk, "Thirty points from Gryffindor for your impertinence and general obnoxiousness, Miss Granger. You may leave now, I trust you remember how to use a door." The tone of his voice was quite final.

Throwing caution and all sense of prudence to the wind, she attempted one final entreaty, "But, sir, if you could just-"

"Out!" he snarled as he rounded on her, his shadowed eyes glinted with chilling menace. Before she could move or say anything else, he had drawn his wand and aimed a slashing movement in her direction. Hermione heard the door behind her fling open, and with another swipe of his wand she was being pushed out of his office, her shoes slipping and losing traction on the smooth stone floor. The heel of one foot caught on the raised edge of the doorway, and she found herself falling backside-first into the hall. No sooner had she landed on the floor, than the the door slammed shut and she heard the lock click into place.

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out to the count of ten. Never once had she imagined that she would one day be physically thrown out of a teacher's office. Well...that could have gone better. She wasn't sure if it could have gone worse, but it certainly could have gone better.

She suspected she now knew how Neville felt during Potions lessons.

* * *

Against her better judgment, Hermione decided during their Friday Herbology lesson to tell Ron about her confrontation (she cringed at the word, but really, what else could she call it?) with Professor Snape the night before. She wasn't sure if she were looking for confirmation that she had at least attempted to do the right thing, or a partner to commiserate over the abject failure that her inquiry had turned out to be. Either way, his reaction to the news was less than reassuring.

"You did what?!" he was looking at her as though she had possibly sprouted a second head, "Hermione, have you gone mental?"

"Would you be quiet? Harry will hear us!"" she whispered, peering down the row, to where her other best friend sat with Neville. Thankfully, his poorly pruned Screechsnap looked to be in the midst of quite the screaming fit, distracting him from Ron's exclamation. She turned back towards him and attempted to explain, "It seemed like a logical plan at the time."

""Logical"?" he repeated in disbelief, "How did anything about that idea sound even half-way "logical"?"

She huffed and gave him a sidelong glance, "I felt it was a better choice than waiting for Harry to come around and tell us what happened himself. We can't afford to sit around and wait for him to feel better about the whole thing. So, I decided to go straight to the source."

"Right, how did that work out for you?"

She winced and gave him a guilty glance, "He threw me out of his office."

"I could've told you that would happen," Ron snorted.

"No, I mean he literally threw me out of his office, with magic. Well, maybe not throwing so much as shoving-"

"He what?" Ron set down his shears and stared at her for a moment, until his face cracked into a grin with a snort and a snigger. He covered his mouth in an effort to control himself, but it was no use. He soon he collapsed against the table into a heap of helpless, but thankfully muted, laughter.

"It's not funny! Why in the world are you laughing?" she could feel her cheeks heating up in a blush, which only seemed to make him laugh harder and louder.

"Quiet, Ron!" Hermione again looked over at Harry as she contemplated casting a silencing charm on the guffawing mess that was currently Ron. She was somewhat relieved to find that the situation with his Screechsnap had continued to deteriorate, as he was far too preoccupied to notice what was going on over at their end of the table.

The poor plant was now making some truly horrible noises that were a mix of its namesake screech and a hiss, while whipping its tentacle-like stalks at him every time he came near it with the pruning shears. In fact, every so often the Screechsnap attempted to grab the tool right out of his hands. Instead of helping his partner, Neville was looking on in rapt fascination while jotting down the occasional note. To be fair, most of the students on the other side of the table were watching the battle unfolding before them, even Professor Sprout had stopped by to watch the scene with a look of amused perplexity on her face. Truthfully, Hermione didn't blame them, she wasn't aware that Screechsnaps could even do that.

Ron, meanwhile, looked to be getting over his laughing fit as he had started coughing for lack of air. Hermione pinned him with a pitiless and somewhat irritable stare, "Are you quite done?"

He wiped a tear from his eye and held up his hands, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just, out of the three of us to get chucked out of a teacher's office, I never thought you'd be the first!" he almost fell victim to another round of chortling, but managed to contain himself, "Merlin's pants! Just how did you manage to do that?"

"I..." she began, then gave a small shrug, "I don't know. It was going about how I expected it would, with him turning down every question I had and being irritable the whole time, sort of like he is in class. Only, he seemed to be even angrier than usual, it almost looked like he wasn't going to talk at all at the beginning, and then at the end he just seemed to...snap. I suppose my persistence may have exhausted his patience."

She then told him the full story of going to Professor Snape's office, from the knock on the door all the way to being knocked on the floor. Ron listened as he rushed to take care of his own plant, which had been neglected for the majority of the lesson thus far. She supposed he was more worried about Harry than he had let on the other day, as he didn't interrupt her even once.

As she finished recounting the events of the night before, he had a somewhat quizzical expression on his face with his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth in a frown, like he was thinking something over. Finally he asked, "So...do you reckon it is Harry's fault Snape ended his lessons?"

Hermione nodded, "You got that impression as well?"

"Yeah. With what he said and the way he snapped like that, it looks like Harry did do something to make the old tosser angry," he then let out a frustrated sigh, "You know, if he could've had anybody else teaching him Occlumancy, Harry'd probably still be taking lessons."

She nodded in glum agreement, "You're probably right. I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking, Professor Snape and Harry have never gotten along well."

He snorted, "That's putting it lightly, they've always hated each other; actually, I'm pretty sure Snape hates all three of us. If the git's not willing to let Harry back into lessons, then I guess there's not much we can do then, is there? At least you tried, Hermione," he said in a consolatory tone and began pulling off his dragon hide gloves.

It was as she was putting up her Herbology supplies a few minutes later and mulling over her discussion with Ron when she realized the full import of something he had said. _If Harry could have had anybody else teaching him Occlumency_...Oh...Oh! She had an idea. It was a half-formed, crazy, probably rather impossible idea, but an idea nonetheless. There might still be a way to get Harry to learn Occlumency: just have someone else teach it. Someone who could understand him and help translate, as it were, a subject to which he was ill-suited. Someone like...Well now, she didn't want to get ahead of herself here, did she? It would be best to ask Professor Dumbledore what he thought before she planned anything else.

As the bell for lunch rang, she hurried up to the back of the greenhouse where Professor Sprout was placing the Screechsnaps on a shelf, "Professor? May I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, Granger!" she began brushing the dirt from the front of her robes, "What is it you need, dear?"

"I have something I was wanting to ask Professor Dumbledore. Do you know if he has any time free this afternoon or evening? I promise it's not anything silly or a waste of his time."

"Oh, I don't know..." the Herbology teacher sounded hesitant, "Are you sure it's not anything any of the other Professors could help you with?"

Hermione shook her head, "No, ma'am. This is something only the Headmaster would be able to answer." Technically, that wasn't true. However, she doubted she would be welcome in Professor Snape's office after last night's disastrous meeting, which made her current inkling of an idea seem all the more reckless.

Professor Sprout considered her for a minute, "Alright, if you're sure. You're a prefect and all, so I suppose there's no harm in it. I can ask him during lunch and let you know, is that alright?"

Hermione beamed, "Yes, very much so. Thank you professor!" Despite her smile and words of thanks, she felt a slight twisting in the pit of her stomach. Did she really want to do this? Could she really do this?

"Not at all, not at all. Now off you pop, before the Gryffindor table runs out of food."

* * *

Hermione was greeted with the savoury smells of warm roast beef sandwiches and French onion soup as she entered the Great Hall and was delighted to find that Ron had saved her a seat next to him at the crowded House table. As she approached the bench, she could hear the boys discussing Harry's disastrous Herbology lesson.

"So did Professor Sprout tell you what grade you were getting for today?" Dean Thomas asked.

Harry gave a sheepish grin, "She said I got a 'Dreadful'. I only didn't get a 'T' because the thing was somehow still alive by the end of class," he brightened slightly, "But I got five points for persistence, so I think it balances out some." He took a large bite his sandwich.

"Fair enough," Dean nodded in approval.

"Hello, Hermione," Harry greeted around a mouthful of roast beef. This was the first time he had spoken to her in the last twenty-four hours. Apparently she had been forgiven for losing him his grade in Potions yesterday. Normally, she'd be at least miffed at him for avoiding her over an accident. However, given the circumstances, she decided to let it go.

She smiled and returned his greeting before she sat down next to Ron. Acting on habit, Hermione grabbed a sandwich from the platter at the center of the table and ladled out a hearty portion of soup from the nearest tureen. It wasn't until she took her first bite that she realized with dismay that she had no appetite, despite how wonderful the meal smelled. That was no good, it wouldn't do to visit the Headmaster and feel cotton-headed due to an empty stomach. Leveling her shoulders, she told herself that she would eat at least half of the food on her plate, whether she wanted to or not, and tucked in.

It was a slow twenty minutes later, as she was struggling to down the few last bites of food at the now nearly empty table, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Professor Sprout handing her a small slip of parchment, "It seems you're in luck today, Granger. I assume you know what to do with this?"

Hermione glanced at the note and saw the words, "Four o'clock" and "Exploding Bonbons" written in the Headmaster's curling script. She had received a response much faster than she had anticipated. Thank goodness Ron had forgotten his Astronomy homework up in the tower and had already left with Harry, otherwise she had no doubt the two would be _very_ interested indeed as to why she was receiving a note from Professor Dumbledore.

"Yes, ma'am," she beamed, "Thank you."

"I hope you find an answer to your question, dear," Professor Sprout said with a pat on Hermione shoulder.

It was as the Professor was turning to leave that Hermione felt a peculiar, creeping sensation on the back of her neck, as if someone were watching her. She snapped her eyes towards the direction of the High Table and thought she caught Professor Snape subtly shifting away his gaze. She couldn't be sure if he had been watching her or not, it happened so quickly. She was almost ready to chalk the sensation up to paranoia until she looked further down the table and saw Professor Umbridge, eyes bulging, staring at her with a look of intermingled suspicion and glee. Avoiding the toady witch's gaze, Hermione returned to her plate, only to find she could no longer force herself to eat.

* * *

Hermione was almost doubled over by the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office at three fifty-eight that afternoon, panting hard and trying to catch her breath as she had run from the seventh floor Arithmancy classroom in order to get there on time. She fished the slip of paper Professor Sprout had given her out of her jumper pocket and said with a slight wheeze, "Exploding Bonbons". The statue jumped aside and the stairs behind it began spiraling upwards, for which she was grateful. Her Friday afternoon classes had far too much stair-climbing for her liking.

As Hermione ascended higher up the tower, she was struck by what she considered to be a rather odd thought: she wasn't nervous. Well, that wasn't quite true, she was nervous about what would follow should the headmaster approve of her scheme, whether it would be successful or turn out a miserable failure and so on. But as for initiating a meeting with Professor Dumbledore, arguably the most powerful wizard in the world and former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, she was quite calm, confident even. This was mainly because she was certain there could be nothing worse than last night's debacle with Professor Snape, and even more certain that the headmaster would not boot her from his office, despite what he thought of her opinion.

When she reached the top of the stairs, Hermione saw a large, gleaming oak door adorned with a handsome brass knocker in the shape of a griffin, and she couldn't help but wonder what past Headmasters of other Houses had felt about having a "Griffin Door" to their office. The again, maybe the castle changed the adornment depending on the House of the Headmaster? If her suspicions about the castle's sentience were correct, then it was a possibility. She jumped when the door suddenly cracked opened to reveal Dumbledore's smiling, but rather wan face. He still looked remarkably spry and hale for a wizard over one hundred years of age, but it seemed the prospect of the upcoming war and the current battle of wills with the Ministry were taking its toll on him nevertheless.

"Ah, Ms. Granger," he said as he pushed the door open further, "Come in, come in. Would you like some tea, or a sherbet lemon perhaps?"

"No, thank you, sir," she said as she looked about the room, curious as to what the office of the lauded but eccentric wizard would look like. She had heard Harry's descriptions of the office before, but he hardly did it justice. The whole chamber had a warm, cheery air about it and smelled like the the sweet scent of old parchment. Books looked to be bursting from their shelves and dozens of slumbering portraits of Headmasters past decorated almost every inch of the walls. There were whirring, ticking instruments of unknown function on practically every horizontal surface which made her fingers itch with the desire to investigate. Dumbledore's magnificent pet phoenix was in full plumage today and preening itself on it's perch, whistling out soft warbling notes that sounded more beautiful than most symphonies she had heard. In short, she thought it was marvelous.

The Headmaster conjured a cozy mauve armchair in front of his desk and indicated she should sit down before settling himself in a seat so regal it resembled a medieval throne. "Now, Ms. Granger," he said with a small smile, "Professor Sprout said you had a question for me that could be answered by absolutely no other staff member, which I find both rather flattering and astonishing. Tell me, dear girl, what is you wish to know that is so singular? I am quite curious."

Hermione folded her hands in her lap, straightened up in her chair (which was a bit difficult due to the plush cushions), and leaned towards Professor Dumbledore, hoping to convey just how important she felt the topic was, "I wanted to talk to you about the lessons Harry was taking from Professor Snape, sir."

A look of sadness and disappointment cast over his features, "Ah, yes, that turned out to be quite the fiasco, didn't it? I've tried persuading him otherwise, but Professor Snape is quite adamant they shall not continue. I take it Harry has not told you much on the subject?"

She shook her head, Professor Dumbledore had already told her more in those two sentences than Harry had over the past two days, "No, sir. He was rather reluctant to talk about it."

The Headmaster seemed pleased at that pronouncement, "I imagine he would, as it is not his story to tell. Nor is it mine, but that is not reason for your visit, is it Miss Granger?" Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes seemed to shine with anticipation, and Hermione had the suspicion that he knew exactly why she was there.

"You are correct, Professor, it's not. I actually have a small proposition to make."

His bushy eyebrows raised in interest, "Oh? What would that be, my dear?"

"You see, sir, I had a thought earlier today on how Harry may continue learning Occlumency without ever having to meet with Professor Snape."

"Oh?" he stroked his beard as he considered her statement, "How would that work, Miss Granger?"

"Well, sir, what sparked the idea was the thought that if anybody else had been teaching Harry, he would still be in his lessons. Not that I think Professor Snape is incapable of teaching Occlumency, quite the contrary," Hermione hoped she hadn't just offended the Headmaster with his choice of staff members, "It's just that two them get on about as well as Crups and Kneazles, I'm astounded they even lasted two months, to tell the truth."

"As am I, my dear," he gave her a conspiratorial smile, "I thought for sure I would have to intervene with some incident or another within the first week."

"Really?" she blinked at him, stunned that the Headmaster had been aware of the extensive hostilities between Harry and Professor Snape.

"Indeed, but please do continue."

"Well, I was wondering if it would be at all possible for someone else to teach Harry. I don't mean a teacher, of course. I'm sure if there had been any other teacher available, you would have already sent Harry their way. But what if it were a student tutor, someone who could learn Occlumency from Professor Snape and then explain the techniques to Harry in a way he can understand?"

Professor Dumbledore mused over her proposal a second and answered, "An intriguing idea, to be sure. However, it would require a very particular type of student," he then looked at her over the rims of his half-moon spectacles with raised eyebrows, "Wouldn't it, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir, I believe it would," it seemed he was drawing the same conclusion she had earlier in the greenhouse.

"Tell me, what would would be the necessary requirements for such an intermediary?" Professor Dumbledore had leaned forward to steeple his fingers atop his desk.

Hermione had to think on his question for a moment before answering, "I suppose first and foremost, the tutor would need to be someone who supports Harry and his stance on Voldemort's return. Then they would need to be able to learn both Occlumency and Legilimency in a relatively short time in order to be effective. That means the tutor would have to be someone capable of wrapping their heads around the abstract concepts of theoretical magic, and would also need the, er...patience and respect to work with Professor Snape for an extended period of time. Not to mention they would need exceptional organizational and time-management skills so it did not interrupt their own studies. It would also be beneficial if they knew Harry well and how he learns best."

"You are quite right, quite right indeed," he again pinned her with that piercing look of his, making her insides feel as though it were full of moths in frantic search for an exit, "How extraordinary it is that this description bears a remarkable resemblance to your specific capabilities."

She glanced at the floor, "Yes, that thought had occurred to me as well," she looked back up at him and met his gaze, "If you think I am the best candidate, then I will do whatever I can to help Harry."

"I do indeed believe you would be the best suited to fulfill the role, if we were to follow through on this proposition of yours. So then, I suppose that leaves me one final question to ask you, my dear," Professor Dumbledore folded his hands on top of the desk and gave her studious regard, "This is, after all, the year of your OWLS, and I know how serious you are about your studies. I have no doubt you will pass every test, but you may not earn the same number of 'O's as you would if you had devoted as much of your free time to revising. Is this a consequence you would be willing to accept?"

Hermione swallowed a small lump in her throat, but raised her chin. She had come a long way from the little girl who thought there could be no worse fate than failing marks and expulsion, "If it means making sure Harry is safe from a madman bent on conquering Wizarding Britain, then I don't suppose there could be anything as important."

The Headmaster smiled, "Very well said, dear girl. As time is of the essence, I will consider your proposition and let you know my decision tomorrow."

"Thank you very much sir," she said and sank back into the downy armchair, "I appreciate you taking the time to hear me out."

"Of course, my dear, of course," he grabbed a brightly-wrapped candy from a dish on his desk and popped it into his mouth, seeming to ponder over something, "Have you told Harry anything about this plan of yours?"

She shook her head, "No sir, I didn't even tell him I was meeting with you today. I thought it best not to say anything until I heard your opinion on the subject"

"Excellent, excellent. If you could continue on that path a while longer, it would be most helpful. I'll explain more tomorrow, if need be," Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat and began making his way towards the door, "Now, I do believe it's nearly time for supper. I'm quite excited as we're having roasted potatoes tonight; I don't know what the house elves do to them, but they are simply scrumptious."

She likewise pushed herself out of her armchair, but froze when was struck by a sudden thought, "Er, Professor? There's something rather important I neglected to mention."

He gave her a curious look as he was reaching for the door handle, "What would that be, dear girl?"

She cringed, "Before coming to you about my concerns, I first went to Professor Snape last night to inquire about the end of Harry's lessons. I think I may have- No, I know I made him angry, and annoyed him a good deal as well. When you discuss this with him, would you please tell him that I would strive to be be a model student in his lessons?"

The Headmaster chuckled, "Of that I have no doubt, my dear. I wouldn't fret about it, but I will relay your message to Professor Snape regardless."

She smiled in relief, "Thank you again, Professor Dumbledore. You have no idea how reassuring this whole conversation has been."

"And thank you for coming forward with this little proposal of yours, it may prove to be very helpful indeed," he opened the door for her, "Good evening, Miss Granger."

"Good evening Professor," she said before stepping into the tower stairway, feeling lighter than she had in days.

* * *

As soon as he had closed the door behind Miss Granger, Albus Dumbledore's face turned from smiling to pensive as he thought over the numerous possibilities the girl's plan could incur. It was an intriguing idea to say the least, but what would Severus have to say about it? He crossed over to the ornate fireplace and threw in a dash of floo powder.

"Severus Snape's office," he spoke into the emerald flames. He heard the faint pop of the two hearths connecting and called out, "Severus, are you there?"

"I am, Headmaster," the Potions Master drawled in response, "What is so incredibly important that you could not wait less than ten minutes to talk to me in the Great Hall?"

Dumbledore smiled a bit at Severus' irritated tone. There were few things he found quite as entertaining as riling the dour professor, sadly now was not the time to take that opportunity, "I wanted to schedule a meeting with you after dinner, and did not wish to pique the interested of our illustrious High Inquisitor."

"Oh? I can't imagine why not, she's such a lovely and gregarious woman," Snape replied before inquiring, "What is it that is in need of such discretion?"

"I've just had rather illuminating chat with a student. I think you would find the subject quite interesting, considering it concerns you."

There was a long moment of silence before Severus answered, "Granger."

Dumbledore did not like the sound of his tone at all, as it was one that the Potions Master normally reserved for Harry, James, or Sirius. He regretted that he had not asked Miss Granger just what had happened the previous night, as Severus was far more rankled than he had expected.

Feigning ignorance, Albus responded in a bright voice, "Indeed, indeed. We have much to discuss, Severus, since your week's reprieve from Occlumency lessons is nearly over. I will see you at seven o'clock. If you're spotted by dear Dolores, do try to give her the slip."

"Of course, Headmaster," Snape replied. There was a pop and a rush of air as the other man abruptly cut off the floo connection.

Oh, dear. With his Potions Professor in that kind of mood, it seemed that the conversation after dinner was going to be far more interesting than Dumbledore had first thought.


End file.
