Harry Potter 1. Part One

**The Pitfalls of Being an Insufferable Know-it-all**

_All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

**Part One**

I know people have always thought me bossy. I know people have often thought me opinionated. I know that I am sometimes hard-headed and forthright, and _I know_ these traits are not always appreciated or easily tolerated. Ron taught me that lesson at the age of eleven and I've never forgotten it.

I've never felt the need to change, however. It isn't as if I consider myself as a person who needs a lot friends...

I'm not ashamed to take an idea and run with it. I'm not afraid to stand up for what I believe in and I'll not be cowed by those who call me an interfering busybody, or a pious do-gooder, behind my back. Or sometimes even to my face. I can't help it if I feel strongly about certain issues that affect people and world we live in. I can't help it if I fight tenaciously for what I believe in. All I hope is I've learned to find the balance between informed advocacy and the single-minded, uninformed crusades of my formative years. Whisper quietly: _S.P.E.W_.

Despite recognising the importance of less haste and more consideration of the facts, on both sides of an argument, many, I've no doubt, still curl their lip at me and write me off as nothing more than a trouble-maker. My boss once muttered that the only thing status quo means to me is a seventies rock band.

I suppose I've gained enough self-awareness over time to concede this to them freely. The point, I feel, is that society needs a few trouble-makers like me. No doubt someone would read this and decree me insufferably self-important. Perhaps they're right—I'm not going to begrudge anyone their opinion, after all.

I have caused a certain amount of trouble over the last few years, it is true. I expect certain persons within the Ministry, and even the wider Wizarding world, rue the day I was given a position within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I hasten to add, however, I am not alone in my beliefs. I have been joined by many supporting voices in my career—would never have achieved half as much were it not so.

House-elf reform was, of course, always at the top of my list. This time, instead of making unfounded assumptions and patronising the creatures, I headed a small team which undertook a thorough consultation process with the elves. The results of which were controversial, but we fought hard to get them acknowledged. House-elves now receive the same rights as any employee in the Wizarding world. Some even live independently to their place of work—a scheme which, I'm happy to say, was pioneered solely by the Headmistress at Hogwarts. There is now a thriving elf community growing on the fringe of the castle and the village of Hogsmeade.

The work was much and varied during this period of my life. It was not, by any means, always as exciting and stimulating. There was much that was mundane and procedural in-between the larger projects but, in hindsight, still rewarding in its own way.

My next major undertaking for the department caused just as many waves as the House-elf reform, although in my defence, this was not what I set out to do. My decision to develop an extensive ecological survey of the magical flora and fauna of the British isles was only meant as an updating to previous studies which, to my mind, had become out-of-date and were partially incomplete in the first place. The Ministry were happy with this new project of mine. What trouble could I possibly cause whilst compiling habitats and mapping plant and animal species? They were probably surprised by how dry and old-fashioned it sounded.

For my own part, I thought it would an indispensable study to help us understand the natural environment we live in. It's all very well to work within somewhere which professes to 'control' and 'regulate' Magical creatures, when, actually, we had no proper idea of what, and how much of it, was out there. And the Ministry had given even less attention to the study of flora; there being very little need for regulation in this area.

Mostly, I was enthused because I knew it would be no easy undertaking. It was a project that would need the assistance and co-operation of many people. It's true to say it took a bit of persuasive prowess on my part to round up a team unafraid of working with me. My... and I hate to use the word, _bossy_ reputation preceded me even then. I managed to find some willing Herbologists, specialists from within my department, and elsewhere in the Ministry, and anyone else who was eager to take part in collating the data. I say eager, but... honestly, I think the pay had more to do with it.

We could not, of course, record every single organism that existed, but we devised a comprehensive sample that covered the country. We also had some tailored charms to aide our survey—to ensure it was as rigorous as we could manage.

Admittedly, it took months; months of long hours and hard work. We went out in teams to record what we found within our assigned areas (I don't think it was a coincidence my team was the smallest). Back at the Ministry, a colleague and I had set up a large, charmed map made up of several layers. Every time a data-set was completed, it would be spelled into the map to be analysed in detail. As we neared completion, a full picture began to unfold before us, but I'd honestly never considered I wouldn't like what I saw. Examining the results we had now, and comparing them with what historical information we already had, threw up some alarming questions.

'She's off,' someone muttered sotto voce when I demanded to see all the teams to investigate whether any corners were cut, or whether any methodological failing might account for the unexpected results, because I would certainly not allow for shoddy workmanship. I found no such issues; it seemed we could be confident in our findings.

The concepts of conservation and preservation were ideas, naturally, not unfamiliar to me. In this instance, however, I'm afraid the effects of my tenure in the Wizarding world was showing. Muggles, I knew, had long developed these processes, but for witches and wizards, the relevance wasn't fully acknowledged—properly considered, even. There had, in the past, been some indication of certain endangered species within the country, but the crude criteria we had was based on the fact these species were naturally rare, _anywhere_ in the world one might go.

Why, for example, were Augureys apparently in decline nationwide? Why had Jobberknoll numbers dropped by over a quarter in the last twenty years? How could we account for the fact that areas of the Cheviot hills, known for its extensive monkshood population, were now showing signs that this particular habitat was close to being endangered? These were just a sample of curious facts that were presented to us, and we looked at each point in depth for an explanation to use in the final report.

Was it a natural predator causing these issues? Was it simply down to nature that Jobberknoll numbers were falling? We investigated this first, but couldn't prove this theory, finding no sign that some foreign species was forcing out the indigenous population. We turned next to the Muggles. Were they unknowingly interfering with Magical habitats? Observations recorded during the survey suggested that sometimes this was true. Muggle buildings had been known to encroach upon and damage the environment, but in many cases this was simply not evidenced.

Neville—Neville Longbottom—had been assisting me with the findings of the Herbologists (he was one to always offer his help to me freely) and suggested to me an observation that had been slowly simmering in my own mind as we studied the map.

'Hermione,' he said. 'Do you know what these habitats—these plants and animals that are declining—have in common?'

'They all have properties important to potion-making,' I answered.

It made sense. Why else was it that Cornish pixies were thriving, but the number and location of known fairy spots was changing? Pixies are useless in potions, but fairy wings are highly prized. What is the main importance of a Jobberknoll to a witch or wizard? Is it that its feathers are essential to truth serums and Memory potions? Monkshood, I knew, in diluted form, was a key component of Pepperup Potion and most pain remedies. And Augurey feathers were also highly prized components.

Was it that we were depleting our own resources? Resources that we'd taken for granted for far too long? We had to seriously consider it as a possibility and I dove into this eagerly, firing off instructions while my colleagues stared back at me with clenched jaws and patented long-suffering. I could only wonder why they weren't so enthusiastic—we were approaching new ground, for Merlin's sake!

I knew there were already statutory rules and regulations in place to control the harvesting of creatures for potion-making. But I also knew as well as anyone they only applied to certain cases. Unicorns, for example. Neville explained rules were even more vague for the collection of plants.

As much as others might like to claim, most derogatorily, that I 'know it all', the reality is that I don't. And in all honesty, I knew very little about the potion-making industry at this time. My understanding was that it was a complex one, structured largely around private companies, responsible for such household names as _Mrs Scower_ and _Skele_-_gro_, independent apothecaries, and freelance potioneers. That was it, in a nutshell.

I put out a few feelers at the Ministry, no doubt to the inconvenience of many, I'm sure. It was surely not unreasonable to think such a far-reaching industry wouldn't be subject to regulation and I hoped to learn more regarding this. But when the Ministry told me that, beyond ensuring the international restrictions on the trading of protected species for use in potions were upheld, that was as far as they felt their influence needed to go, I started to think I might have been too generous in my assessment of the Ministry's competency. Surprising how often this happens.

I was informed that certain influence was wielded by a professional body, of which the majority of professionals within the industry sought membership. This was the loftily named 'Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers' and only rang a very vague bell with me.

Clearly, however, it was to this place I was going to have to aim my next questions, in order to understand what might be happening and how solutions could be reached. I did not merely want to publish an incriminating report without evidence or consensus. That would surely be to set myself up for a fall. Expect some would like to see that, actually.

The survey was put on hold while we considered this new tangent. I say 'we', by this time, most of my help had dispersed back to their original duties. I didn't mind; I preferred working independently and I daresay this preference accounted for my 'below expectations' grade for 'team-working skills' during my most recent performance appraisal at that time.

I planned a visit to the Society, then, and went alone. Accustomed as I was, even then, to obstruction and dispute, I never anticipated to face it in this situation. After all, it seemed clear to me it was in everyone's interest to conserve our natural resources, and so, rather naively, I assumed co-operation between both sides would be a given. I was wrong. It was this presumption that left me a little unprepared when I was actually faced with complete dismissal.

Furthermore, I failed to adequately research just who and what I would be dealing with. Patience has never been a strong suit of mine; not when I have the bit between my teeth. I sought the address to the Society and took myself off there as soon as I was able, with little or no other consideration. I think one of my colleagues in the know might have been good enough to mention the finer details I was so obviously without. Who am I to begrudge them their little laughs?

The Society is in Edinburgh, housed in an impressive, if forbidding, grey stone building with a gold plate on the wall denoting the building's purpose. I marched inside and immediately found myself in a deep red, carpeted entrance hall. There was no one present behind the high wooden desk and I stood by patiently, hearing someone pottering about in the room beyond. I gazed around my surroundings, taking in the curious stares of several portraits that hung high on the walls, but there was something else that quickly took my attention.

There was a small, marble staircase that led from the entrance hall into the building proper, and placed above the archway at the top of the stairs was a series of large wooden plaques, recording the name of each presiding officer of the Society since its founding, several hundred years ago. Any sense of my professionalism and sophistication that I liked to imagine myself as having, evaporated entirely as I read the printed gold name of the most recent president. In an instant, I felt like a little girl again—green and out of her depth.

I managed to restore my equilibrium by consoling myself it was highly unlikely I'd be treated to an audience with Severus Snape himself, though I wished fervently I'd known of his role beforehand. I'd heard along the grapevine that he was now a professional brewer, but beyond that nothing else of note. I scowled to myself; dealing with that man, as I easily recalled, required serious preparation.

'Albert!' shouted one of the portraits suddenly—a cursory glance at his frame revealed him to be one Libatius Borage. 'There's a girl here to see you!'

I tried not to feel too much umbrage at being decreed a "girl".

'Albert' shuffled out and revealed himself to be a stooped, old man. 'I do apologise for keeping you,' he said in a quiet voice. 'What may I do for you, Miss…?'

I drew myself up and outlined my capacity as a researcher at the Ministry, explaining that I was looking to put some questions to a resident potioneer. He was obliging; he went back into his little room to use the Floo and several minutes later, he returned saying the Director would be willing to talk to me. I was pleased not to have been fobbed off, though I feel it was my position within the Ministry that bought me my audience someone fairly high up. Still, I was satisfied.

I passed through the archway and followed a curved passageway to the right, which I saw with a quick peek skirted a rather large council chamber full of wooden benches and other fine furnishings.

I soon reached a door, upon it written 'Mr Theobald Ridley — Director'. Immediately, however, when I clapped eyes on this man, I felt he would not be as genial as the wizened old Albert at the front desk.

He was a short man with a prodigious amount of facial hair, and he sat impassively whilst I outlined the basic premise of our work on the ecological survey. I showed him how we had cause for concern and asked him, given that the Society is a professional body, what their policies were for practising potioneers and apothecaries in terms of the collection and cultivation of biological components.

To this day, I assert I was not being antagonistic in any way. I was merely stating the facts as I knew them, but he took significant offence.

'If I understand you correctly, you're accusing potioneers for this supposed decline in certain species?'

I tried to explain that I was only trying to establish a cause. That this was just one other avenue to explore when others had been exhausted.

'What proof do you have?' he blustered defensively.

I was a bit taken aback by his indignation. I had not imagined he would take it so personally. I pressed that I was only looking rule out culpability, but he overrode anything else I wanted to say, puffing himself up impressively.

'I assure you, Miss Granger, we are well aware of our responsibilities and you may see our Code of Practice for further elucidation. We, patently, do not advocate such malpractice! Unless you have any evidence to support your _accusations_, I suggest you direct your energies elsewhere!'

It was obvious I'd taken the wrong tack here; quite obvious, as I was summarily shown the way out till I stood on the pavement clutching my folders uselessly.

I had wanted to refute the idea I was bandying accusations around—to explain I was only looking for advice, but Ridley had marched off, muttering to himself about young upstarts, and a litany of other apparent ills I was responsible for. I wasn't too disheartened—I'd met his type many times before. I just hadn't quite learned to deal with them yet.

I returned to the Ministry, keeping my failure to myself (no one bothered asking) and for the next few days studied as much information I could get about the potion-making industry, as it was then. Albert had been kind enough to give me a few publications pertaining to the Society, and from them I could see they promoted efficiency and care for those involved in the collection of plants. And it seemed they took a firm stance about using only 'freely given' elements from Magical creatures, too.

Admittedly, I could understand it was not the Society's role to make rules regarding this area, but I felt it was their responsibility to set an example, considering the size of their membership. And. actually, on the face of it, I could not find any reason to suppose the Society did not take its responsibilities entirely seriously.

By now, however, my superiors were urging me to brief them on the findings of the survey. I was frustrated by this, knowing that when they understood the significance of what we'd found, they would inevitably start interfering and escalating matters.

In the hope of mitigating this, I wanted to be able to present to them a clear direction we could take. So, I decided to write to Snape himself, asking simply for his assistance. I was a bit cautious about appealing to him directly, especially if Ridley had his ear. Nevertheless, I though it'd be worth a try. I ensured to adopt as unbiased a tone as possible, stating that I had proof to disturbing declining numbers of certain species and wanted some advice. I left out any references to causes, mentioning only a desire to act to reverse such trends. I ended my letter by writing that it was surely of huge importance to potioneers that we co-operate in order to sustain the biodiversity in the country.

It was my opinion he'd be hard pressed to dismiss me completely.

With this done, I turned my attention to researching some of the private manufacturers of potions. It seemed logical that it could be from this quarter that a more… damaging approach to the capturing of, for example, Jobberknolls for their feathers, might be tolerated. It was hardly something a company would admit lightly, I knew, and so it would take rather more stealth and subtlety on my part. Such investigative work, however, would be subject to the agreement of my superiors and I decided I would put it to them during the briefing they'd scheduled.

If only I could have anticipated the laughter...

And unfortunately, if I'd hoped to have something clearer to give to them when I discussed the results, instead of an array of unconfirmed theories and suppositions, I was very much disappointed.

Only a day later, my missive to Mr Severus Snape, C/O The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers was returned unopened. Indignation flared within me as I ripped open an accompanying note from Albert.

According to the old man, Mr Snape was "currently leading an expedition in the fjords of Norway to carry out research for the Society". Albert was basically telling me their esteemed leader was not expected to return for some time, and therefore, my letter would not reach him.

And pointedly, there was no offer to provide a forwarding address.

It's fair to say I wasn't amused. Especially when, a few days later, Ridley sent in a complaint about me to the department.

Everyone else thought it was hilarious.

* * *

><p>AN: Only time will tell how wise it is for me to have two stories on the go. Thanks for reading; let me know what you think.<p> 


	2. Part Two

**The Pitfalls of Being an Insufferable Know-it-all**

_All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

**Part Two**

I'm not someone who takes inordinate pleasure in being right, or who relishes a feeling of superiority, but I'll admit it was somewhat gratifying to see the consternation on the faces of my superiors, including the Minister himself, when I revealed the results of our survey. It wasn't so much self-satisfaction with my role at the forefront; it was more to do with rattling them into action, for a change.

Unsurprisingly, they became animated as I described what was happening, all clamouring to register their confusion as to why we were seeing such worrying trends. However, when I explained our (my) working hypothesis—that it may possibly be the result of intensive harvesting by potioneers—the room quietened slightly. I took it to mean they were enthralled. When, further, I outlined what steps might need to be taken to halt the trends we were seeing—the likelihood of introducing quotas and stricter monitoring of certain habitats known to be in danger—it was then they began to look uncomfortable and, yes… dismissive.

So when I suggested they might send an investigative team out to uncover any criminality within certain institutions, that's when they allowed themselves to laugh. Unashamedly.

'Fancy yourself as a whistleblower do you, Granger?' someone called out dryly.

The Secretary for Business then sniffed pompously, saying they could not "hinder the growth of the potion-making industry when it's the source of many jobs and income for the Wizarding world". I hastened to point out that co-operation would mean a solution could be reached without damaging the industry, but I was overrode by one of the Minister's lackeys.

'Out of interest, just how _reliable_ is your… survey?'

I didn't bother dignifying that question with an answer.

When I went on to mention the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, I was surprised, despite myself, by the mood that came over them. It was one of unease.

'Have you been in touch with the Society?' someone queried urgently. 'You've not… presented this rot to Severus Snape, have you?'

'No,' my boss replied tightly, looking pained at having to admit his responsibility for me, 'she took it to Ridley and Ridley brought it to me.'

_Rot_? I could hardly contain myself, but I managed not to quite explode with indignation. 'Why shouldn't I?' I replied stoutly. 'He is the President of the Society; it is surely logical we should consult with this organisation over our findings?'

From the looks I received, apparently I was wrong in this assumption.

'The Society does a lot of good work for this country, Miss Granger. It is one of the most highly-regarded scientific societies in the world and has contributed to many developments that has changed the way we live. I need not remind you of the recent potion created to negate the effects of the Cruciatus curse? Indeed, it has all but rendered the curse useless.'

I felt so frustrated then, because I could sense what was coming next. I just _knew_ what they would say.

'This is just a temporary blip; these things balance themselves out in time. You've read too much into it.'

And that was it; that was me well and truly set aside.

My immediate superior, a man who so often drove me to the edge of madness, clapped a hand on my shoulder and smiled patiently. 'Granger, you don't have to make a crusade out of everything you do, all right?'

I clenched my fists while he shook his head gently. 'Sometimes, there isn't a complicated—'

'My results are accurate and they speak for themselves,' I ground out.

'No doubt, no doubt,' he murmured soothingly, yet completely contradicted himself by wandering out of the chamber along with everyone else. I slapped my folders onto the desk beside me and growled.

It was typical they wanted to brush this under the carpet. It was the publicity they wanted to avoid. They knew if they apportioned any credence to my theories and word got out, they'd have a mess on their hands. I wondered briefly if, after twenty years in the Ministry, I would also end up more concerned with money and reputation than facing problems head on and dealing with them in the way they needed to. I like to think it hasn't happened, despite the number of years I've given to that place.

Their desire to sweep _me_ under the carpet didn't stop me from ploughing on under my own steam. That's one of the bonuses of being unpopular, I suppose—you're left alone to get on with it.

I started looking at mapping the biggest-known factories and apothecaries in the country in relation to some of the worst affected habitats. Naturally, this was most inconclusive, as what is proximity to a witch or wizard who can Apparate? Still, the exercise wasn't entirely without merit— it showed me it would be nearly impossible for me to narrow down who might be engaging in malpractice. There were far too many companies for me to investigate, and I knew precisely nothing about each and every one of them. In essence, I had nothing to go on. Not an inkling.

I thought that without the backing of the Ministry, I might very well have to forget defining the cause and simply focus on correcting the problem—to come up with some proposals for the future. But, to everyone's surprise, the situation we were in changed rather suddenly, leaving us all, it has to be said, a little off-guard.

Because, despite the Ministry's desire to avoid any bad press on the subject of the ecological survey, I feel they misjudged the strength of the public reaction when the _Daily Prophet _caught wind of the story and, in their inimitable style, ran with it. I don't think I counted one single fact that was correct in their pieces, but they certainly had the gist.

The Ministry was horrified by the uproar caused.

Articles posed to people they should think twice about where the products they buy in an apothecary might have come from. Headlines such as 'Augurey's Killed For Use In Top-Selling Cleaning Solutions' were a feature for several days. It was sensationalism at its best and worst, depending on your point-of-view. When sales suddenly plummeted, the company behind the _Mrs_ _Scower_ brand were forced to defend their practices publicly and launched a complaint to the Ministry immediately. The same Ministry who were being branded as 'dithering and ineffectual' by certain commentators.

For my own part, despite the advantages public opinion can give to a matter, I was unhappy with the _Prophet_ stoking the fire in such a blatant way. Particularly as the powers-that-be in the Ministry seemed to think it was _me_ who'd purposefully tipped off the paper in a fit of hurt intellectual pride.

In this instance, it was my boss who actually stood up for me. I think I might have preferred a better defence, however. When one of my colleagues got a bit frazzled over the number of inflammatory Owls and Howlers we were struggling to keep a lid on, and turned to me hissing, 'Thanks for this, Granger!' The boss stood and announced, 'Granger isn't the leak; that girl _lives_ for rules and procedure!'

Can't say it was something I desired to have shouted across the office. Still… everyone seemed to agree with his point, though.

There were also figures within the potions industry who were understandably offended by the insinuations being bandied about. They looked particularly towards the Most Extraordinary Society for Potioneers for support in their defence. Apart from a few brief comments from Ridley, stating their commitment to fair practice, they'd been notably silent. The _Prophet_, of course, soon picked up on this silence and their attention moved from the big companies to the professional body, looking to them to take a firmer stance on the matter.

As it happened, I wasn't particularly at ease with the increasing number of calls there were for Severus Snape to return from Norway. I had an uncomfortable sense people were expecting him to be answerable, which I felt to be plainly absurd. And the bloody Ministry, of course, had executed an abrupt u-turn and, for appearance's sake, I felt, also wanted word from Snape. Typical double-standards from them. Typical bloody hypocrisy.

But maybe I also dreaded to an extent the increased possibility of my coming face-to-face with him. I may have prided myself at that time as never allowing myself to be cowed, but I wasn't confident I could hold my own against _him_.

So it seems rather ironic, in hindsight, that I hoped the hullabaloo would blow over. Not that I wanted to forget the matter, but the publicity was not aiding our fledgling attempts at investigating. Hardly anyone in the potions industry was likely to agree to speak to me willingly—they were far too on their guard. And I had no jurisdiction to demand an audience; not until the Ministry ordered an official investigation and that was something they were resisting for as long as possible.

It was around this time, while we seemed to be getting nowhere fast, that I received a message via an express owl. I was burning the midnight oil in my office when it arrived, and _it_ turned out to be nothing less than a summons—an immediate summons to Edinburgh. I stared dumbly at the parchment, because despite the signature at the bottom being that of Theobald Ridley, I had an awful premonition as to exactly what I would face on entering the Most Extraordinary Society for Potioneers for a second time. Even with that in mind, I was certainly not going to pass up this opportunity for anything. I collected up as much of my data as I could and I headed straight there.

When Albert led me up the marble staircase and took the passageway on the left, the opposite direction to Ridley's office, I felt myself tense with nervous expectation. I clutched my ever-present folders tightly when we came to a halt outside a large oak door bearing the name of Severus Snape.

'I believe you are already acquainted with Severus,' Albert commented with a smile I felt was half pity, half amusement. It did not make me feel any easier.

He opened the door and I walked into a modestly sized, oak panelled room. The office was empty and I turned to speak to Albert, but he'd already shut the door and ostensibly returned to his post in the entrance hall. There was a desk at the far end of the room, with two chairs in front of it. I crossed over and sat in one, clenching and unclenching my hands in my lap, and wondering if this was a delaying tactic precisely designed to leave me uncomfortable. I chuckled to myself, then; chuckled at my own vanity for conceiving such a thought.

Still, if I remember correctly, I sat there on my own for a good ten minutes. During this time, I managed to establish there were no portraits in the room; there was nothing much on the desk apart from a selection of writing implements; there was a large bookcase; and there was an impressive high-mantled fireplace, within which a fire burned. It was this that caused me to flinch when it abruptly glowed bright green. I sprang involuntarily to my feet, sending some of my parchments to the floor, and watched a familiar figure appear.

Any semblance of greeting I had prepared evaporated at the most ferocious glare I have ever had the misfortune to receive. I sank weakly into my chair, firmly telling myself I wasn't yet cowed. As he slapped down a pile of newspapers onto the desk with a thud, I forced myself to look unmoved.

He did not sit; he simply stared at me. Must have been five or six years since I'd last clapped eyes on him, but right then it felt like it might only have been yesterday.

'I thought the days of you inconveniencing me were over, Miss Granger,' he began softly, shrugging off his cloak. He moved across the room to hang it on the back of the door as he spoke. 'Days of you setting fire to me; sabotaging my lessons; stealing from me; breaking my rules… I should have known you were merely warming up.'

I wasn't sure I entirely agreed with this assessment, but there _was_ something warming up; my face. I surreptitiously raised a hand to press my fingers into my cheeks, as if to rid myself of colour before he noticed.

'Because now,' he continued, his voice strengthening in volume, 'I find myself being forced to abandon an important and costly research venture, to Portkey hundreds of miles, to deal with this… _mess_.'

He was back behind his desk, and while I wanted to speak, I instinctively knew he wasn't finished. '_Your_ mess,' he added darkly, picking up successive copies of the _Daily_ _Prophet_ and glancing at each of them cursorily.

'"Careless Potioneers destroying our natural heritage",' he read out flatly. '"Augurey's facing extinction in this country—The Most Extraordinary Society for Potioneers… _shilly-shallies_ while the industry plunges into crisis".'

The emphasis was all his.

He rifled through more of the papers. 'Ah, listen to this; "Severus Snape has been _gallivanting _around Norway for the last two months, conveniently unable to comment on this matter. One must wonder what he has to hide".

My cheeks burned freely now.

'Oh, and my personal favourite,' he continued derisively. '"Our top potioneers are currently working in Norway; clearly, depleting our own natural resources is not enough for them. Perhaps we should consider warning our Norwegian friends to… lock up their Augureys".'

His voice trailed off but the disdain remained in the air like a dense fog. He sat down and folded his arms, his expression as unreadable as I always remembered it as being.

'I must say, I'm struggling to understand how it is I am suddenly accountable for anyone and everyone who decides to practice brewing or deal in ingredients. Indeed, my understanding of my role in this Society appears to differ greatly to what you believe it to be. Because it is to you, Miss Granger, I believe I owe my thanks for the situation I now find myself in.'

And then he smiled. It was an approximation of such, anyway; an ironic quirking of the lips that unnerved me rather more than any of his words had done.

Honestly, I hardly knew where to begin. My mind was uncomfortably blank; not a position I ordinarily found myself in. I smoothed my hands—my admittedly sweaty hands—on my robes and urged my faculties to resume normal service. 'I, ah, regret that you've been drawn into the matter in such a way—I assure you it was not my intention. If you'll allow me to say, it is the _Daily Prophet _that has turned this situation into what it is.'

'You deny any responsibility for turning a well respected industry and profession, overnight, into one now associated with single-minded profiteering, negligence, and apathy to the environment it operates in?'

I shifted in my chair. 'Yes, I do actually. When I contacted this Society, it was not to bandy around accusations of negligence. I'd hoped to discuss the possibility that it was perhaps simply a matter of education that—'

His voice lowered to a threatening hiss. 'Are you implying that we, those of us who choose to make the study of potions our life's work, are oblivious to the effect we have and the duty we have to our natural resources?'

'No…' I took a steadying breath, summoning the courage, or recklessness, to continue. 'But can you speak for everyone? The average apothecary in the street, for arguments sake? The management behind Mrs Scower?'

He flicked the pile of newspapers before him. 'Apparently; why else am I now forced to explain myself to a bunch of idle busybodies who wouldn't know what to do with a cauldron if it came up and bit them?'

I frowned in confusion and he raised his eyebrows. 'Oh, were you not aware I've been asked to appear before the ministers tomorrow afternoon?'

'No…'

'I'm warning you now, Granger; I'll not be made a scapegoat—do you understand?'

I nearly said, 'Yes, sir.' Instead I simply nodded. Privately, I rather thought they'd find someone else to be a scapegoat before they would him. I felt many of the politicians were actually a bit afraid of him.

'There needn't be any scapegoats,' I argued. 'All _I_ am looking for is an informed opinion. No one will talk to me now that the _Prophet_ has waded in with it's bloody size nines. There has to be some sort of agreed consensus, otherwise the issues we have will only get worse. If we can only allay the concerns of the public and work to ensure these problems don't become worse, then the job will be done.'

I was rather pleased with this little speech, it has to be said. He, on the other hand, looked as far away from pleased as a person could possibly get.

'Look, Miss Granger; anyone may practice potion-making. Anyone may set up as an apothecary. Anyone may get into trading ingredients. And many do.'

He was pointing out the unlikely chance of me discovering a person or persons responsible for the problems we faced. 'I'm only interested in establishing a cause so that we might put a stop to it. And I'm sure you'd rather be a part of that… Unless you'd prefer to let the bigwigs at the Ministry decide the plan of action?'

His jaw tightened and I knew I had him won over. It was inconceivable he would not want to ensure the best result for the future of potion-making. I tried not to swell with pride when he bade me to return the following morning to give him a full account of the details. The feeling of triumph I left with seems ridiculous now. I always knew he wasn't a stupid man, yet I had enough vanity to congratulate myself it was on my wit alone that I secured his co-operation.

Actually, I suppose it was somewhat comforting to know I was still capable of being naïve, even after coming through a war.

When I returned to Edinburgh the next morning, to the Society, I was in for a couple of surprises. The first was particularly unwelcome. I arrived into a crowd of witches and wizards who stood outside the building chanting raucously 'Save our Augureys!' at the top of their lungs.

I watched in horror, unable to disagree with the sentiment, of course, but I didn't agree with its application in this context. I thought they'd be better served protesting at the Ministry, where the true inaction lay, in my opinion.

'What's going on?' I asked someone at the edge of the crowd.

'We want to know what they're going to do about our Augureys,' the witch declared doughtily, nodding her head at the Society. 'We want to know who has been killing our Augureys!'

'Snape's back,' someone else butted in. 'We want him to do something, because this can't go on. We won't let it!'

I frowned. 'But what do you think he can do?'

Before I could get a reply, a voice rose up shouting that the Aurors were coming. I used the moment of confusion to push through the crowd and in through the doors. Albert stood on the inside, his wand in hand.

'Are you all right, Miss?' he queried.

'Er, yes,' I replied. 'Is, ah, Mr Snape, here?'

With the crowd still audible, I half hoped he wouldn't be. My luck wasn't to be borne, however, and I was told he awaited me in his office. The door was ajar when I reached it, so I knocked and stuck my head straight in. He was standing at the window and I thought for a moment he was watching the crowd, until I realised they weren't visible from this side of the building.

'The, ah, Aurors are dispersing them,' I ventured, closing the door behind me.

'They've been there for nearly an hour,' he said furiously. 'Half of Muggle Edinburgh is now wondering what the hell an Augurey is.'

He spun round, making for his chair. To my mind, his expression was as black as his robes. I wasn't inspired; no, indeed, I rather felt my stomach sink into the floorboards.

'Sit,' he instructed curtly.

I clenched my jaw and complied.

'I'd offer you tea…' he said next, 'but the house-elf has her day off today.'

A pointed barb, to be sure. I stilled, and I hesitate to admit it, but I think Severus Snape very nearly succeeded in making me feel… _guilt_ for my house-elf reform. It couldn't be borne. 'Good for her,' I commented stubbornly.

His lip curled but I ignored him, clearing my throat and deciding it would be prudent just to get down to business. 'Shall I give you a run-down of the facts?' I enquired, and for my sins, relishing _this_ opportunity to preach. 'I have the endangered areas in question mapped—'

I broke off abruptly at the firm shake of his head and clutched my parchments tighter. 'I'm sorry, I thought you wanted the details we'd—'

His eyes suddenly gleamed brightly, and for a precarious moment I thought he might even laugh. 'Oh, come now, Miss Granger,' he murmured delicately. 'You don't think I could fail to have already noticed these trends you've identified?'

I just stared blankly.

He leaned back in his chair languidly, and it was his infuriatingly collected manner which unruffled me the most. 'I've been brewing potions for the best part of thirty years, and neither am I one for cosseting myself within my ivory tower, so I'm sure I could give you a far better analysis of the changing distribution of fairy spots, over the past few decades, than anything your counting exercise could provide.'

I blinked blearily through the scorn he positively radiated. 'You're… telling me you were aware of what's been happening; have been for some time?'

'Pre-cise-ly,' he over-enunciated; no doubt enjoying immensely my being wrong-footed.

I can't say I enjoyed being made to feel two feet high; who would? And actually, though it has been said, I don't think it's fair to say this was me sampling my own medicine. _I_ have certainly never learned to be so utterly superior and dismissive that a person on the back foot ends up feeling impressed despite themselves.

'You can't be the only one…'

He nodded. 'Some of my colleagues have registered their private concerns, but many of them are unaware of the bigger picture.'

I let my jaw fall open in outrage. 'Why has nothing been said? Why has nothing been done? The time that has been _wasted_—'

'Yes, quite, Miss Granger,' he interrupted swiftly, finally looking animated. 'We just decided to ignore our observations and carry on under the maxim of 'Augurey's have lasted this long; what's there to worry about?' _That,' _he spat, 'is the quite the quality of intelligence which has sustained potion-making through centuries of progress and development.'

I clamped my mouth shut and frowned, not enjoying his sarcasm in the least.

'Why do you think nothing was said? Funnily enough, like you, we did not want the _Prophet_, or the Ministry, or the bloody tree-hugging brigade interfering whilst we tried to establish the facts. Any chance of catching those responsible red-handed, whether they are a part of the potions industry or not, are now surely nil.'

'You intended to catch them? How could _you_ punish them without involvement from the Aurors?'

He smirked at me knowingly. 'Our charter is not without significant weight, Miss Granger. The original copy, set down hundred of years ago, hangs in the Reading Room, should you care to examine it.' His eyes glinted. 'We have modified it over the years, of course, but it's essence remains the same. We do not confer it lightly upon those who which to become associated with us here. And so, you may imagine we do not appreciate it when one of our number decides they are above such codes of ethics and practice as those we utilise.'

At this point, I found it necessary to remind myself that I wasn't a brewer guilty of breaking the rules. He got up and crossed the room to a large wooden chest. I twisted round in my chair to follow his progress and he took out a folder, glancing through it casually.

'The name George Cresswell ring a bell?' he asked.

I considered for a moment. 'Actually, didn't he—'

'Yes,' he interrupted dispassionately, while I scowled to myself at his rudeness. 'He worked on the original method for _Skele-gro _in the early days of his career. Three years ago, word reached my ear that he was involved up to his neck in the trafficking of illegally obtained Ashwinder eggs. I looked into it, didn't like what I saw, and now… well, he shall never brew professionally in this country again.'

He carried on flicking through his parchments, whilst I allowed my imagination to run wild on the ominious fate of George Cresswell.

'Thaddeus Jones,' he continued, 'and this was before my time really, was stripped of his membership to the Society when caught heading up a scam on the continent. It involved peddling a newly-discovered, supposedly more potent sub-species of ragwort, indigenous only to the north of England. The Society was contacted when a series of unexplained potion-making incidents occurred with only one common denominator—Jones's ragwort. Investigation proved Jones had contaminated the plants with a cocktail of Strengthening solutions.'

He closed the folder and returned to his chair. 'There's plenty more where they came from. So you see, we are neither ignorant nor idle when it comes to the inevitable wide boy that wanders into our midst.'

'But do you not think criminal activity such as this should be reported?'

His expression turned impatient, but I think he expected me to take such a line on the matter. I've no doubt I can be very predictable at times.

'What—so they can simply be fined?'

'Their reputations would still be discredited.'

'There needs to be trust in an industry such as this, Miss Granger. No one would buy potions if they thought they could not trust their provenance, and there only has to be the _one_ element of doubt. If we made every transgression we came across public we—'

'And what if it is in the public interest?' I argued briskly.

He scoffed dismissively. 'The public? So they can blow everything out of proportion? Things they don't understand. Or how about tar us all with the same brush?' He folded his arms across his chest. 'I mean, this really is novel, I must say—being preached to about transparency from a minion of that vaunted beacon of truth, also known as the Ministry.'

I resisted the urge to groan aloud with aggravation. 'All right; I'm not going to argue with you. The Ministry chooses not to involve itself in these matters, therefore, how you operate is entirely _your_ prerogative.'

'So… relieved to have your approval.'

His sarcasm, while not unfamiliar to me, nevertheless made my insides quail with embarrassment.

'But what do you intend in this situation?' I held up my scroll and waggled it brashly. 'You may not like it, but the public are involved this time and they will want answers.'

My scroll of parchment was unceremoniously snatched from me, and the accompanying glare I received seemed to curse my effrontery for daring to brandish it at him in the first place. I swallowed down my indignation as he unrolled the parchment and began reading.

My analysis of the results was, naturally, rather detailed and so I was forced to sit silently for a terribly awkward length of time. I crossed my legs and arranged my robes casually, schooling my expression into one, I hoped, of refinement and ease. But inwardly, as I watched his expression go from scowl to sneer and back again, I very much wanted to spontaneously combust out of all existence.

However, I still say I wasn't cowed. That was, unfortunately, for another time...

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks for reading and thanks for the reviews.<p> 


	3. Part Three

**The Pitfalls of Being an Insufferable Know-it-all**

_All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

**Part 3**

I wasn't entirely sure what to make of my meeting with my former teacher. Oh, I knew very well what to make of it with regard to his perception of me. That was very plain, indeed; I was an irritant.

What was less clear was the implications of what I'd learned from him. I didn't know what to think about his approach to the issue at hand; and I'm not sure I agreed with his taking matters into his own hands. I had doubts about his effectiveness as a deterrent towards those who were caught bending and breaking the rules.

That's right: I doubted the man who had one of the most daunting reputations in the country. I don't mind admitting I get things wrong occasionally.

By the end of the day, however, I would have reason to entirely rethink my assessment of him, our conversation, and many other things, in fact.

He was reading my analysis, whilst I sat on tenterhooks. When he finally finished , he rolled up the parchment and placed it carefully before him on the desk. He settled back into his chair, supporting his elbows on the arms and lacing his hands together. It was then it occurred to me I'd forgotten this aspect of his character—the fact that he never does anything in a hurry. There's something almost eerie about his detachment, at times. I felt quite sure that if the fire in the grate could have exploded up the walls and started burning the down the room, I would have rushed out in a panic, while he would have casually got to his feet and strolled out to safety, as though walking through a field on a sunny day. It's behaviour that is very hard for someone like me to reconcile. I'm not very patient; I'm very eager and fervent… Probably overly so, if you asked anyone else.

So, whilst he sat there, cogitating at length, my hands were wringing beneath the desk with impatience.

'Have you a quill?' he uttered finally.

'Um…' I rooted in my bag for one, irritated all that prevarication had been rounded off with something so mundane. 'Yes,' I replied, holding it out to him.

'_For you; _you may want to copy some of this down.'

_Stupid girl_, seemed to hang in the air unsaid. I flushed painfully and hurriedly reached for my parchment.

'In the instance of the decreased density of Monkshood, in the region of the Cheviot hills, there is nothing nefarious for us to be concerned about.'

'How do you know?' I asked, a bit too quickly, clearly, because he gave me a look that could curdle milk.

'Consider for a moment, Granger, if it's not too much trouble, these minor little facts. One: Monkshood, Wolfsbane, Aconite, whatever you want to call it, is native to regions the world over. Two: it's possible for it to be grown under controlled conditions. With these in mind, what possibly is there to be gained by rooting up the plant for sale on the black market?'

He stared at me and I let his words digest uneasily in my stomach, clenching my jaw at having opened myself up to such an easy shot.

'You turn up down the pub looking to offload a bulk of Monskhood and, I assure you, you'll be laughed right back to where you came from.'

'I see,' I said tightly.

'The Cheviots are one of the most popular areas for harvesting Monskshood, it's true, as the species is a quality one. The ground has no doubt become damaged, eroded, over time, and therefore, the plant is not growing back in a sustainable fashion.'

Oh God, the sigh of frustration I let out at this point has haunted me for a long time since. 'Surely this was to be expected?' I posed, thinking at the time this was the opening for me to begin fighting fire with fire. 'Surely it is logical to vary the harvesting at this particular site, in order to allow the habitat to replenish…'

I could have said more, but the look on his face stopped me in my tracks. I can still picture it clearly… Although, that may be down to the fact I have had reason to see it many times in years gone by.

'Do _you_ know what entity in this country consumes the largest quantities of plants such as Monkshood?'

I forced myself to maintain eye contact with his blazing look. 'No,' I admitted stiffly.

'St. Mungo's,' he revealed with an undeniable trace of relish. 'And who, I ask you, is ultimately responsible for them?'

He smirked triumphantly and got to his feet, giving me ample opportunity to lower my head dejectedly and grimace to myself. The answer, of course, was the Ministry.

'Don't they teach you people to think, these days?' he muttered, and I could imagine his ironic smile without having to see it. 'Have you bloody well even seen the site in question?' he asked.

He was looking through some files as I, somewhat miserably, replied that I had.

'Then you'll know, Miss Granger, that it's plainly impossible for your average potioneer or even apothecary to leave this sort of damage on an area as big as that in question. However, St. Mungo's mass-produces pain relievers and markets them on the basis that the Monskhood used is one of the best quality anywhere in the world. That certainly _is _big business. They won't go anywhere else for their Monkshood.'

'I was brushed off when I enquired about St. Mungo's,' I admitted grimly.

I'd appealed to the Department for Health for information regarding the practices at St Mungo's. What I'd received in reply clearly had been tailored to fob me off for as long as possible. I sighed and threw my quill down.

He returned to his chair and I thought I detected amusement in his expression. And maybe I was cowed then, because the desire flashed through my mind to throw in the towel. It's never very inspiring to be faced with closed doors at every turn and such indecipherable personalities as the man before me had.

But, of course, I was not going to give up as easily as that. Failure has never been something I've dealt with easily. I can try and be as philosophical about it as I like; never stops me tormenting myself over it for weeks after, however.

'What… What about the others? The Augureys and so on… ?'

I thought maybe a change of topic would aid me in regaining some ground. Before he could answer, though, there came a knock on the door.

'Yes?' Snape called.

It was Ridley. I gave him a small smile of unease, but he took hardly any notice of me.

'There are reporters from the _Prophet_ outside, Severus. They won't go away until they've spoken to you.'

I groaned inwardly and tried to make myself as insignificant as possible in my chair, not wanting to bear another one of his irate looks, as I felt must be due me again.

He didn't glare at me, however. I heard a little huff of irritation and then he said, 'Thank you, Theo.'

He then looked over to the large clock that hung on the wall and frowned slightly. 'I'm afraid we shall have to reconvene this discussion at a later date, Miss Granger. I must make preparations to travel to the Ministry without getting cornered by those idiots outside.'

I hadn't forgotten about his meeting with the ministers. Besides, there'd been a big mention of it in the _Prophet_ this morning.

'Very well,' I answered equably, secretly grateful I'd have a chance to regroup. I collected up my parchments and folders and stuffed them into my bag. I was just preparing to stand when I realised he was looking at me in a manner that was very assessing and calculating. Discomfited by it, I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

He plucked at his cuff and folded his arms. 'I should like this discussion to remain between us, for the present.'

'… Why?'

The self-satisfied smirk that appeared around his mouth was fleeting, but I definitely saw it. 'Oh, let us say something about too many cooks and leave it at that.'

I nodded, feeling I understood where he was coming from, but time would only prove how completely incapable I was of understanding the true meaning of anything this man said.

When I returned back to my office, my boss didn't even bother asking where I'd been. I could see him in his office, looking slightly frazzled. I also recognised a few faces from other departments congregating in there, all with some degree of frown marking their features. It seemed to me no wonder Snape appeared to be unconcerned about the imminent meeting with these luminaries. I could imagine them all in there, discussing their best way forward without causing too many ripples. I wasn't sure whether to be disgusted by such sycophancy, or be impressed that Snape commanded it in the first place.

With regard to this consultation which was soon to take place, was it presumptuous of me to imagine I would be in on it? As the primary force who'd brought this matter to light, _I _felt it went without saying. Was this arrogance? I don't think so. I think it only reasonable that I felt such a level of ownership over the matter, and that I, subsequently, desired to be at the fore of its development.

So it may not have been arrogance, but it was certainly naiveté on my part. When the boss came out of his office (and pretended not to see my expectant expression) I said hurriedly, 'Sir? What time is the meeting?'

He halted , probably kicking himself for not having made a speedier exit, and turned to me. 'Ah, yes, Granger, there you are. It, uh, starts in fifteen minutes, but it's heads of department only, you know.'

My mouth fell open in outrage, but before I could verbalise my indignation, he smiled and said:

'Get that Puffskein incident from last week looked into, will you? There's a good girl.'

And then he hurried off to the nearest lift. I stared after him, seething to myself, and then had to suffer the amused expressions of those who'd witnessed the exchange. Therefore, it's possible that I flounced back to my desk, but I like to think I showed a little more decorum than that. When I got there, I sat for several minutes, just cursing to myself.

But as my initial ire began to lessen, I decided I was going to be at that meeting, or at least, hear it. Why should I be blocked from it? This was _my_ project. I did not trust them with it an inch. I quickly wrenched open my bottom drawer and pulled out a couple of Extendable Ears, shoving them into my robe.

'Going on my break,' I announced to no one in particular as I departed, heading for the lift.

I knew they'd be using one of the conference chambers. There were four situated along a passageway down in the bowels of the Ministry, and were, I knew, all connected by inner doors. I headed there quickly, and as I rounded the corner, saw the last few bodies file into the largest chamber at the far end of the corridor. I won't deny that I felt a little ridiculous at my actions, but still, I think I was enjoying it, nevertheless.

I quickly stepped towards chamber next door to the meeting and slipped inside. I crossed immediately through the darkened room to the wall separating the chambers and found the connecting door. I felt sure it would be locked, but I didn't dare test it, in case someone on the other side noticed.

I settled down on the floor and strategically placed one end of the Extendable Ear under the door—pushing it under as far as I thought I could get away with. The other end I clasped tightly in my hand and listened.

'Thank you for coming, Mr Snape,' said a voice I didn't recognise. 'As you know, concerns have recently been brought to light regarding the fate of certain plants and animals in this country. We are looking to allay the fears of the public and would be grateful for your assistance in this matter.'

'Indeed; so sorry about this Severus. I hope this hasn't inconvenienced you too much. Regrettable business, really…'

I scoffed to myself silently.

I tensed expectantly when I heard Snape speak next.

'I have colleagues capable of carrying on where I've had to leave off,' he said calmly. 'I'm sure you'll agree though, gentlemen, this could have been handled more effectively. My being dragged into this, I'm sure you'll appreciate, has given much cause for… _schadenfreude_ from some of my international contemporaries.'

I wasn't sure they'd all know what _schadenfreude_ meant.

There was a clamouring of murmurs; what I took to mean they agreed wholeheartedly.

'This hasn't done reputations any good, it's true. We have found the leak,' put in my boss. 'One of Granger's team got tempted by a few Galleons, it seems.'

I tried not to gasp too loudly. Nobody had bothered telling me this!

'This is… Hermione Granger, yes?' asked Snape with audible distaste. 'One might wish Miss Granger could pick her colleagues more prudently in future. Indeed, one might even question her role in this, in the first place. Seems to me to have been a great responsibility for a… What _is_ her position, precisely?'

My insides contracted in disbelief and I hardly dared breathe.

'He's got a point, Bertie,' piped up one of the Minister's assistants. 'I thought we'd told you to watch what you put her onto after that trouble we had with the house-elves.'

'Er, well, I never thought anything would come of it,' my boss, Bertie, stated defensively.

'Couldn't you have kept an eye on her progress? If we'd known of this earlier we could have—'

'Nipped it in the bloody bud.'

'Right.'

'We can't ignore what has been found, however,' put in a brave voice.

'_If_ we are to have confidence in the results, then no, we cannot.' This was Snape again, and I stared unseeingly into the darkness, unable to grasp what was going on.

'Well, what is your opinion?' My boss asked him.

'It is my opinion we cannot base policies on the basis of one survey. I see that past data used for a comparison is ten years old and, at best, sketchy. Certainly, I think the damage to Monkshood numbers in the Cheviots has been over-estimated and blown out of proportion. However, this is something you should maybe address to… St. Mungo's. Wouldn't you agree?'

There was silence.

'I think it _would_ be foolish to rush into action when we cannot even be sure of the accuracy of the findings,' commented an unknown voice. 'Needs to be investigated over a period of time to show us a proper pattern.'

Another chorus of agreements sounded.

'Now, don't let me influence you, gentlemen, but might I suggest employing specialist persons trained in research to conduct your studies in future?'

Snape's smooth voice, as it travelled through my Extendable Ear, was now making me feel sick.

'Should we go to someone outside the Ministry?'

'I'm not sure that we should—'

'The public would love it. They'll have more confidence—'

'And what if we don't like what they find?'

'The main thing is it'll take the heat off us, and, anyway, you know all this will be forgotten about by most, Bertie. Today's news is always tomorrow's chip paper. Something else'll come along for them to get up in arms about. And if we have to, we'll just bury the results under other news.'

'We're doing something; they can't complain about that.'

The meeting started to wrap up then, and in order to prevent myself from bursting through the door and screaming at them, I snatched up my ear and took to my heels. I walked in blind anger through the passages, hardly knowing where I was going. When, however, I felt my eyes start to sting, I pushed my way into the nearest toilet and shut myself in.

I breathed steadily, determined I wouldn't allow myself any tears, but it was the one time when I felt this might be the undoing. That this might the one time when I could not rise above the opinions of others and carry on unchanged. No one in that room had showed me any support or confidence, and not even I'm hard-headed enough to be unaffected by that.

And what had I done? I'd only ever tried my best.

I thought of Snape and how comprehensively he'd humiliated me. He was clearly playing a clever game; humouring me and then deftly misdirecting the Ministry behind closed doors. And they were self-serving enough to go along with it.

I couldn't even tell them about my off-the-record discussion with Snape that morning. Who would take notice, or even care? And Snape, I knew, must also have realised this.

I splashed water on my face and cursed the lot of them. All of them; all so trite and predictable it was disgusting.

Well, I knew. I knew what they were planning. I knew Snape was playing a two-handed game.

_I knew_; and regardless of how crushed I was at that moment, I knew I would not back away from it.

I Summoned my bag from my office, and when I had it, I marched right out of the Ministry. If anyone bothered asking, I'd say I'd gone home ill. As it was, I had work to do.

Lots of it.

Because I had a terrible feeling it was actually _me_ who was to be the scapegoat, after all.

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks for the reviews; I appreciate them very much.<p> 


	4. Part Four

**The Pitfalls of Being an Insufferable Know-it-all**

_All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

**Part Four**

That night, after hours of feeling disbelief and defeat, I steeled myself and went out to buy a copy of the _Evening_ _Prophet_, fully well knowing what I would find on the front page. I was to be proved right. The Ministry had issued a press release in time for the evening edition regarding the outcome of the meeting. I read through it, feeling my anger swell hotly with each word.

The statement alluded to concerns over the reliability of my survey, suggesting wider studies were needed before anything definite could be established. There was, of course, a caveat which went along the lines that they "took seriously" and "would deal" with any issues that arose. My name wasn't specifically mentioned, but to me that was irrelevant—wasn't going to make any difference. Those who knew of my involvement would easily see it as a firm slap in my face.

I returned home and sat at my kitchen table, upon which I had all my survey notes and details spread out. For the longest time I just stared at them. Part of me was still struggling to reconcile the events of the day, and I was filled with disquiet and uncertainty. I had a feeling the Ministry had it right. People _would_ forget, given time. For the majority, something else would take focus. And maybe even this rhetorical posturing, as unbelievable as it sounded, would be enough.

I thought of those people protesting for the sake of the Augureys, and wondered if they and other like-minded people would keep pushing for more concrete answers. But then... Where had those people been all the time Augureys were experiencing a decline? It seemed to me this might have to be where my work would begin—ensuring the press, and those who professed to care, did _not_ forget.

Something else was also bothering me; my future. After all, I could not see it continuing at the Ministry for much longer. I wasn't sure I wanted to remain a part of something that I so vehemently disagreed with. And while I professed to be a trouble-maker—always seeking change and progress—I was never so deluded as to imagine I could single-handedly change the very ethos of a whole bureaucracy. I was beginning to feel it prudent to consider my efforts might be better spent elsewhere, at this point.

Despite these worries about my future prospects, I knew I'd not be leaving without first putting right the Ministry, the public, _and_ Snape. I just had to figure out how I would achieve this aim. Even feeling as unsettled as I did, part of me flared to life at having a goal to set myself. Nothing suits me more; it's just the way I'm put together.

I walked into the office the following day, hoping to make it to my desk without incident, but, of course, everyone was anticipating my arrival. They all eyed me when I entered; some probably gloating inwardly at my apparent failure; some wary that I might kick off. Someone did have the front to say, with a wry smile: 'Saw the _Prophet_; hard luck, Granger.'

I'd barely sat down before the boss stuck his head around the door and called me into his office. I bit my tongue at his predictability and followed him inside.

'Granger,' he said affably, closing the door shut. 'We missed you yesterday; what happened?'

'I was unwell; I needed to go home early,' I replied as evenly as I could. 'I'm sorry if that caused you any inconvenience.'

I allowed my distaste to show as he turned his back and crossed to his chair.

'Well, I did need to speak to you, actually, but… You're here, now, so no matter.'

'Oh, is this about the article in the _Prophet_?' I asked plainly. He could easily have Floo-called me at home, of course. The humiliation would have been even more acute had I really only found out through reading the paper. Or, imagine if I'd walked into the office, _not_ having read the article? The embarrassment probably would have killed me.

'Yes…' he answered slowly. 'We have decided more information is needed on the problems you've identified, before we can act.'

'What more is needed? The facts are clear enough… aren't they?'

'Well… yes, yes, of course, we recognise how serious the situation is, and that is why we want to take our time and consider carefully the right solution. Can't rush into these things, you know.'

He chuckled; and I fought not to issue a bitter laugh.

'Right; what would you like me to do?' I admit, making him squirm was some comfort, at least; cold, but still comfort, nevertheless.

'Actually, Granger, we're taking you off this…'

'Excuse me?' I exclaimed in perfect surprise. _'Why_?'

'Yes; you see, we're going to let those really in know handle this, for the best results…'

'What... Severus Snape, perhaps?'

He faltered. 'Snape? No, no; we'll commission some uninterested parties… Only way to do it, don't you think?'

His smiling face made me want to grasp my wand and hex him. I _knew_ they'd be commissioning no one and I wanted to shout this out to him. They'd release some carefully worded announcements designed to give the impression of action, and then, when enough time passed, they'd simply let the issue fizzle into the ether.

Instead of putting this to him, which I knew would not be the best idea in the world, I breathed in, unclenched my fists, and put on my disappointed face. 'I really would have liked to see this work through to the conclusion, sir,' I responded, knowing he'd expect some objection from me. 'Couldn't I liaise with the investigative team you employ?'

'Well, er, we're very busy here, Granger; I'm not sure I'll be able to spare you.'

A likely story. Perhaps I should have protested more, but I honestly don't think I had it in me right then. Even the bitterness I felt wasn't enough to override a real sense of strong indifference I now felt towards this man and, yes, this job.

'Actually, sir,' I said slowly, 'I've been thinking about taking some of my holiday leave, preferably to begin as soon as possible.'

Technically, I should have booked leave in advance, but I felt that with recent events in mind, he would be more than happy to grant me a few weeks' off, if it meant I was off the scene.

I was right.

He put a thoughtful expression on his face. 'I shouldn't really be doing this, Granger, you know,' he cautioned with a smile. 'But seeing how hard you've worked lately, I don't mind authorising it at short notice.'

'You're... too kind.'

The urge to hex him surged foremost to my mind again. Nevertheless, I managed to leave without incident. I knew what everyone would think at me taking time off. They'd think I was smarting injuriously over the fate of my pet project. Well, they could think me as vain and as self-important as they liked. What did it matter to me? All I cared was that I now had time to seriously set about planning my… Not revenge; that indicates something rather more self-serving. And while I can't deny I wanted bring one over on them, it was still about ensuring the right action for those animals in danger.

My day didn't get any better, it must be said. At lunchtime I received a letter from none other than Severus Snape. As soon as I saw the familiar handwriting, my anger rose once more to the fore. I actually think it was his behaviour that had upset me more than my superiors in the Ministry. Although I'd never, ever, enjoyed a cordial relationship with the man, I suppose I'd, naively, still expected more. We'd fought in the same war, after all; had that shared experience. To me, it had meant something.

But then I felt silly and sentimental for imagining it so.

I ripped open the seal viciously and felt my mouth hang open in immediate astonishment. The man's completely unashamed effrontery seemed to know no bounds.

_Miss Granger_, it said,

_No doubt you've now heard what the Ministry has planned regarding the matter we discussed. Unfortunately, all they wanted to hear from me was reassurance the concerns identified were misplaced. Naturally, I could not give such assurance, but we should be unsurprised they're determined to take their own path. _

_I assume you will still be involved in proceedings. If you stumble across anything you desire clarification, my assistance is available to you._

_Severus Snape_

I stared, _incensed_, and before I could think twice, I flew to my feet, the letter crumpled in my fist, and I marched from the office straight through to the Atrium. I only stopped walking when I had to Apparate.

I found myself in Edinburgh in a flash so quick I briefly felt light-headed. As much as I wanted to bide my time and leave them all with a large smattering of egg on their faces, the sudden ire I felt was so potent, I couldn't stop myself. I pushed open the door to the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers and rushed up the steps.

'Hello?' Albert called out in confusion.

I ignored him, my heart pounding so loudly I barely heard him. I stamped along the corridor until I reached the door I required. Without thinking, I grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open. I hurtled inside, taking in a deep breath, ready to unleash my diatribe…

And then I faltered. The room was empty. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

The wind was taken from my sails quite comprehensively and my shoulders sagged, possibly in relief, really. Had he been there, I'm sure what might have unfolded wouldn't have been for the best. After several moments, I got my breath under control and left, rushing back outside quickly, fearing the man might be lurking about in the building somewhere. It was stupidity to think I could face him at this time and emerge victorious.

'Shall I tell Severus you called?' Albert asked when I appeared back in the entrance hall.

I froze. 'Er, no, thank you; I shall simply Owl him.'

I hurried down the stairs, hoping to escape quickly, but the old man seemed eager to talk.

'He's travelled down to Snowdonia today, tending to business. He may not get your Owl until tomorrow. Shall I take a message?'

I managed a small smile for him. 'No; thank you.'

I Apparated back to the Ministry, feeling not a little foolish, it has to be said. For the remainder of the day, I forced myself to concentrate on the tasks piling up in my in-tray, while waiting for the time to tick down so I could leave and go home. I'm not sure that's a frame of mind I'd ever previously indulged in.

By now, I was even more determined to wrong-foot the Ministry, and after that letter from their leader, the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, as well. Intermittently throughout the day, I picked the letter back up and read through it again, shaking my head in disbelief. He bloody well _knew_ I was not to be part of the proceedings any longer, because he'd bloody _suggested_ it. It was so infuriating! Every time I read it, I had to consciously work to calm myself down.

And that offer of further help… I just had no words to describe the effect upon me; rendered me speechless, as the cliché goes.

When I was finally free of my duties, I went home and spent yet more hours into the evening planning; working out the best avenue for me to obtain evidence the Ministry were wilfully ignoring what was in front of them. To prove they felt no moral obligation to protect our indigenous species; only a mercenary desire to save a few galleons and protect their slipshod, inadequate policies.

I also had to work out how I could implicate the Society. After all, I had no doubt Snape could wheedle himself out of being implicated in any accusation of neglect. He could quite easily shift the responsibility onto the Ministry, because there was no rule or regulation requiring him to act. But after his performance, I wanted to ensure everyone know his professional piety was significantly lacking. Bitter of me, certainly, but I considered it would only be the truth.

I withdrew the memory of my discussion with him, and even that of my eavesdropping at the Ministry, and placed them within a phial. If no one believed me, well then, he could simply implicate himself. They all could, in fact. If push came to shove, I decided I might have to resort to publicising these memories. The reporters at the _Prophet_, I knew, would have bitten my hand off for such information. Indulging the _Prophet_ so gamely was not something I'd ever enter into lightly, however.

I had my map before me and I studied it, looking to see where I might be best trying my luck. No one place particularly jumped out at me. I wouldn't start with the Monkshood problem; I believed Snape to be right regarding St. Mungo's. At the thought of him, my eyes landed on the Snowdonia National Park and I scowled at it as an image of that awful man entered my head. I decided that, clearly, he was a man influenced by power—of having power. Why this observation should have come to me so late in day, after years of his tyrannical behaviour in the classroom, I simply do not know.

And why, after knowing the details of his triple-agency, I thought him any fraction of reliable, well, that was definitely folly on my part.

As I stared mutinously at the area on the map, I suddenly noticed something that caused me to chill slightly with uncertainty. Marked within the Snowdonia mountain range I had one of the largest colonies of Augureys in the country.

_Augureys_.

_Augureys in decline._

And Snape, according to Albert, was "tending to business" in the area.

_Tending to business._

Intriguing...

It was, of course, rather a big leap for me to suddenly imagine Snape as being actually involved in the illegal exporting of Augurey feathers for money. I wasn't sure I wanted to go that far; I'm fully prepared to consider the concept of a coincidence. But I admit, as the idea planted, it became harder to shift.

Because… was all that talk about promoting responsibility amongst potioneers, about making those irresponsible accountable, just a bluff to put me off any potential scent? What reason, otherwise, did he have to misinform the Ministry? I supposed it arguable he was just another person who has come to rely upon the status quo, but when you had the facts as I did, it certainly provides food for thought.

His offer of further assistance to me… Was that simply a subtle nudge for me to keep him in the loop, should I discover anything?

It was a nice little conspiracy theory, I admit, and while I had absolutely no evidence to support such fancies, I wondered whether it might be a good idea to start my investigations with Snape himself. Perhaps even call his bluff.

As far as Snape and the Ministry were concerned, I knew nothing of their meeting. So the question then, I felt, was how would _they_ expect me to react? What would they expect me to do? My boss was probably convinced; he probably believed I really wished time get over my hurt pride. Snape, however... I thought he might anticipate being faced with my indignation, as well as further appeals on my part for his help. It would seem out-of-character for me, I think, not to have replied in some way to his letter, which, had I been unaware of the truth, I would have taken as a token of support.

Calling his bluff seemed a good option, then. It would be interesting to see if he tried to slither his way out of further involvement with me. The only concern would be whether I'd be able to keep my cool or not in his presence. I was confident my self-control extended far enough for it to be borne.

In any case, what did I have to lose? The next morning, I Apparated to Edinburgh and went into the Society building, intending to act my heart out as Snape so obviously enjoyed doing himself.

Albert stood up behind his desk upon spotting me. 'Good morning,' he greeted. 'Back again?'

'Yes,' I replied, trying not to sound too uncomfortable, even though I felt it keenly. 'Is Mr Snape—'

'Not here, I'm afraid, lass.' His moustache quivered into a small smile. 'I received a note from him last night detailing his plan to return to Norway today, on account of his business here being concluded.'

I nodded circumspectly, feeling my stomach sink. So that was the game he was going to play; put hundreds of miles between himself and the problem.

'I see; how unfortunate of me to have missed him.

'He's always very busy,' said the old man, with something akin to pride in his voice.

I made sure not to let my llip curl with scorn. I had nothing against this man, after all. I looked at him, then; really looked at him and his genial countenance. I stepped forward purposefully. 'I wonder if you might be able to help me, Albert? May I call you Albert?'

'Certainly, and, of course, I shall surely help you if I can, Miss Granger.'

'Hermione,' I said with a smile. 'Is there somewhere—?'

'Oh, yes, come on through.'

He directed me through the door behind his desk, and beyond was a small sitting room lit by a fire burning in the grate.

'Will you have tea?' he queried. 'Tibby has started her… shift, I believe.' He shook his head to himself as he called for the elf. 'Still tickles me every time,' he muttered.

I was unsure if he was aware I was the cause of his disbelief over the Tibby's working conditions, but with a view to having an amiable chat with him, I let the remark slide unnoticed.

'How long have you worked here, Albert?' I asked casually after the tea was brought.

'Not a great many years, my dear; Severus took me on when he took over as presiding officer.'

I was pleased. Already the conversation had hit upon what I truly wanted to discuss.

'Yes, Professor Snape, he—' I broke off and gave a false chuckle. 'Listen to me, I'm still thinking of him as my teacher, sometimes!'

The old man smiled appreciatively.

'He was, ah, very helpful when I came to him the other day about my research studies. Unfortunately, my bosses at the Ministry have cut me off at the knees. Have you seen in the newspapers?'

Albert nodded sympathetically.

'Still, maybe they have a point, after all,' I continued evenly. 'And with Professor Snape going to back to Norway… He obviously doesn't think there's anything to be concerned about.'

'Very true, Hermione; I wouldn't worry yourself over this.'

'I suppose I'm a bit of a perfectionist—hate leaving anything unfinished, you know?'

'I have every faith in Severus's judgement. He's always out researching something or other; he probably knows where to find the most hidden of Augurey nests! If anyone would notice something sinister, he would.'

He raised his teacup. 'You mark my words, young lady.'

Well, there could be no doubt of _that_.

'Not good for you to fret over matters beyond your control. You'll make yourself ill!'

I managed a smile. 'You're right, of course.'

'Now then, as much as I could sit and talk all day, I do have duties to attend…'

I got to my feet. 'My apologies for keeping you… Just one more thing, a Reading Room was mentioned to me… Is it available for public use?'

'Very much so; take a right at Severus's office and use the stairs to the first floor landing. The Reading Room will be right before you.'

I thanked him and made my way back to the front hall and then up the steps. I followed the deep-red carpeted passage until Snape's office came into view.

"_Probably knows where to find the most hidden of Augurey nests…!"_

I didn't doubt Albert in the least, and anyway, hadn't Snape admitted as much himself? He had to know that my survey was reliable. He had to know that Augurey numbers were being threatened. But did this mean his avoidance of the issue was simply wilful disregard, or was it in order to protect his, someone's, involvement?

I thought of the files he'd taken out when he'd spoken of the measures he and the Society had taken to punish those caught committing infractions. How could I say this was conclusive either way? For one thing, I never saw inside the files myself. For another, even if these cases were true, they'd be the perfect cover for deflecting suspicions aimed at his person.

It was just so frustrating thinking about it and I frowned, shaking my head.

To my inward astonishment, however, I glanced down to see my hand reaching towards the door handle. Immediately, I curled it back to me, folding my arms tightly and sinking my chin onto my chest.

Was I really accusing this man of being a hypocrite—of the worst kind? A criminal, even?

And that was when I felt really silly. I marched away from the office, ridiculing myself for even contemplating going inside and rummaging through the contents. Who did I think I was? This was real life; not some Muggle film. Although, in my defence, it's only in recent years that my life has begun to reflect anything remotely 'real'.

I rushed up the stairs, telling myself to stop making my ideas so outlandish.

Because, yes, while the hurt I still felt at being so coldly and methodically trampled over was acute, and while I did not understand Snape's decision to say one thing and then do another, I decided I had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

At this point, either stupidly or perceptively, I think I still preferred to trust him. Perhaps not to trust him to do what was needed, but at least to behave within some semblance of propriety and legality.

To be going on with, it would be the principle I'd subscribe to while executing my next moves.

Unless, of course, there ever became reason for me to believe otherwise...

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks very much for reading and reviewing!<p> 


	5. Part Five

**The Pitfalls of Being an Insufferable Know-it-all**

_All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

**Part 5**

The Reading Room at the The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, I admit, had a calming influence upon me (I'm sure that comes as no surprise to anyone). It was a circular room, filled with books, tables, and several little, windy staircases that led upwards to, I assumed, more books.

There was a wizard sorting through a pile of books at a large desk in the centre, and though I took him to be the librarian, he paid me no heed as I wandered in and around the shelves. My wandering was very much aimless, because, in all honesty, I wasn't sure what it was I was looking for. I was rather hoping I'd know it when I saw it. I don't enjoy relying on luck or chance, but I can't deny it hasn't served me well in the past.

I passed by bookshelves containing tomes on all manner of potion-making related subjects. From recipe books; chronicles of the history of potion-making; autobiographies; biographies; encyclopaedias… the list went on and on. None of them, however, seemed to be worth my while.

My next option was to traverse one of the spiral staircases and I did so, walking through an archway at the top to find myself in an alcove lined with yet more bookcases. Only, this time, they held far slimmer volumes, all uniformly bound with gold lettering along the spines. I tilted my head, scanning the shelf nearest to me and it soon became obvious these were copies of research dissertations. Pausing, I glanced speculatively to the far side of the little room.

Stepping across, I quickly found the shelf containing the works of those whose name begins with 'S'. I ran my finger along the work of Horace Slughorn, and several personages with the surname of 'Smith', until I arrived at the theses of one Severus Snape. My stomach jumped in satisfaction and I dropped to my knees to read the titles better.

Admittedly, the first title I read —_'The Benefits of Lemongrass in Preservation Techniques' — _didn't exactly ignite inspiration, but I carried on along the row undaunted. He was clearly prolific in his work. Considering the years many of his colleagues must have had on him, they had far smaller bibliographies in comparison.

'_Deconstructing Wolfsbane' _didn't strike my fancy either.

There were some rather interesting sounding studies, I must say; studies that, under different circumstances, I would have sat down and read simply for pleasure. As it was, I wasn't there to idle my time away.

Soon, I was past 'SN' and was into the 'SO's' and I straightened with a frown, disappointed I hadn't found anything to take my eye.

I moved out through the archway and leant on the railing, looking over the library from my elevated viewpoint. There was another spiral staircase at the opposite end, leading to a similar room as the one I'd just left and I decided to try my luck there next. I was to discover this one also filled with uniformly bound books, but these were considerably bigger and chunkier. I pulled the nearest one to hand off the shelf, enjoying for a moment the weight and the feel of its leather cover.

On inspection of the front, I murmured to myself in comprehension. These were journals; bound copies of _The_ _Practical Potioneer._ I wondered if journal articles might actually be more helpful than more specialised, in-depth research papers.

What I held was _The Practical Potioneer, Vol. LVIII, _but from a glance around the room, it appeared the journal had gone to press many, _many_ times since. Still, there was no need for me to be put off by the size of the collection. No matter how prodigious Snape's skills might be, I decided not even he could have been publishing work in the eighteenth century, after all.

I whispered a charm to help me narrow down my search and volumes started floating over the to table I pointed at with my wand. I sat down with a business-like sigh and started scanning the table of contents in each volume. A few books in, I found an article that drew my attention:

'_The Reflective Potioneer_.'

I read the whole article, and not unwillingly so. His style of writing was engaging, even to someone as uninvolved in the world of potion-making as I was. The piece was about the changing role of the potioneer over time—as the science behind their 'art' had become steadily more refined and precise. The changing of the role from the quack of the middle-ages, to the professional of the contemporary world. From reading it, one was left with a sense this was a man who knew and understood the duties of professionalism and etihical conduct he was expected to engender. This was not the work of a man who you might suspect had an illegal sideline business on the go.

Yet, I'd already established Snape was man highly skilled in misdirecting the eye.

I moved on with a frown of concentration and the next article to really spark me into attention was one entitled:

'_In Defence of Potion-making: A Refutation of George Cresswell.'_

The name rang an immediate bell, Snape having only mentioned it two days earlier when we'd spoken. This was the man who'd been caught trafficking Ashwinder eggs. I flicked eagerly to the article in question and read.

Apparently, this man Cresswell, following his shunning by the Society and the industry in general, had written a letter to several institutions, including the _Practical_ _Potioneer_, the _Daily_ _Prophet_, and indeed, the Ministry, to lambast the industry and everyone in it. Snape had included several choice quotes from Cresswell, who appeared to decree potion-making to be 'barbaric', 'outdated' and 'unethical'.

Before reading any further, I turned to the end of the article, to the bibliography, to see where I might find a full copy of the letter. My luck was in; a copy was included in the appendix, so I flipped the book to the back.

_Why did I jeopardise my career as a potioneer?_ the letter said. _Why did I get involved in the fraudulent scheme that I did? The answer is because I had become disillusioned with my profession; become typified by the casual indifference and superiority that permeates the industry. _

_It is my opinion the industry has become bloated with an overblown sense of its own importance. Believing itself to be a beacon of progress and modernity, when the reality couldn't be further from the truth. How modern is it of us to be chasing after defenceless creatures for their skin, for their feathers, for their claws, for their very lifeblood, in order to make such trivial mixtures as cleaning solutions and Luck Potions?_

_The truth is, potioneers have too much free reign and too much arrogance. Why do we need Luck Potions? What on earth do we need Babbling Draughts for? Half of the creations to have been announced by potioneers in recent times we just don't need. _

_What potioneers should be doing is working to improve what we _do_ need. It's surely time to find an alternative to stalking fairies for their wings; farming all manner of creatures whose only purpose in life is to end up in a cauldron?_

_Potioneers have become too obsessed with testing what they _can_ do; not what they ought to do. _

_Inevitably, perhaps, potioneers have become victims of their own success. The _Practical Potioneer_? I'd suggest the _Pointless Potioneer _as more a apt title for the esteemed publication I'm writing to_.

_George Cresswell_

I raised my eyebrows at such a vehement rant, and digested the words for several moments before turning back to Snape's article. While I can't deny I did not see an element of truth in Cresswell's appeal, I also could imagine very well how Snape's defence might go.

He ripped it to shreds, basically; this is probably why Cresswell didn't get much newsprint for his complaint. He had an answer to every one of Cresswell's points, and then some. Moreover, he had the trump card of being able to question the credibility of anything Cresswell might say, as a result of his previous behaviour.

And, even I knew that, for the most part, creatures did not have to be unduly harmed in order for their properties to be used in potions. Thus, Cresswell's point seemed to be rather overblown. _Pointless Potioneer_? I thought that was going too far into the territory of sour grapes, and Snape had evidently thought so as well, making the point that what Cresswell didn't say was more significant than what he did. What followed was an impressive account of discoveries and developments and practices that anyone would be hard pressed to argue with.

But, nevertheless, I couldn't fully dismiss Cresswell as without some salient points. The use of fairy wings in potions, for example; who's to say they are obtained from fairies that died of natural causes? And I also felt his point about the use of certain potions and the validity of them was right.

Snape could list as many life-saving potions as he wanted to, no one could argue with the principle of those. But I found myself asking if it is a waste, sometimes. Was it irresponsible of us to be using our natural ecology for cleaning solutions and headache powders? Should we be looking to find alternatives?

These were questions I didn't want to answer myself. I don't think I was in a position to, but it was food for thought, undeniably.

There was something else I noticed at the end of Snape's article. One of the works he'd referenced in his bibliography was a book he'd collaborated on with Theodore Ridley. Primarily, it stood out because it was entitled: _Uncovering the Secrets of the Augurey and Other Creatures._

For a moment, I just stared at the page, trying to imagine what 'secrets' there were to uncover. Was this a special study of those most elusive and shy of creatures?Was this about discovering more about their habits and characteristics? Where to find them? When to find them? How to find them... How to use them?

Perhaps.

And in doing so, had they practically written a guide for the would-be illegal exporter? The company looking to save a few galleons? The potioneer looking to cut some corners?

It was suggestive, and I felt it would be worth sourcing this book and reading it for myself. I rushed back down into the library proper, heading for the shelves organised under the letter 'R'. I found Ridley's work quickly enough, thinking it would be shelved under his name, but there was no such title. Intrigue growing, I moved along to 'S', to check under Snape's name, but again, there was nothing. Next, I crossed to the issuing desk and asked the wizard there if he knew where to locate the work in question.

He looked at me disdainfully over his glasses. 'I'm afraid if it's not on the shelf it's been taken out of the library, Miss.'

I did not particularly appreciate this dry reminder of what goes on in a library.

'Do you know when it's due to be returned?' I tried patiently.

He huffed a bit as he glanced through a ledger, but his expression cleared a little when he found what he needed. 'Oh,' he said, 'Severus took it; therefore I'm afraid I couldn't say when it'll be returned.'

Evidently, library rules for mere mortals weren't applicable to _Severus_.

'Thanks,' I said stiffly and took my leave, thinking I was getting nowhere in this place. Outside the door, I paused and leaned against the banister of the stairs, thinking Snape would surely have had his own copy of a book he'd written. Before I could dwell further, above me, I could hear footsteps travelling down the stairs and I glanced up, wondering who might appear. The figure that rounded onto the steps was Ridley himself and I drew myself up expectantly.

'Hello,' he greeted carefully, tensing, I thought, at the sight of me.

'Mr Ridley,' I spoke brightly, 'just the person. I wonder if you could help me?'

'Perhaps,' he replied crisply, carrying on down the stairs, forcing me to follow him. I did so reluctantly, and with a scowl.

'I was looking for a copy of your book, the one you co-wrote with Severus Snape, about Augureys, but unfortunately someone has beaten me to it. I don't suppose you have a copy I could commandeer?'

His step slowed and surveyed me intently for a moment. 'No,' he replied coldly. 'I believe Severus borrowed mine… Try him…'

We'd reached the passage and he brushed past me with a smirk. What bare-faced cheek this man had! Was obnoxiousness the prime qualification to work in this place?

'Hang on,' I called out, and the look on his face at my tone of voice was one of affront. Clearly, obnoxiousness wasn't the only requirement—superciliousness was welcome as well.

'I've just been told that he's taken out the library's copy. Why on earth would he want _yours_ as well?'

Ridley paused and shrugged his shoulders. 'You'd have to ask him, wouldn't you.'

I frowned, thinking only how completely puzzling it was that Snape should not only take the library copy, but Ridley's copy of their book, as well. Why? It was an old work, no doubt little-known beyond the world of potion-making, I thought; why would he… It seemed to me almost like he could be... hiding them.

It was a reasonable assumption to make, wasn't it?

'May I ask what the book contains? I'd like to know some of the specifics, to—'

I broke off as Ridley approached me with a deep scowl of suspicion.

'Would you like to accuse Severus of something, Miss Granger? Or is it me, perhaps?'

I flushed uncomfortably, but he carried on before I could respond.

'I see you're persisting in this matter despite the decision of your bosses. If I were you, I'd think… _very_ carefully about what you are doing.'

'Is that a threat?' I asked, trying hard to mask my hesitancy.

His expression cleared and he shook his head patronisingly. 'No, dear girl; simply a word of advice.' He chuckled to himself. 'Severus said you were the self-righteous sort...'

He took off towards his office and I stared after him, cheeks aflame with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Without wasting another moment, I left the building, glad to see Albert missing from his front desk so my escape might be executed unhindered. I moved across the road and into a small square, making use of one of the benches to sit on and order my thoughts.

My first contemplation was how long did I have before Ridley reported me to the Ministry again.

My second was that I didn't care.

Taking out my notebook, I started pondering.

I'd already considered the likely possibility of Snape anticipating my coming to the Society to further my enquiries. I had no doubt, _no doubt_, he was a man of perception and cunning. And I also had no doubt about my own predictability. I know that I can be quite predictable within certain contexts… Nothing to be ashamed of, though, is it…?

So, that he might anticipate my actions seemed… inevitable, unfortunately. Therefore, was _this_ why he'd taken both copies of his book? Did he think there was something within the text that could implicate him? Rightly or wrongly?

Or… Maybe I was just flattering myself; indulging in a bout of vanity, because maybe it wasn't me he was hiding from. After all, I'd never given him any reason to suppose I doubted him. Maybe there was someone else, somewhere else, who was on his tail…

And maybe, I decided, this was all something of nothing. Despite my earlier resolve, I was back to pointing the finger at this man. The evidence I had wasn't evidence at all. It was just my own fancies I'd flimsily based upon some suggestive circumstances and indignation over his complete disregard for me.

I slapped my notebook shut and jumped to my feet. Sighing at myself, I Apparated back home.

Sometime later, I roused myself into drafting a letter to the _Prophet_, anonymously signed, questioning the Ministry's response to the issues facing our indigenous creatures. There was no guarantee they'd even publish the letter, but I had nothing to lose in sending it. I rather thought it my only option at that time. I had no real lead to pursue. No evidence to follow.

I felt disheartened that night and, admittedly, spent most of the small hours thinking of my job at the Ministry and the lack of support I received from everyone there. I've never been entirely sure why I seem to rub people up the wrong way. I know why it happened when I was young; I was too eager, too officious, too… insufferable, I suppose. I thought I'd managed to soften those traits over time; maybe even out-grow them.

That's what I'd thought, anyway. But the reality of me being well into my late twenties, with my social circle extending only as far as the bottle of wine I was drinking, pointed to something _far_ different.

Perhaps I _am_ a person who doesn't need many friends... I'm just not a person able to get away without reflecting on the specifics of this claim.

And carrying on with this pursuit, I knew, would not endear me any further amongst my colleagues. Yet, even recognising this, I wasn't about to give it up—not for that sake, anyway. The point is, these moments of reflection always passed me by without injury. It was never something I let myself dwell upon for an extended length of time. I'd get up in the morning and my mind would only be focused on the job at hand—not self-pity; not regret.

And it was the same this time too.

The morning in question, a surprise awaited me on my windowsill. It was an owl bearing a nondescript envelope, but the note inside certainly wasn't as unremarkable. It was a small square of parchment and in the centre was written only a name and address—nothing more.

And it was the address of one _George Cresswell_.

I turned over both the note and the envelope for a sign as to the sender, but there was nothing to be found. The handwriting, similarly, bore no evidence as to its origin, for it was unfamiliar to me.

Stumped, I simply sat on my bed contemplating the possible meaning behind the note. Why should I need the address of George Cresswell? Who should send it?

I looked at the specifics of the address more closely and then I realised there _was_ some significance to be realised. I scrambled out of bed and dashed towards my map, still spread out in my kitchen. George Cresswell, it appeared, was residing within the boundary of none other than the Snowdonia national park.

That was all I needed. I hurried to dress and then collected my things together. I did not know why I was being referred to Cresswell, and I did not know who was doing the referring, but I wasn't going to ignore this pointer.

I Apparated to one of the spots we'd used when conducting our research in the area and continued the rest of the way to the house on foot, using the time to work out what I would say in greeting, unsure as I was, as to what I was supposed to be finding there.

Was I supposed to assume Cresswell was involved in the illegal selling of Augureys? In which case, turning up on his doorstep and giving the game away might not be the best option. Still, I had one opening gambit available to me that just might buy me an audience without evoking suspicion.

I arrived at a small house perched on a hillside and I strode up to the door, knocking confidently and setting my shoulders squarely in preparation. The door opened and a white-haired man of some age appeared.

'Mr Cresswell,' I said, proceeding to introduce myself as a researcher from the Ministry. I hadn't said much more before a look of dark anger came over his face.

'Just because I made a mistake in a former life doesn't give you leave to accuse _me _of what's happening in _there_.' He glared angrily over my head, where I knew the Dyfi forest was visible in the distance.

He moved to shut the door and I put out my arm to halt him. 'Wait,' I called firmly, 'I… Why would I accuse you of that?'

'Everyone else is. The _Prophet_ enjoyed pointing out my proximity to the forest, didn't they!'

His eyes blazed at me and I fought not to flounder.

'_I_ only wanted to ask you about a letter you once wrote, four years ago, where you…' I trailed off and bit my lip, unable to temper the rush of curiosity ignited within me. 'What... What do you know about what's going on in there?' I asked quietly, motioning with my head towards the forest.

'I'm not getting involved.' He scowled and moved to shut the door again.

'Please,' I urged. 'If you know something—'

'Who put you on to me?' he asked roughly, looking beyond me, as if expecting to see that I'd brought company.

I hesitated over whether to reveal the anonymous note I received. 'I told you, I recently read your letter dismissing potion-making, and I—'

'That was years ago, and I was rubbished by that smug bast—' he choked off his words with a fierce look of contempt.

'Perhaps you were simply ahead of your time. You can't fail to have noticed how recent issues have swayed public opinion. If you know who is harming the Augureys—what better way to put yourself in a better light?'

Cresswell shook his head so vehemently, I was nearly taken aback. 'I made _one_ mistake after _years_ of blood and sweat I put into my work. Did Snape give me an opportunity to make amends? No. He ended my career without a second's thought. One word from him and no one wanted my services ever again. Do you think I'm likely to risk his wrath further?'

Once again he started pushing the door closed.

'Why should you risk _his_ wrath?' I argued with a thrill. 'Why should—'

'I saw them,' he spat out in a hushed tone. 'I saw them late at night, in the forest… Seems Snape's found a new use for his old Death Eater robes…'

He glared at me with wide, firm eyes, and I only stared back dumbly.

'You didn't hear it from me… _right_?'

He raised an eyebrow at me before slamming the door shut. I couldn't stop him this time, simply because I was stunned; frozen to the spot. When my wits were re-acquainted with my body, I managed to walk from the house, coming to a stop when I had a clear view across the valley. I stared at the barren peaks and then to the tree-tops of the Dyfi forest nestled nearby.

I could very well believe there could be someone, or some people, out there, capturing Augureys; stealing their eggs maybe, and selling them on the black market. The money to be gained from such endeavours, I knew, could be great. That this area might be one of their hunting grounds was supported by the facts I'd complied during the survey.

But Snape being involved at the heart of it? Hearing the accusation from someone else's lips only made me realise how ridiculous it all was. I'd had my suspicions—how could I not after witnessing what I had? Yet, when it came down to it, I couldn't countenance it.

I can't explain it. Maybe Snape did have his own agenda. Maybe he did have something to hide. But I could hardly take seriously the word of a man who had, once upon a time, been involved in the very crime he was implicating Snape in. Never mind the obvious grudge he held against him.

The truth was, deep down, whatever my feelings against the man, I didn't want to believe he was out there, up to his neck in criminality, and for something as trite as money. Cresswell had to have it wrong. He had to simply be a vengeful old man—that's what I wanted to believe.

I felt in my pocket for the note I'd received that morning. The unassailable fact, the one sticking point, however, was that someone had pointed me towards Cresswell. Was this the person potentially on Snape's tail, for whatever reason?

Did that point to Cresswell himself, then, sending the note? It would have simplified matters were it so, but I was forced to acknowledge that Cresswell couldn't have known of my involvement without input from a third party.

Someone who clearly knew what I was up to. That, actually, left a fairly narrow field of suspects I would have to negotiate at some point.

Despite being confused as to what it all added up to, I knew where my efforts would next be directed.

The forest.

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing : )<p> 


	6. Part Six

**The Pitfalls of Being an Insufferable Know-it-all**

_All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

**Part Six**

I took my time walking into the Dyfi forest, enjoying the quiet of my surroundings and finding it a good opportunity in which to order my thoughts.

I'd been in this particular forest before. It was one of the places I'd visited with my team, after we'd identified concerns with the number of Augurey breeding-pairs living within the area. We'd not found anything then, and I wasn't sure what I hoped to find this time around. In fact, I was pretty confident I'd find nothing. Still, I could hope for inspiration, if nothing else.

And, I must say, I _was_ inspired, except, it wasn't very productive. It's not often my imagination comes to life, but under the shroud of the canopy and confronted by the quiet all around me, my mind conjured murky scenes of crime and skulduggery; people stealing into the forest in the dead of night, laying traps, maybe—hunting nests…

The images were so vivid, I actually succeeded in scaring myself. A chill came over me and I paused in a clearing, peering into the dense woodland and listening hard, as if expecting to spot some mysterious figure lurking behind a tree trunk. A figure wearing a black, hooded cloak, maybe…

But I didn't imagine it was Severus Snape, even as I thought back to Cresswell and his claims. Besides, if Snape were involved, he would surely be at the top of any organisation, I thought. He'd have people to do the lurking for him.

I looked all around me, but there was, as expected, nothing. No sign of anyone having recently been there. Nothing…

I turned my head up to study what was above me. It's always hard to identify the potential home of an Augurey phoenix, and there were none visible to me at that time. Anyone looking to interfere in their natural habitat really would have to have specialised knowledge, I decided.

Naturally, _Uncovering the Secrets of the Augurey and Other Creatures _by Theodore Ridley and Severus Snape, pricked at me impatiently for consideration. Luckily, I'd noted down the institution responsible for publishing this work and I fully intended to pay them a visit.

My next step would be to visit the offices of the _Practical_ _Potioneer_.

These, it turned out, were situated in London, squashed in between a Muggle restaurant and a bank. There was no time wasted between me returning from Snowdonia and then appearing on their doorstep.

Only one word fits to describe the premises I found myself in: _dingy_. It was in marked contrast to the sophistication of the Society up in Edinburgh. Or maybe, to more accurately reflect my mood at that point in time, I should substitue 'sophistication' with 'pretension'?

A bespectacled man looked up from where he sat at a writing desk. 'May I help you?'

I introduced myself and then detailed my purpose for being there. 'I wonder, do you retain the original manuscripts of your publications? And if so, would it be possible for me to view them?'

He didn't look too put out by my request and that buoyed me up. Clearly, they were a much friendlier faction of the potion-making industry here.

'Depends what you're looking for,' he replied, assessing me over his glasses.

'It's, ah, a work published seven years ago, called _Uncovering the Secrets of the Augurey and Other Creatures._ It was written jointly by Theodore Ridley and Severus Snape.'

He didn't look particularly impressed by my choice. He frowned in thought. 'Sounds a bit dry… No wonder you can't find it anywhere.' He smiled. 'I'm sure we'll have it in the archives. Ideally, you should have made an appointment, but I'm not busy, so if you'd like to follow me… You'll have to view it in situ, I'm afraid; we don't allow them to be removed from the building.'

I indicated my ready agreement and followed him down a set of stairs into a gloomy passage. Torches flared to life as we passed by them and we had to walk to the very end before a door materialised.

'Here we go,' said the clerk, removing his wand.

I stuffed my hands into my bag and removed a scroll of parchment and a quill. 'I'm allowed to take notes?'

He nodded as the door opened and revealed an impossibly large room filled with stacks and stacks of papers, folders, boxes, books, plates… It was never-ending.

He saw my expression of dismay, because he said with a little laugh, 'Don't worry; we do have a system, despite appearances.'

It was true. He was able to quickly locate the records for the year in question, and then he rummaged through an alphabetised range of boxes. I watched with great anticipation… Can't believe how naïve I was.

'A-ha!' he trilled, lifting off a lid and peering inwards. 'Oh,' he remarked slowly. 'That's… odd…'

'How do you mean?' I asked, standing there with my quill and parchment poised.

His voice was muffled over the sound of his rummaging. 'It's not here.'

I felt myself droop with disappointment. 'Are you quite sure? Could it have been misplaced?'

He shook his head vigorously. 'No; they're charmed to remain in order; they can't be removed any further than...'

I matched his frown, filled with resignation. Evidently, _someone_ had circumvented the charm. I stuffed my writing implements away with a sigh.

'There must be an explanation,' commented my puzzled companion.

He mumbled something about investigating further, but I took my leave. I felt there was no point me hanging around. They wouldn't find the manuscript; I was confident they wouldn't. I was confident someone had come in, broken in perhaps, and taken it.

The big question, of course, was who?

Uneasily, I thought of Snape. I thought of him 'misplacing' his own copy, taking the only one from the library at the Society, borrowing Ridley's as well, and now, the original manuscript had disappeared from the archives of the _Practical Potioneer_.

This couldn't be ignored; it added up to _something_, I knew. I just couldn't, or didn't have the right facts to, put my finger on it. Thwarted, yet again, I stopped off in the Leaky Cauldron for a pick-me-up in the form of some dinner.

Trust my luck, but a few of my colleagues were stood at the bar when I entered. Before I could do a u-turn, I was spotted.

'How's the holiday going, Hermione?' one of them called. 'The office has been really quiet while you've been off.'

This was no casual observation, I'm sure; it was very much pointed and I didn't have the patience to deal with their digs that evening. So when they offered to get me a drink, I told them I had better things to do and left. No doubt they enjoyed a half hour's moan about me afterwards, but, well, it wouldn't have been the first time, and well, I just didn't care.

I went elsewhere to find sustenance and, following that, spent an hour or two wandering the streets like some urchin, trying to plan out what I would need to do next. I didn't reach much of a consensus with myself, to be honest, despite the time spent deliberating. I considered the possibility of trying my luck with Cresswell again, but doubts over his reliability put me off. Beyond that, I was stuck.

It was late when I finally returned home. I Apparated directly into my living room, collapsing straight onto the sofa with a sigh. I rubbed a hand over my eyes, enjoying a chance to relax, and pondered over the possibility of heading right to bed. It seemed the best option for me after the day I'd had, and I was about follow my own advice, when...

'Well… Shall we sit here all night?' sounded out of the darkness.

I was scared to _death_ at the sudden sound of this voice; it's no exaggeration. I yelped with fright, leapt to my feet, brought the lights to life, and then thrust out my wand in the direction of my intruder.

I gasped in horror. 'What on earth are _you_ doing here? _How_ did you get in here?'

Severus Snape was sitting at my kitchen table, looking as if he owned it.

'What do you want?' I queried again, and, I fear, a little tremulously; though I maintain my wand was steady.

He, however, seemed unconcerned my wand was aimed at him. His own was nowhere to be seen. He stood and I trained my wand to match his progress step-for-step. Only one of his disdainful looks I received.

'Oh, give over, Granger,' he muttered, having the actual cheek to sound long-suffering, when it was _me_ being imposed on!

'If you were really planning on it, you'd have hexed me by now.'

I readjusted my clammy grip on my wand, but did not lower it. It was my indignation over how unfailingly foolish he made me feel that I kept it pointed at him, with a ready hex poised on the tip of my tongue.

He glanced around the room and then the lights were dimming considerably, while the curtains started drawing themselves shut across all the windows. Apparently satisfied, he settled himself into an armchair.

'This is cosy,' he remarked sardonically.

I could only stare.

'Have a seat, Miss Granger.'

The complete front of the man—barging into my home and then ordering _me_ about in it—left me speechless. Still does when I think back on it.

'_Sit_ _down_,' he said next, when I hadn't moved, and this time, there was an underlying edge of steel in his voice.

I thrust my wand up my sleeve angrily. 'Oh, I'll sit, Snape, but under my own steam, thank you! How dare you intrude into my house like this! By rights, I should bloody well send for the Aurors and have you removed! How long have you been here? Have you had a good little snoop about my things, eh? And these are _my_ lights,' I continued resentfully. 'If I want them dimmed, _I'll_ do the dimming!'

So saying, I flicked my wand and the lamps roared back to their full glory. Not two seconds later, they were back to a dull glow. I gaped at him, furiously flicking my wand to ignite them again. It was so ludicrous to be carrying on in this way, but the principle of it pricked so irritably at me that I couldn't help it.

My defiance gave way to helplessness when he just sat there, casually unwrapping a liquorice wand, yes, a _liquorice_ _wand_, and said, 'Finished?' before putting it in his mouth.

I let out a furious breath and sat down, slamming my wand onto the coffee table so hard I was briefly worried I might have broken it. I put my chin in my hands and worked on calming myself down.

It didn't help that his next words were:

'Believe me, Granger, rummaging around _your_ personal effects is so low on my list of priorities, it's non-existent.'

I glared at him from the corner of my eye; he was examining his cuffs coolly, chewing on his liquorice. I frowned to myself, wondering how on earth I was supposed to play this. After all, I'd discovered certain things about him, unverified things, certainly, that couldn't be ignored. The facts, admittedly, were scant, and so I knew I'd have to tread carefully. He's led me up the garden path once (umpteen times) before—I was determined not to traverse it again.

What can I say? I'm an optimist at heart.

'Why aren't you in Norway?' I asked carefully, feeling this was a reasonable opening gambit.

'Why indeed?' he replied serenely, as if my question had been some unanswerable, philosophical conundrum.

I nearly despaired right there and then over his complete insufferability; I'm not sure that's even a proper word, but if it's not, it's one I made up to apply solely to him.

'What sort of answer is that?'

'What sort of question is it?' he shot back immediately.

'That's where you went!'

'Was it?' he posed, getting to his feet and stalking over to the kitchen table again. He glanced at my ever-present map; I was only grateful my more recent discoveries and observations were documented in my notebook—kept on my person.

Suddenly, he was laughing quietly to himself; a deep chuckle, and I was almost afraid to imagine what it signified.

'People are so gullible,' he murmured, and I felt myself tense expectantly. 'I mean, what _the hell _would I be doing traipsing around a Norwegian fjord?' He looked at me directly. '_Glaciers_, of course, being such an indispensable resource for potion-making.'

He smiled to himself, while I clenched my jaw and wondered if he might be a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

'Are you saying you weren't in Norway? That you never were?'

'Never been north of Scotland in my life.' He sat at the table and pulled one my charts towards him.

'I don't understand,' I admitted reluctantly.

'I didn't you expect you to—you've arrived very much in the middle of this story.'

I decided he obviously enjoyed speaking in riddles and metaphors. I enjoyed it far less. 'Are you going to start at the beginning, then?'

He took his time replying. 'I haven't decided.'

I nearly screamed in frustration. I dug my nails into my thigh to release some of my irritation, and when I spoke, it was through decidedly clenched teeth.

'So what precisely, may I ask, have you broken into my house for?'

He looked up from his study and his eyes narrowed. 'Because you, Miss Granger, are incapable of keeping your nose out of what doesn't concern you.'

My jaw dropped in outrage.

'You've seriously jeopardised my plans—'

'Your _plans_?' I questioned, jumping to my feet and joining him at the table. 'What plans might they be? Frolicking in the Dyfi forest, perhaps?'

I was trying to match his dry manner of speaking. Unfortunately, instead of annoying him, I appeared to amuse him. And I'd, potentially, also revealed knowledge of his recent movements.

'I assure you, I've never frolicked in my life.'

I could believe that.

'But you have been in the forest?'

'Of course,' he confirmed calmly.

I hesitated about saying anything further, not wanting to reveal too much of my hand, such that it was, too soon. He evidently noticed my indecision, however.

'Something you want to ask me regarding the forest in question?'

Still caught in two minds, I responded instead with a burning question of my own. 'Why are you here?'

His expression was maddeningly inscrutable as he reached inside his robe and pulled out a small leather-bound notebook. At his leisure, he flicked through it until he found what he desired.

'This morning you visited Mr George Cresswell. Who put you onto him?'

I was astonished. Again. My mouth fell open but no sound came out for a time.

'How do you know I went to see him?' I managed to eke out.

'You really should have taken the opportunity I gave you to get out of this business, Granger.' His mouth was a firm line of disapproval.

'I see… That's what you'd call questioning my integrity in a room full of Ministry officials, is it? An… _opportunity_…'

Perhaps this is something I should have kept quiet for a while longer, but I was so riled and felt so frustratingly on the back-foot, I couldn't stop myself. And it was worth it for the brief flicker of surprise that appeared across his face. It was very brief; but a concession, nonetheless.

He nodded to himself. 'I did wonder at your subsequent actions.'

'Oh, supposed to put myself by the wayside, was I?' I grimaced.

'If you had any sense, yes.'

I rolled my eyes at his insistence on being so bloody cryptic all of the bloody time. I had no idea what he was talking about; it seemed to me he'd managed to answer precisely none of my questions.

'Did you trespass only to affirm my apparent lack of sense?'

'Was merely a bonus, Miss Granger,' he replied with a self-satisfied smirk.

I was about ready to demand he leave, unable to put up any longer with him enjoying himself at my expense. Perhaps he recognised I was at the end of my tether, because what he said next erased a significant part of my ire in one fell swoop.

'If you must know, and unfortunately, you've given me little choice, I've been aware of a scam involving the shipping, and illegal breeding, of protected species in this country. Indeed, I've been looking into it for some time.'

A thousand and one different questions jumped to my lips, but, wisely, I bit them off.

'I was getting close to them,' he continued, 'until _your lot _came parading through the forests and woodlands with your bloody maps and measuring sticks.'

The scorn was nearly palpable.

I opened my mouth indignantly, but he overrode any chance to protest by leaning forward in his seat and looking properly animated, for a change.

'Yes,' he stated firmly. '_You_ managed to send them all to ground! What kind of idiot is going to risk their chances when there are Ministry personnel crawling about everywhere? Busybodies sticking their heads into burrows, and flying around treetops, and poking their noses under rocks for sign of a bloody flobberworm!'

He glared at me, and Merlin, it was one of his specially patented ones, because I could still feel it well after he'd turned his eyes back to his notebook. How did he have the ability to trivialise something, something important to me, to the point where I felt a little a bit mortified—for _myself_? How does that happen? I still can't stand it.

I should very much like to have defended myself, and righteously so, but… he didn't give me a chance.

'Just when I thought I'd picked up the scent again, the bloody _Prophet_ starts stirring up a hornet's nest because _you_ can't keep a lid on anything, and suddenly I'm having to publicly account for myself. Perhaps now you see the merits of a phantom expedition to Norway?'

I was silent for a time—absorbing what he'd revealed. He appeared content to let me have a moment of reflection.

He spent the interlude unwrapping another liquorice wand.

'You wanted to appear as though you were unbothered? To appear as though you thought there was nothing in the _Prophet's_ reports? And with the Norway trip, people would think precisely that.'

'Quite so.'

I looked curiously at the curtains, which he'd been at pains to close once the lights had come on. 'You've been hiding away all this time? How—'

'Irrelevant, Granger. Suffice it to say, I _know_ how to operate incognito…'

I wondered if there were anyone else involved in this supposed charade, but decided he'd not tell me if I asked.

'And fobbing off the Ministry…?'

'The perpetrators would have dispersed long before the Ministry could have marshalled an investigation. Better they just stay out of it.'

His tone was snide, but I only felt a flush of relief that the hadn't really distrusted my work. Of course, this left me feeling not a little foolish. After all, I didn't know this wasn't another tall tale, did I? I hated that, apparently, I could be so easily appeased by him. I summoned the hurt I'd felt as I'd listened to the way he and the others had discredited me, and it was still potent. Regardless of his intentions, he'd used me to manoeuvre his pieces into place. Thinking on this cavalier behaviour served to dampen any vanity on my part.

'You hope to catch them red-handed, then…'

'What else is there?'

'Who are they?'

Maybe my resentment over his behaviour was now creeping into my tone, for he surveyed me piercingly and I tried not to squirm.

'Perhaps you'd like to suggest a culprit?' he challenged.

I thought about telling him what I'd found out—about him. Admittedly, if this story of his would prove to be true, then my doubts could easily be rubbished. The trouble, however, was that I didn't know if it was true. Perhaps that sentimental, emotional part of me believed he was trustworthy. But logic told me to look at the precedents—told me I needed proof. So, again, I mentioned nothing of my suspicions.

'I've no idea,' I said, as blankly as I could manage.

He didn't press the point, but I wasn't so gullible to take it to mean he believed me.

'I've an idea of some who are involved, but this all blew up just when I was near to unmasking the ringleader.'

'I see.'

I didn't see. There was much I still didn't understand. Furthermore, it sounded to me as though he were being deliberately vague, and, naturally, that didn't help my case towards him.

'How did you know I went to see Cresswell today? Have you been spying on me?'

He smirked. 'I hope your vanity isn't too bruised when I say I've not been spying on you.'

I blushed despite myself.

'What did he say to you?'

I wanted to ignore his question, but I thought failing to answer would speak just as much volume as if I did the truth.

'He's seen some people in the forest, at night, that's all.'

'Now there's a crime…' he sneered.

'He doesn't speak very highly of you,' I added, a little antagonistically, it must be said. Still, why I thought he would show any emotion at this, I don't know. He looked like he couldn't give two hoots about Cresswell's opinion.

'You maintain you're unaware who put you on to Cresswell?'

'Yes,' I hissed through clenched teeth. 'You have an idea, though, I take it?'

I felt it was so; if the slight upturn at the corners of his mouth was anything to go by.

'Perhaps.'

Something snapped within me then. '_Look_,' I said firmly, getting to my feet. 'I'll admit freely you know more about this matter than I do. If that's only what you wanted to satisfy yourself over, then there, you have it. Otherwise, I fail to see why you bothered coming here to tell me half a story that raises more questions that it bloody well answers. Answers, incidentally, you evidently want to keep to yourself. As far as I can see, this is nothing to do with me. You may go your way, and I shall go mine, and I can only hope we shan't meet in the middle.'

I was proud of my little speech. I was proud of the authority in my tone. I was pleased the derisive note I'd ended on sparked a faint glimmer of anger in his eyes.

And when I pointed my wand at the door for it to swing open, I felt satisfaction. My thoughts were why should I have to put up with this behaviour? I didn't owe him anything. I didn't want to get involved with him; not when I didn't fully trust or understand him. Not when he thought he could manipulate me without care. Not when he rode roughshod over propriety and wouldn't even explain himself for it.

His chair was pushed back with a sharp screech and I only just managed to contain a flinch as he stood. He came round to my side of the table and, for a quick moment, I forgot any satisfaction at getting a rise out of him.

'Nothing do with you?' he posed, repeating my words with an ominous relish. 'Even knowing half the story is one half too much; far too much…'

My mouth dried out as he glared down at me and I think I felt myself physically shrink.

'You, Miss Granger, have walked blindly into very real danger.'

I think I became frozen to the spot. My faculties couldn't seem to get beyond his words to process anything further. I dumbly watched the anger in his face melt into a sort of smug triumph.

'Shall I… close the door on my way out?' he purred softly.

Defeated comprehensively.

Again.

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks for reading and for the reviews; they're always appreciated.<p> 


	7. Part Seven

**The Pitfalls of Being an Insufferable Know-it-all**

All characters belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Part 7**

I see myself as someone capable of humility, when a situation calls for it. But squaring up to Snape, feeling uncomfortably out of my depth, it was hard not for me mulishly stand my ground in order to save as much face as I could. All I really wanted was to get him to leave. Yet, I couldn't ignore his warning; otherwise I really would have confirmed I was without sense.

Swallowing a resentful huff, I went to close the door myself. 'What danger?' I asked eventually.

He sat back down in the armchair, looking vaguely pleased with himself. 'What do you think? There's Galleons to be made through selling items illegally—lots of Galleons. Those involved aren't going to want their little gold mine to be jeopardised, never mind their liberty. Therefore they're unlikely to sit back and allow some slip of a girl the chance to unmask their criminal deeds. Do not think they wouldn't be prepared to take more, ah, direct action, shall we say, towards you.'

This little speech, in my opinion, exemplifies rather nicely the type of man he is. I'd, apparently, ventured into rather dangerous waters, but to hear him speak of it, it was the most mundane thing in the world.

This also explained further his efforts in hiding his involvement. He'd covered his tracks comprehensively, while I, on the other hand, had conducted my enquiries with little guile or subterfuge.

'We should inform the Aurors, then,' I suggested firmly.

My word; it was as if I'd hexed him. Personally, I very much enjoyed his flinch of outrage.

'I'm sure Harry and Ron would be happy to take the case on,' I continued with a studied air of pragmatism.

'If you truly believe that to be the best course of action, I've clearly overestimated you.'

'My, I can't imagine _that_ happens often,' I muttered to myself, hurrying on when his expression darkened. 'There's danger, then,' I commented. 'I'm confident I can take care of myself.'

I watched him, and it was in retaliation to his aggravating behaviour that I purposefully wondered whether this was all some sort of personal warning from him. Maybe it was _he_ who posed the danger. Maybe it was _he_ who had the little gold mine to protect.

'If you say so,' he remarked derisively.

'Well, what do you want from me, then? Do you want me to step away from the matter? Because I assure you I—'

'Spare me your nobility, please; I'm not interested in it.'

I snapped my jaw shut and wondered despairingly when this ordeal was going to end. His next words, however, jarred my irritation from the fore, leaving only surprise.

'I want co-operation,' he said succinctly.

'_Co_-_operation_?' I questioned with confusion and doubt. 'Forgive me… You hardly seem the co-operating sort.'

His raised a cautionary hand. 'My blushes, Granger.'

I nearly laughed despite myself; only he would find in my criticism a compliment.

'I can't deny your involvement wouldn't open up avenues of investigation that are closed to me while I'm in Norway.'

I frowned. 'So much for the danger, then.'

'You'd simply have to trust in my ability to mitigate that danger, wouldn't you?'

The look he gave me was piercing and I felt uncomfortable and unsure. Did I trust him? I could hardly tell. Did I even _want_ to co-operate with him? How would I be able to put up with his infuriating sense of superiority?

'What if I don't want to work with you?'

I'm not sure where I found the courage to say this out loud to him, but it must have been borne from the careless part of me. At my words, his eyes gleamed flintily and it was difficult for me to face them directly.

'Well, then,' he murmured slowly, 'I shall just have to ensure my… friends at the Ministry are aware of your little… quest, won't I?'

I'd liked to have brushed him off by claiming my colleagues at the Ministry wouldn't give a fig what I was up to. However, while this might ordinarily have been the case, I knew they would care if I managed to end up discrediting them. And they would surely want to head off this possibility post-haste.

I scowled at him, but inwardly I was not so very opposed to 'co-operating', as he put it. After all, he'd made much use of me, why then should I not seek to find an advantage in him?

Of course, what put me off slightly was the very real prospect that I'd get nowhere near trumping him in any way, shape, or form. I could try, I decided; what other options did I have available to me?

None, was the answer.

I wasn't entirely sure what, in this instance, his ability to 'mitigate the danger' might entail, but it would have been reckless of me to deny it might prove handy. Still, after his performance I was hardly about to lie down and let him have free reign (sounds rather more salacious than it was…).

'May I clarify something?' I asked preciously.

I took the tightening of his lips to be an affirmation for me to proceed.

'Your definition of 'co-operating' doesn't preclude the hiding of certain facts and ideas from the other party, does it?'

His eyes narrowed suspiciously and I was pleased to see it. 'Just wondered… for my own peace of mind,' I continued evenly.

'If you have some information, then—'

'As I said,' I interrupted firmly. 'For my own peace of mind.'

His expression looked perilously close to thunderous. I didn't care. He had some bloody cheek asking me for my information and my assistance, when, clearly, he wasn't prepared to give me all the facts he had. So why should I, in turn, be forthcoming? I would keep whatever cards I had close; at least until I could be sure of his motives and part played in this whole issue.

He seemed content to fume for a moment or two, but when the ire faded into a grim resolve, I was suddenly worried he'd decided to forsake my help altogether. Feeling a blast of indignation buffet me, I nearly exploded into a diatribe about his hypocrisy and double-standards.

Luckily, before I managed to embarrass myself, he uttered a terse, 'Fine,' and shot to his feet.

Thrown a tad, I automatically rose with him and he looked at me so fiercely it nearly sent me reeling backwards.

'Don't do anything until I've been in touch,' he warned. And then he Disapparated into thin air!

My jaw went slack as I stared incomprehensibly at my now empty living room. I let out a huge groan of impotent anger and threw myself back onto the settee, thinking I'd never had the misfortune of meeting anyone so indescribably trying to one's patience. When the hell was he going to be in touch? Where the hell had he gone? How the hell could I contact him, if I needed to?

I sighed and screwed my eyes shut against the frustration of it all, only wondering what the _hell_ I'd let myself in for.

Perhaps unsurprisingly enough, I didn't sleep very well that night, even though I was tired. My mind kept troubling itself over possibilities and scenarios involving a whole variety of people; Snape very much a key player. But I wondered about Cresswell, too and his motives. I also tried to fashion a line of reasoning why someone other than Snape might want to remove the original manuscript of his and Ridley's work from the _Practical_ _Potioneer_ archives.

Was it Ridley, perhaps? Was he yet another person feeding me misinformation? From the impression he'd given me, I decided I could hardly put it past him.

In the morning, after a fitful few hours sleep, I awoke to find my anonymous letter published in the _Prophet_. I was mildly surprised to see it, but pleased nonetheless. It only remained to be seen whether anyone might reply and, in doing so, help to keep the matter afloat. Snape, I felt, would not condone my action. He seemed very much to believe there were benefits to the public leaving the issue on the backburner, and maybe he was right, but maybe he was wrong, as well. I wasn't prepared to subscribe to his methodology straightaway.

And what was I supposed to do now? Put my life (for lack of a better word) on hold until Snape decided he wanted to deign me with his presence again? Seemed to me I could be waiting forever until that moment! I felt so disgruntled; my irritation from the previous night obviously hadn't dissipated.

I wrenched the covers off me and sprang to my feet, determined that I should spend the day productively, regardless of my mood. I was halfway across the room before I cursed aloud, having remembered it was Sunday.

It was Sunday, and I'd forgotten to send my customary note of apology to the Burrow for being too busy to attend Sunday dinner. More often than not, I really was busy, but there were times when I just… couldn't face it, and this day was no exception. I had a long-established pattern worked out; in order to maintain a certain sense of propriety and courteousness, I only ever attended one Sunday a month, but this month it seemed I'd be there twice.

Resigned to the idea there would be no productivity after all, I dressed slowly and made myself presentable. My appearance may not be one of my primary concerns, but I do have _some_ pride in it. The routine helped relax me, and by the time I was ready to Apparate, I felt maybe it was no bad thing that I had somewhere to go—somewhere, for a change, that didn't involve work.

However, there are reasons why I'm reluctant to regularly participate when the Weasleys gather _en_ _masse_.

For one thing, it never helps that Arthur always shouts, 'The Hermit's here!' whenever I arrive.

'You're like a little hermit,' he once said to me, after I'd spent several weeks buried in my house-elf reform with little contact beyond it. 'Hermione the little hermit,' he'd said, delighting in what he thought was his hitherto hidden comic genius.

I'm perfectly up for a laugh… most of the time. And actually, to be fair to him, at that point, it was quite an accurate observation of my behaviour. Unfortunately, the name has managed to stick, off and on, ever since. And it's now turned just ever so slightly patronising. To the point where I have to clench my fists as I smile and pretend the joke is still funny.

And the kids have happily taken it as a cue to call me 'Auntie Hermit,' instead of even attempting a pronunciation of my actual name. They all think it's hilarious.

As I entered the kitchen at the Burrow, Molly bustled in and exclaimed at my presence with _far_ too much exaggeration, I thought. And then, to make matters worse, she launched right into commiserations about the state of my career.

'Not like you to take holiday time, Hermione,' she lamented sadly. 'I was saying to Arthur, "Can you remember the last time our Hermit took time off work?" Well, we neither of us could remember any instance of it.' She shook her head admonishingly and her red hair quivered. 'To think they could just ignore your work like that; after _all_ the effort you put in!'

Then I was enveloped in her bosom—squeezed perilously close to asphyxiation.

'It's all right, Molly,' I eked out. 'You know I'm not easily put-off; just needed a breather for a week or two, that's all. '

'You want to get out of that department, my dear; why don't you see if Arthur can get you transferred into his?'

'Oh,' I smiled, feeling warmed despite myself at her exuberance. 'Thank you; I'll stick it out a while longer, I'm sure.'

She frowned deeply. 'Just as long as you don't burn yourself out. You'll never find a husband if you can't get out of bed every morning.'

And that's another reason for rationing my appearances at the Burrow.

I was released and sent off in search of the others. I opened the door to the sitting room and was immediately assaulted with a cacophony of squeals, greetings, compliments and, of course, the compulsory inquiry as to whether I'd found myself a man yet. That's the usual pattern when I first enter the fray consisting of my friends and their families (I sometimes wonder how it is I ended up with so many honorary nieces and nephews when I hadn't even reached thirty).

And I tell them, as I do every time I'm there, _there's no man, I'm too busy, and in any case, present company excluded, all the men I know are idiots and/or cads_. I always present to them a case in point, and that week it was Archie, my boss. I soon had them all scowling and sighing when I described his behaviour. Rather neatly, it also manoeuvred them away from the awkward subject of my non-existent social-life.

Why do people set standards for other people to live by? They were never able to accept I might be perfectly fine living on my own; that I was perfectly content, the majority of the time, with the life I lived. I know they never meant anything by it; that they were only ever looking out for me. But I was always left with the uncomfortable sense I was lacking in some way, because I did not have a husband, or a family, or even the faintest prospect of one.

Maybe I made it worse for myself. Perhaps if I'd gone there more regularly, they wouldn't have felt the need for the same interrogation on each visit.

I always enjoyed the company once I was there, but unfortunately, I'm not one to cope with boisterousness for an extended length of time; and that's only Harry and Ron, never mind the children.

So, after dinner, I often took in a refreshing breath of air out in the garden, with a little stroll about. I've always enjoyed the luxury of the Weasleys' open, wild, garden as a good place in which to think and reflect. In this instance, I stood at the far end of the garden and thought about my job at the Ministry and the possibility that, very soon, I would seriously consider looking for a new position. All was lovely and peaceful; the only noise from a brook that gurgled its way across the land, and, from a distance… the sound of Al shouting 'Auntie Hermit! Come and play Gobstones with me!'

I smiled to myself resignedly and twisted round. 'You set them up and I'll be there in a moment,' I called back.

Stealing a few more moments of solitude, I experimentally dipped the toe of my boot into the stream and watched the water rush on over it. My boot was nearly joined by my whole person, however, when a nearby voice said:

'Perhaps Auntie Hermit would play Gobstones with me, instead?'

I steadied myself and looked up with dismay to see a familiar figure detach itself from the trees. 'This has got to stop, Snape; how did you know I was here?'

He stood on the opposite bank, still partially in the shadow of the trees. 'Simple piece of deduction, Granger. Where else would you be on a Sunday afternoon if not at your house or Potter's?'

I stared, hardly enthused by the fact that within only a few hours of acquaintance, Severus Snape had apparently managed to reason out the staid mechanics of my existence. I even had a strange little vision of _him_ asking me when I was going to finally find myself a husband. I was forced to put a hand to my mouth to stifle a quick laugh.

'What do you want?' I asked gruffly, in order to maintain my air of impatience. 'Wasn't expecting your swift return.'

'I've heard whispers of a possible attempt on an Augurey nest, in a forest near Cheshire. Thought you might be interested.'

'What? An _attempt_?' I spluttered indignantly. 'I should get Harry—'

'For the love of Merlin, Granger, you really are a simpleton. What on earth would be the point in waltzing in with the Ministry's worst and confronting two, maybe three, blockheads trying to steal a few eggs on the order of someone, I'm willing to bet, they do not even know.'

I huffed furiously.

'We can stop them interfering with the nests, but there's no point apprehending them until we can establish precisely the web they are but _one_ single thread of. They won't know any answers to your questions.'

'What are you proposing, then?'

'We go to Cheshire, obviously.'

'Fine; fine. Let me go and say my goodbyes—'

He cut me off with a snort. 'I haven't got time to delay while you dally about with your _goodbyes_. We're going to Cheshire, not voyaging round the world; either you come now or you don't come at all.'

My _God_ I wished I could tell him to stuff it. I longed to say, 'Fine; I won't bloody well come!' But I knew I had to take my chances where I could, and no doubt he knew this too; hence his casual sarcasm and general disregard for my opinions and, yes, feelings.

Reluctantly, and with much ill-grace, I snatched out my wand and conjured my Patronus to convey my excuses to the Weasley assembly behind me.

I stepped across the brook and impatiently crossed my arms. 'Shall we?'

Without a word, he removed what I assumed to be a Portkey and proffered it to me. With a certain element of uncertainty, I reached out to touch it and then we were gone. When I was back on solid ground again, I was surrounded by dense woodland and accompanied by a man whose motives, I had to admit, were unclear to me. Suddenly, I was quite sure this was actually the last place I wanted to be.

'Where did you get your… information from?' I queried, knowing full well I wouldn't get a straight answer.

I was right. In fact, he didn't even bother answering. He ventured forward into the trees, instead. I clenched my fists as I followed, wondering if it would be truly awful of me to hex him in the back and then Disapparate away.

'They won't attempt anything until nightfall,' he murmured. 'Augurey's are nocturnal—'

'Funnily enough, I was aware of that,' I interceded pithily.

He ignored me. 'We can't know precisely where they shall strike. However, we can try and ward some of the nests—the type of person we're dealing with has no idea how to dismantle such spells.'

'We can't ward them _all_. How can we pick—'

'We think _logically_, Granger; we put ourselves in their shoes. Imagine, if you will, and I'm sure it won't be difficult for you, that you are a dunderhead who has been tasked with poaching some Aurgurey eggs. Your number one concern is that you aren't caught… Therefore, where do you think the best place to carry out your deed might be?'

I scowled fiercely at his back. 'I assume the deeper into the forest, the less likely they'd be spotted.'

'Furthermore, they use brooms to scan the treetops for nests—'

'You seem to know an awful lot about it,' I muttered, before I could stop myself.

He came to halt and looked over his shoulder at me. 'Hmm… Something you want to get off your chest?' He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

I nearly rose to it; I nearly accused him there and then of all the fanciful scenarios I'd conjured up recently. 'Just would like to know your sources, that's all,' I managed to say instead.

'You'll know when you need to.'

I shook my head despairingly as he continued onwards, deciding, for the benefit of _my_ health, that I should remain silent for the time being. He was also silent (thank Merlin) until he stopped in his tracks, seemingly at random, but from the surveying glance he gave the trees around him, there was nothing random about it whatsoever.

'There are several Augurey nests in this vicinity,' he said in his usual quiet, indifferent tone. 'We mustn't fly too close—'

'You what?' I blurted out.

'_We mustn't fly too close_,' he reiterated, absurdly crisply, as if I had no grasp of the English language.

To my dismay, he produced two small objects from within his robes, and I just knew instinctively they would be enlarged and revealed to be broomsticks. I wasn't disappointed; soon, I held a battered old Cleansweep in my hand. A cursory inspection seemed to point to an infestation of woodworm at some point; how gallant of him.

'There's no need to approach the nests directly, just near enough to get a good aim. We shall use a spell of my own design.'

Here he proceeded to demonstrate a particular wand movement, coupled with a specific Latin phrase that I've been warned never ever to divulge.

Before I could say anything, he was on his broom. 'I'll do the far side; you stick to this part.'

And then he was up in the treetops and I was left standing there, perplexed and uneasy. He hadn't even explained what precisely his spell did. Would I really be warding the nests against danger? Or would I be bloody well marking them out for the poachers later that night?

Deciding to follow my instinct, I got on the broom and pushed up into the air. Flying has never been a particular pastime of mine, and it isn't a skill of mine. But I'm someone who does have trouble admitting weakness, and so there was a snowball's chance in hell of me admitting it in front of Severus 'Insufferable Know-it-all' Snape. For all he would know, I was a champion flyer.

I floated among the boughs slowly, careful not to get too close to the trunks, where I knew there could be Augurey's hiding. I've always found it very tempting to take a peek inside when you are at the home of some unsuspecting creature. Unsuspecting is the operative word, however, and I learnt the hard way the folly of curiosity in this situation. I once peered down into a gnome burrow and got punched in the nose for my trouble.

I aimed my wand from my vantage point and cast the spell to, I hoped, stave off any unwanted visitors. It was a simple action, really, but it left me brightened. I felt glad to be able to do something practical in this situation, instead of just sitting around staring at my maps and charts and getting nowhere. It occurred to me it was for this feeling and for this sense of being useful that I'd taken up my post at the Ministry in the first place.

But why do people often see the need to be helpful as contemptible? Why do they scorn it? Why did my colleagues look on me so negatively?

I carried on meandering through the air until I spotted another telltale knot-hole in a tree trunk that might indicate the presence of an Augurey. I inched forward to get a better perspective, and that's when I suddenly felt it. A spell. Magic emanating from the tree itself.

I twisted on my broom and looked for Snape. He was some distance away and I hesitated. It was all right when I was filled with annoyance, but otherwise, I was suddenly aware how awkward I felt having to refer to him by his surname. Wasn't as though he'd requested I call him anything else, however.

'Um, Snape?' I called out, bracing myself for a torrent of vitriol.

It wasn't vitriol, but the sigh he issued I managed to hear even as far away as I was.

While I waited for him to join me, I inched closer still to the tree. I could see there was very little chance of there being anything living in this tree. The bark was crumbling and its leaves, what few it had, were drooping. There were twigs and grass and other material visible in the knot-hole, signs of a nest, but they were blackened; charred and dead.

It was a stupid thing for me to do. In hindsight, certainly. Although, at the time, I think I could be forgiven for making such a mistake. I reached out an investigative hand to touch the tree bark.

I flinched as a strident command sounded from my companion. 'Don't touch it!' he hissed.

It was the flinch that did it. My fingers grazed the bark and within a split second, a stinging sensation travelled from my fingers right through my body. My eyes fluttered closed and I felt myself list to one side like a wilted flower. Before I passed out completely, and before I plummeted to the forest floor, Severus Snape said crossly:

'Oh, for fuck's sake, Granger.'

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks, always, for reading and reviewing.<p>

I'm starting a new job soon, which will be rather more time-consuming than the one I currently have. Therefore, it may affect the regularity with which I'm able to update my stories. We shall see how it goes; just wanted to let you know : )


	8. Part Eight

**The Pitfalls of Being and Insufferable Know-it-all**

_All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

**Part Eight**

Merging back into consciousness seemed a rather slow process. For a precarious time, I thought the darkness wouldn't clear and I'd be stuck; lying there motionless in some sort of limbo forever. But that I even contemplated this pointed towards regaining my faculties. Eventually, my limbs started to tingle, my ears rang loudly, and I seemed to be returning back to life. I fluttered my eyelids open and experimentally moved my head from side to side, unable to stifle a soft whimper.

I soon established I was lying on my living room settee. Clearly, Snape hadn't decided to leave me out on the forest floor, open to the elements.

With regard to the man himself, I was aware of a faint rustling sound and I blearily hoisted myself up into a sitting position. My head throbbed with the movement and my vision was out of focus for a few moments. In time, I managed to ascertain he was sitting at my kitchen table, quill in hand, scribbling over something. Even in my compromised state, I hoped for his sake he wasn't scribbling over _my_ work. Had I been sure I could stand without my legs giving way, I would have launched myself over to him.

He glanced up at the sound of my stirring, but I was more interested in my clock that sat on the wall behind him.

'Eleven thirty?' I stammered in confusion. 'What—Is it _Monday_?'

'Indeed,' he grumbled. 'Milking it, were we, Granger?'

I collapsed back down with a sigh, wishing for unconsciousness to return. I put a hand over my face and counted to ten in my head. The whole bloody night had come and gone since that incident in the forest. What on earth had happened to me?

I heard, rather than saw, him stand and take the armchair opposite me. I clenched my jaw at the way he seemed to have made himself at home. How long had he been there, I wondered; all the while as I lay dead to the world? Wasn't sure I liked the sound of that. I had visions of him snooping around possessions again.

'What happened to me?' I asked, not bothering to removed my hand or open my eyes.

'You were merely jinxed,' he stated blandly, and I loved his use of "merely". 'I've seen it once or twice before, and as far as I can tell, it's a spell used by poachers who want to capture Augureys and other birds _alive_. They land on the afflicted tree and the spell knocks them out cold. Far more efficient than having to aim your wand at a bird in flight.'

I grimaced to myself. 'That's horrible.'

'I don't think it's a favoured _modus_ _operandi_,' he continued, ever the detached observer (supposedly). 'Too noticeable for Muggles; and by extension, potentially, the Ministry.'

I wasn't convinced with this analysis. Noticeable, was it? _He_ bloody well hadn't noticed it.

Or…Actually, perhaps he had, I realised uneasily.

'What did you do afterwards?' I queried with interest.

'After dumping you back here—'

I nearly snorted.

'—I returned to our task. I've since been back to examine for signs they turned up last night, but I found none. Either they were successfully deterred, or they went elsewhere, perhaps.'

I said nothing. Is it terrible the first thought that entered my head was how convenient it all was? The one jinxed tree being amongst the area he'd instructed me to work on? How convenient was it that I'd lain unconscious and was unable to see the effects of our work? I frowned to myself, thinking this whole situation was only getting worse and I still didn't know where I was, or where _he_ was, in all this.

I didn't enjoy thinking in this manner. As much as he irritated me, I only wished he would be frank with me so I could forget, or confirm, my doubts.

There was the sound of a newspaper being opened and he spoke again. 'Some bloody do-gooder has written to the _Prophet_.'

The contempt in his voice made me turn my head into the cushions and smile. 'There are some people who care,' I muttered.

I was only surprised he hadn't deduced _my_ involvement; perhaps he wasn't as omniscient as he liked to make out.

He snorted scornfully. I wasn't surprised. I knew whatever his motives were for pursuing this matter, they weren't because he cared, in the sentimental way I did, about the animals and their welfare.

'Now you're back in the land of the living, I'm off,' he announced.

I stirred sharply at his words and let out a noise of protest. 'What do we do next?' I asked, heaving myself into a sitting position.

'I haven't decided.'

I scoffed, uncaring if he heard me. Why did he have to decide everything? 'And what if I have an idea? Some information? How am I to contact you?'

I hardly knew where he lived under normal circumstances, let alone where he might lurk about whilst trying to maintain a charade. I pushed my hair out of my face, for the first time considering I might look a wreck, and peered up at him with narrowed eyes.

'I will contact you,' he stated, and then he was gone.

I simply sat there, dumbly, for some time afterwards, completely unable to comprehend, and completely resenting, his prickly, high-handed demeanour. I rose unsteadily to my feet, still feeling rather unlike myself, and obtained a glass of water. Partially refreshed, I went to my kitchen table in order to see what it was he had been writing.

It was with no small amount of horror that I took in the numerous spidery scribbles cluttering up my margins and footers; there were corrections and crossings outs and…

'Oh my _God_!' I cried out in aggravation.

The bastard had actually had the gall to _mark_ my work.

Out of everything he'd said and done recently, it was _this_ I considered to be the final straw. As I've said previously, I'm usually up for a laugh, but I didn't find this funny at all. Not one bloody bit.

In fact, it was a good hour or so before I could do anything other than fume.

When I was able to think clearly again, I wrote a quick note to the Weasleys—to apologise further for my abrupt departure the day before. I simply told them I'd had some work to attend to. They wouldn't have batted an eyelid at it—wasn't the first time I'd disappeared from some social gathering in order to test a sudden theory or write down a new idea.

Some hours later, when I felt I'd regained my equilibrium sufficiently, I also returned to the scene of the crime—the forest in Cheshire. I wanted to see it for myself. I wanted to examine that tree for myself. It would be futile, I knew; Snape, so he said, had been back here. Any (self-incriminating?) evidence he would have discovered and, possibly, hidden from me.

I arrived at the same clearing he'd brought me to the day before, and I proceeded walk slowly around the base of the trees, examining the ground closely for disturbance. I probably would have looked ridiculous to any passer-by, but, fortunately, there was no one around to observe my antics.

All I found, though, was leaves. I kicked at them irritably, feeling this was my perpetual problem—always being two steps behind; the last to be in the know.

I turned my attention next to the cause of my incapacitation, and I cautiously approached the stricken tree, which had jinxed me so thoroughly. This time, as I stood close to the trunk, I felt no essence of magic. It's possible this was because it was simply less noticeable to me a second time around. However, and though I was reluctant (of course) to touch it, I rather thought the jinx had been eliminated. The likeliest candidate to have done this was, clearly, Severus Snape. And the most logical reason for him to have done this was to ensure no one else ended up in the predicament I did.

Good, responsible behaviour.

Yet… and I felt awful for thinking it again, it just seemed so very convenient and… _coincidental_.

Of all the forests in the country, of all the areas _within_ a forest, he'd brought me to _this_ spot, where there just happened to be a trap waiting for me to fall into. My doubts about this man and the fancies he was playing a double-handed game always seemed to run wild when I was left alone to brood. It was only when I was with him that my desire to believe in him appeared to supersede anything else. And at that point, I had to wonder, uncomfortably, whether this might say more about his cunning than it did about the reliability of my instincts.

I suppose a lot of my trouble stems from the fact I have a tendency to over-think matters. I think and I think and I think, and often, I just don't get anywhere. Something obvious may be staring me in the face, but I have to complicate things by reasoning out too many options, too many possibilities, and I just can't proceed. And there's not much I hate more than indecisiveness.

I couldn't wait for Snape, I decided firmly. I couldn't wait around indefinitely on his say-so. I was due back to work in the Ministry in a week; I needed to make some headway before the majority of my time would be spent dealing with all that headache inducing rubbish there. The first thing I wanted was to see Cresswell again. Out of everyone, he had the most inflammatory accusations to make and I needed to know what substance he could provide them.

And as for danger… Well, Snape had done a good job of 'mitigating' it so far, hadn't he? I'd take the risk—the risk, pointedly, only Snape had identified.

There was nothing else for me to decide. I Apparated to Snowdonia once more and knocked briskly on the door of one George Cresswell. I tried to ignore my discomfort as I considered whether Snape would somehow, in his apparent infinite wisdom, know that I had come here once more.

I knocked on the door again, but there was no answer. I bit my lip and frowned at my luck, concerned that if I had to return to try again at a later time, I might very well talk have talked myself out of it by then. There was nothing else I could do, however, and I moved back down the steps, preparing to Apparate home. I hadn't reached the bottom, however, when I heard a muffled noise sounded from within the house.

I launched myself back up the steps and called through the door. 'Mr Cresswell? Please may we talk? It's important…'

There was nothing for a moment and I knocked again, straining to hear of any sound from within. In time, the lock clicked gently. The handle moved and the door opened partially.

'Go away,' said a voice.

'Mr Cresswell,' I urged, trying to get a glimpse of him, but there was only his hand to see, holding the door. 'I just need to ask you about… Well, to talk to you about—'

'I've nothing to say.'

'I don't believe that. Please—'

Suddenly, the door was opened further and his face came into view. I shrank back at what I saw.

_'This_ is what happens when I _talk_,' he spat.

There was angry, livid bruising all around his left eye and cheekbone.

'What happened?'

'I'm not to talk to you; not unless I want another… visit.'

'Visit?' I queried urgently. 'From whom?'

He was a while answering. '_Who do you think_?' he hissed ominously.

Every part of me went cold, because I knew precisely to whom he was referring. 'Snape's in Norway; everyone knows that,' I stated, as boldly as I could.

The expression of the old man twisted bitterly with resentment. 'Not last night he wasn't.'

Following that, the door was shut firmly in my face and I was left standing there full of complete and utter disbelief. So much so, that I had to ask myself if this was all really happening. On top of everything else, I was now being told that Severus Snape was going around threatening people for their silence.

I had to think hard whether I could believe he would do such a thing, but the inescapable conclusion I reached was that I simply didn't know the man to determine either way. His whole personality, his motives, his drive, were as clear as mud to me.

The most troubling part of this new development was that, regardless of the truth of Cresswell's allegation, he seemed confident Snape wasn't in Norway. How did he know this?

_I_ _knew_ Snape wasn't in Norway, and I also knew I had no idea what he might have done, or where he might have gone; not whilst I was supine across my settee all night.

I couldn't see it… I didn't _want_ to see it. Snape attacking an old man physically… It just didn't seem his style. Yet, I had to wonder if that, in itself, was the whole point.

My instincts pointed at one thing, but the facts, such as they were, pointed to another. Regardless, it was something I couldn't sit on. I couldn't bide my time regarding this. Either Snape really was up to his eyes in skullduggery, or someone, for reasons unknown to me, wanted me to believe he was. I need to resolve this, as far as I could, soon. I had to confront him; one way or another.

I Apparated home hoping, ironically enough, that I would find the man had broken into my home again. However, disappointingly, he hadn't.

How was I supposed to get in touch with him, when he refused to give me any inkling of his whereabouts? I pondered hard, but for all that, coming up with only a couple of options. The first was formed on the recollection of a vague mention Harry had once made, a few years previously, regarding our former nemesis.

In order to speak to Harry, though, I would have to wait until the evening, when I knew he would be home from work, and that wasn't ideal on its own. The other option I had involved sending a note to his office at the Society. My reasoning was that, some way or another, he would likely be keeping up with the post he received there. This was hardly ideal, either; but in the short-term, the best I had.

I certainly had nothing to lose in sending a note, so I sent my owl off as soon as possible.

I still travelled via the Floo to Grimmauld Place, later that day. I cornered Harry—shut us in the library, away from the children, and knowing it would be a long shot, simply asked him if he knew where Snape lived.

'Snape?' Harry echoed with confusion. 'What on earth do you want to know about him for?'

'Oh, you know, I just need to contact him regarding the work I'm doing.'

Harry nodded suspiciously. 'Isn't he, ah, away, though? That's what I read in the _Prophet_.'

'Well, yes—'

'Who knows how long your letter may go unopened, then? You'd be better off going to his place of work and asking for a forwarding address.'

He looked at me as if I were completely dim, and I say with no affectedness that had rarely ever happened.

Wasn't his fault really. I wasn't prepared to go into the details. I don't like to say Harry had become rather institutionalised over the years, but he took his responsibilities as an Auror seriously, and he flourished because of it. Had he heard even some of what had been going on, he would have had me in the Ministry making a witness statement immediately.

I was disappointed I hadn't got anywhere. I think, secretly, I would have loved turning up on Snape's doorstep and seeing his reaction (I'm not vain enough to think I could break _his_ wards and enter unannounced). I didn't want to push Harry any further, though. He did know where Snape lived, at that time, but I had a strong feeling he wouldn't have told me, probably out of consideration for Snape himself. And that's another story, really.

The point was, I personally didn't want to go anywhere near the Most Extraordinary Bloody Society for Potioneers. I wasn't sure there was anyone there whose word I could rely upon; even kind old Albert I was beginning to doubt.

This was why I had to reach some sort of consensus before proceeding; there had to be _someone_ I could trust, and despite everything, I wanted to believe it could be Snape; even if he was, and remains, a grumpy, infuriating old git. And as I think back, maybe even, curiously, because of it…

So, I returned home and I waited.

I waited and I waited.

And waited.

I dozed off when it got late, feeling my luck wasn't to be in that day, for he wouldn't turn up at some unconscionable hour, I thought.

Why was I always wrong?

It was well after midnight when I was jolted from my sleeping by a noise. I sat up, suddenly alert, and heard it again—it was a knocking on the door. A short, irritated rap, and I knew exactly to whom it belonged. I was only grateful he'd bothered this time with such an apparently disposable convention as knocking on the door for entry. Was a bit surprised not to have woken up and found him sitting there, glass of wine in hand, and looking at me as if to say, 'What kept you?'

I rushed over to the door and wrenched it open. I barely had time to register his dark figure before he'd glided over the threshold and took himself straight into the living room. With a sharp sigh, I closed the door and braced myself.

He didn't apologise for the late hour, and I hadn't expected one. It does seem, slowly, that I was learning.

He stood in the middle of the room, pulling the scarf around his neck loose. I couldn't help it; my eyes surreptitiously lowered to his hands. Ridiculous as it sounds, I was looking to find some bruising of the knuckles perhaps; signs of an altercation reminiscent of the one Cresswell described.

Snape however, much to my consternation, was wearing gloves.

Was I worried for myself, at all? Did I consider the only danger facing me, possibly, was this man who I'd brought into my home and shut myself in with? Would he threaten me for _my_ silence?

No; I wasn't afraid. I should never have even contemplated what I was about to do, had I been afraid of him.

'You summoned me?' he stated with a sneer.

Oddly enough, I was suddenly overcome with a sense of self-assurance. Yes, I had _summoned_ him, and yes, he'd turned up. Maybe, even, I could say I had the luxury of exercising the upper hand. I'd confront him; prove to him I was no mere girl—not his student to intimidate any longer. One (small) point to me, finally.

Slightly exhilarated, I moved into the room and leaned against the back of the settee, crossing my arms nonchalantly. 'I merely wished to inform you of a rather, ah, interesting conversation I had today,' I began, relishing the opportunity to adopt the drawn out, roundabout manner of speaking he often employed (usually to the detriment of my mental health). 'Most… curious it was.'

I even raised my eyebrow at him for good measure.

What he said, however, was simply: 'Get on with it, Granger. Think I've got all bloody night, do you?'

I grimaced. Of course, I should have known he'd have no qualms about being blunt with me. Thwarted, I resolved right there the next time he started doing my head in, I would just say: 'Get to the point, Snape. Think I've got all bloody night, do you?'

'Where did you go after you brought me back here last night?'

A faint frown appeared across his face. '_Why_?'

'Was it only the forest you returned to?' I questioned briskly.

Oh my, I could tell I was pushing my luck. His eyes were beginning to shine with ice-cold fury. Perversely, I think I rather enjoyed being responsible for it.

'I'm not answerable to _you_,' he hissed contemptuously.

I was unmoved. 'Maybe you'd rather answer to the Aurors, then?'

He took a step forward and I rejoiced inwardly as I held my ground without the slightest hint of a flinch.

'Explain yourself, Granger—_now_.'

Admittedly, that soft growl of his was, slightly, off-putting, but I drew myself up confidently.

'Oh, well, it's just a little bird tells me you popped over the border last night. Told me you visited Mr George Cresswell and… attacked him.'

It was a moment I shall always remember with unerring accuracy. The perpetually pale complexion of my former professor paled further still and there was an unquestionable flicker within his eyes.

And that flicker, I'd never seen before, but, brief as it was, I felt I knew what it was—it was uncertainty.

In hindsight, I didn't much care what he would say in his defence. It, perhaps, doesn't reflect well upon me, but all I felt was triumph over wrong-footing him. It was a moment to enjoy, and I won't pretend it was otherwise.

I had to make the most of the chances I had, didn't I? Because I doubted anyone could cow Severus Snape for long. Oh no.

Or, more pertinently, even... to get away with it.

* * *

><p>AN: I'd hoped to finish another chapter, while I had chance, and here it is. Thanks very much for reading!<p> 


	9. Part Nine

**The Pitfalls of Being an Insufferable Know-it-all**

_All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

**Part 9**

If I've learnt anything about Severus Snape, it's that he's a spoilsport.

My moment, _my_ moment of triumph, was woefully short-lived. I told him Cresswell had accused him of violence—that he'd attacked him. And the brief, gratifying sight of his surprise faded almost immediately as he… _laughed_. Laughed in my face.

He seemed to consider me for a moment, before he sat down, ran a hand over his face, and started chuckling quietly to himself. Naturally, I was thrown. I hardly knew what to do with myself while he indulged in this bout of amusement. I folded my arms around myself and perched on the edge of the sofa, a bit unsettled.

'What's funny?' I asked reluctantly.

Typically, he could not answer my question straightforwardly; in fact, he entirely ignored it. 'Tell me,' he said. 'Do you think I attacked him?'

I wasn't pleased to be put on the spot like this. Especially as I wasn't certain of my own mind. Instead I sought to deflect the point. 'I think, perhaps, the question is how does he know you aren't in Norway?'

His eyes narrowed. 'Perhaps he's bluffing?'

I decided to be forthright, regardless of the consequences. 'I don't think he is.'

'Well, maybe,' he said next, an odd gleam in his eye, 'someone's masquerading as me?'

I shook my head instantly. 'What would be the point? You'd be able to prove you weren't at the scene.'

'Quite so.' He nodded, still looking vaguely amused. 'So, then, Miss Granger, by my reckoning there is only one other option.'

I found myself sitting upright. 'You went to see Cresswell?' I tensed in anticipation for his answer, wondering if I'd mistaken his behaviour after all. Wondering if my suspicions about him would prove founded.

'I did.'

I froze. For a number of reasons, I felt my stomach sink at his words. For one, the possibility he had struck Cresswell was now increasingly credible. For another, it was clear he had an entire agenda that was invisible to me.

'I see,' I said tightly, feeling unaccountably slighted.

'What's wrong with old George, then? Did I split his lip? Or was it an old-fashioned shiner?'

'A shiner,' I confirmed distastefully, trying to judge from his expression whether he was feigning his lack of knowledge or not. Why I bothered, I don't know. As if I could ever make head or tail of his demeanour.

While I deliberated, he frowned to himself and looked at his hands. Then he started plucking off his gloves and flexing his freed fingers, showing them to me. They were unblemished. The corner of his mouth lifted. 'Suppose I could have healed any bruising, mind.'

What an incorrigible man! He was obviously enjoying teasing me; finding amusement in fuelling my confusion. And oddly, the one thing that sprang to my mind at this time, was the realisation he didn't care about my opinion of him. He clearly couldn't give a damn whether I thought he was guilty of assaulting an old man or not. Of course, I understood there was no reason my opinion should matter to him, but he was just another in a long line of people who seemed to find it easy to ignore me. Perhaps I'm too sensitive, but somewhere inside me, I was dismayed.

And that, in turn, made me indignant.

'_Look_,' I burst out irritably before I could temper myself. 'I don't know what your game is, but I'm beginning to think I don't want to know, actually.'

His eyebrows raised only a fraction.

'I don't think you really need my assistance, so…' I shrugged and got to my feet, hoping he would take the action for the dismissal it was.

But, of course, he didn't. I went to the sink to begin piling dishes into it, and I heard him stand. When he spoke, he was not headed for the door, however, he was directly behind me. How stupid of me to even believe my feelings should matter.

And what he said next nearly made me throw a plate at his head.

'This is bad form… Auntie Hermit, indeed.'

Needless to say, I didn't appreciate this little poke one iota. But after counting silently to five, I was able to concentrate more on the fact he seemed at pains to continue our pathetic attempt at co-operation. When I faced him, there was still something self-satisfied in his expression that elicited within me nothing positive at all. In fact, I rather thought if he didn't watch it, Cresswell wouldn't be the only one with a black eye. It was a nice fantasy at the time, and one, unfortunately, I've had cause to revisit several times in years since.

'Tell me why you went to Cresswell, or I go to the Ministry tomorrow and tell them all I know.'

His bottom lip curled briefly in an expression of consideration. He was not intimidated, I felt; if anything he was only amused again, much to my chagrin. He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and said:

'Sit.'

I watched, dumb, as he pulled out another chair and put it next to the one I'd been ordered to occupy. He sat and tugged my map closer, and it was only when he took my quill from the inkwell and started scrawling a series of crosses at different locations on the map that I jerked into life. Indignant, I rushed to sit down.

'Ah, what _are_ you doing?' I asked irritably, fighting a strong urge to wrench my map away and protect it from his swift lashings.

He sat back to admire to his handiwork when he'd finished, and said: 'Any tea going?'

'No.'

There was a murmured noise of disapproval as he produced a liquorice wand and began unwrapping it. I nearly burst with frustration while he chewed thoughtfully. I was inches away from telling him that I didn't have all bloody night, when he finally, _finally_, started speaking with a sense of purpose.

'See here,' he said. 'These markings denote where poachers have targeted in the last few months.' He consulted his pocketbook and pointed to each cross on the map in succession, reading off a list of dates and his own recorded observations at that particular time.

And while, undeniably, I was surprised and intrigued he was finally revealing some of his knowledge, I was also… oddly distracted. Indeed, I'm not sure what came over me, but I'm quite sure I missed half of what he said. It's with reluctance I say this, but I think I was momentarily flustered. He was awfully near, there was the smell of liquorice, and my eyes were more concerned with the length of his arm, which rested on the table, and with his hand, which was…

Well, it was all very foolish, a rather fuzzy moment, and I blinked back into sanity, folding my arms tightly around myself.

'Er, so, ah, what exactly does this have to do with Cresswell?' I asked, leaning away slightly.

'How was I to know where they'd strike?' he posed enigmatically.

I scowled. 'Here's an idea; why don't you just tell me?'

I'd like to say it was the late hour that disposed me to being brusque, but I'd be lying. It was all him. I simply couldn't be arsed with his self-satisfied demeanour any longer.

'Cresswell,' he began, speaking in possibly the most condescending tone he could find, 'is involved. He informs me where the next hit shall be. Do you understand now? Or should I write it down for you?'

Unfortunately, I didn't actually understand fully. Would have died before admitting it though. So I chose to ask what I thought was a respectably pertinent question instead. 'Why does he say you attacked him?'

Naturally, to him it wasn't a pertinent question. He shook his head, chuckling at me, and I felt my cheeks heat up a little. _Again_. When he stood up and went to lean against the sink, I was relieved I could hide my discomfiture.

'Tell me, were you born yesterday, Granger?'

I closed my eyes. '_No_.'

'Really? You're doing a good job of convincing me otherwise. Cresswell is giving me the information _against his will_.'

He paused then, and, it seemed, was waiting for a reaction. When I stated, a little tiredly, 'You're blackmailing him,' I think I probably gave him what he expected. He's made no secret of the fact I'm predictably transparent.

Somewhere behind me, there was a muted huff of disapproval. 'That's such a disagreeable word, isn't it? Let us put it in simpler terms: Cresswell knows I have information on him that could land him in Azkaban, therefore, he… offered to help me. Of course, he's very reluctant, hence his little attempts to get me into trouble. Unfortunately for poor old George, he chose to use _you_ in order to double-cross me.'

He stepped around the table, patting my shoulder lightly as he past me. 'And you,' he continued, 'are on my side, aren't you, Miss Granger?'

I was a bit uncomfortable with his subsequent piercing look and I think I may have fidgeted with some scrolls of parchment, so that I didn't have to make eye contact with him. Because I wasn't entirely sure I was on his side. I certainly didn't think we shared the same purpose in mind — the same principles driving us onwards.

'Indeed,' he murmured. 'This is could be very advantageous. We must ensure Cresswell doesn't find out about our… alliance.'

The way he said "alliance" made me feel a bit awkward, for some reason. And neither was I sure what "advantageous" constituted. Did it only mean to keep a few steps ahead?

'If Cresswell is involved, he should be reported to the Ministry and investigated.' I sat up and folded my arms, wanting to regain some stronghold in this discussion. 'In fact, this mess might have been resolved far sooner if you had done precisely that.'

Rather than being antagonised by my accusation, he actually had the gall to look smug. 'Bureaucracy has narrowed your vision, Granger. It is a terrible thing and you have my apologies.'

My jaw fell open.

Craftily, however, he cut in before I could tell him to piss right off. 'You've seen Creswell — he's well past it. They only want him for his connections on the continent. You don't seriously think he knows who is at the top of the chain, do you? Because there _is_ someone out there, Granger, who is pulling all the strings, funding these operations, managing these operations, and reaping the spoils afterwards. That is the person we searching for; not the halfwits like Cresswell.'

What was the point in trying to compete with him anymore? I conceded his point. 'You've no idea who this person is?'

'No,' he replied after a moment.

At the time, I believed him. I chose to ignore what I thought was a rather cryptic turn to his countenance. Probably, I was relieved he'd provided an answer for the Cresswell issue, and I was ready to believe it, and him, in order to retain faith in my own judgement.

'What's next, then?'

'You are going to visit the Society.'

At the mention of the Most Extraordinary Society for Potioneers, I was reminded of my previous visits there, and I recalled my futile quest to find the book Snape and Ridley had once written about Augureys. Not to mention the enquiry to the offices of the _Practical Potioneer _journal. I'd made no mention to Snape of this little phenomenon I'd uncovered. Maybe Cresswell's actions extended further than false accusations. Or maybe it wasn't Cresswell. I wondered whether Snape had any inclination that Cresswell mightn't be the only person trying to double-cross him.

I rather hoped he didn't. Somehow, I wanted to prove he wasn't as omniscient as he liked to imagine. Yes, I resolved right there I was going to prove it, even if it was the last thing I ever did.

So, when morning came, and armed with instructions, I set off to Edinburgh. The foyer was empty again, when I went in, so I calmly went to wait by the desk. Despite my secret purpose in being there, according to Snape, I was to make my presence known. He'd decided I was to make as much noise as possible regarding my supposed desire to see him. The logic being that with Cresswell's allegation in mind, I'd ordinarily have been crusading around trying to prove or disprove the matter. He seemed to feel it important the facts of our co-operation were kept hidden for the time being. What machinations formed this strategy, I don't think I really wanted to contemplate. After all, how was Cresswell supposed to hear of my movements, I asked him.

I was told, succinctly, that there are "eyes and ears everywhere". I sometimes had to wonder whether the war had perhaps left him a little... touched.

As I waited for Albert to appear, I unfolded a copy of the _Prophet_ that sat on the desk. Immediately, I flicked to the letters' page, and lo, there was a response to my previous appeal. However, it wasn't the response I'd entirely hoped for. Indeed, my cheeks flamed a little as I read and I've transcribed the most inflammatory comments.

_'These idle do-gooders make me sick_. _These people who claim to care seem to enjoy telling everyone else how to live their lives, but what do they actually do about it, other than preach from the comfort of their armchairs?'_

There was no name supplied, but I was prepared to bet my last galleon Severus Snape was responsible. Dsigruntled, I was half debating reducing the paper to cinders, when Albert peered around the door.

'Oh, Miss Granger! How lovely to see you again.'

'Good morning, Albert,' I replied with a smile. 'I was wondering if it'd be all right to use the library, again?'

'Certainly, my dear; you know where it is.'

'Thank you.' I turned to marble staircase, but paused. 'Oh, I, ah, really would like to speak to Professor Snape; do you know when he might return?

A frown appeared on the old man's face. 'Afraid not, dear.'

I nodded. 'Right; thanks again.'

I went up the stairs and followed the passageway around to Snape's office. My real purpose wasn't to visit the library. I'd received precise instructions from Snape, tasking me to retrieve an object from his office without being spotted by anyone. It was no difficult task; the building sounded almost eerily quiet, and I was confident about sneaking in and out. Furthermore, I'd been assured the door would be open, and it was. I crossed over to the bookshelves and immediately picked out the small, intricately carved wooden box I was to pick up. Intrigued by what Snape could possibly keep in such a small box, I decided it must be under a Shrinking charm. Perhaps it contained some doucments... I shook it, but nothing sounded. And naturally, I tried to open it, but the lid wouldn't budge.

Stuffing it into my robes, I was about to flee, when my attention was diverted. This was _his_ office. This, perhaps, was my one chance to learn a little more about whom I was dealing with. The man who I wasn't sure whether to trust or not. Suddenly I was standing at his desk, contemplating opening the drawers, and just as quickly, I was scolding myself and turning away.

Then I was faced with the bookshelves and, like a magnet, I was drawn to an inspection of them, only to shout at myself again. I had to leave before I was spotted; it was no time to be rifling through someone elses belongings. And really, I wondered, would he have sent me here at all had he anything to hide?

No, seemed the obvious answer.

I'd like to say that was the end of it. But it wasn't. It was only by chance that I happened to look down and see the small piece of parchment peeking out from underneath the bookcase. Without having to think about it, I bent down and pulled what turned out to be several sheets of parchment, bound together.

My mouth opened in surprised when I realised what I held. I had before me, in black, handwritten script, stamped as the property of the _'Practical Potioneer,'_ the original draft of Snape and Ridley's treatise on the distribution of Augureys. By turns discomfited and surprised by this discovery, I hurriedly stuffed the parchment into my robes, with not a thought for the consequences. I rushed over to the door and listened for any sound. Satisfied I could escape unnoticed, I took a breath and pushed the door open.

The hallway was empty. Head down, I scurried forwards, only wanting to get out of the building as quickly as possible. As it turned out, it wasn't to be very quick for me, for when I reached the stairs to the foyer, Theobald Ridley was ascending them.

'Miss Granger,' he greeted coldly.

Painfully aware of what I had in my robes, I sought to keep my expression clear. 'Mr Ridley,' I said evenly.

I half-hoped he would continue on his way, and it seemed he was prepared to do just that, except, on surveying his blank features and flinty eyes, I found myself speaking further. 'Is Mr Snape still in Norway?'

'Yes,' he answered irritably.

'Really?' I injected just the right amount of doubt for him to really look at me with interest.

'Something to say, Miss Granger?'

I shrugged my shoulders lightly. 'I may have heard a rumour to the contrary, that's all…'

There was an odd flicker in his face and I was gratified to see it. 'Severus is a law unto himself,' he observed stiffly. 'Going to catch up with him one day, if he isn't careful.'

And with that cryptic remark, he walked off.

I wondered whether I'd done the right thing in being so deliberately suggestive. But if I had doubts as to Snape's trustworthiness, I had none whatsoever over Ridley's. It appeared perfectly obvious Ridley didn't hold Snape in any particular regard, and so, maybe, he might also like to see Snape in a spot of trouble. Of course, I hardly knew the man; who was I to judge him after only a few exceptionally brief meetings? I think I spied an opportunity to ingratiate myself with the man through projecting a distrust of his superior.

Because there was that manuscript I'd found in Snape's office, and my first inclination this time was that it had been put there by someone else. It seemed too stupid for Snape to have put it there himself. And if someone else had put it there, they'd want it to be found — hence it's unoriginal hiding place. I'd deliberate on it later; when I could be sure of a quiet five minutes to myself.

The man in question was waiting for me when I returned home. Despite being preoccupied, I didn't forget to feel umbrage at the fact he was still Apparating into my house whenever he felt like it.

'Well?' he asked expectantly as I took off my cloak.

'Well, what?' I answered tightly, taking out his wooden box and placing it before him, secretly hoping he'd reveal what was in it. I would keep all reference to the manuscript and the manner of my finding it at nil. Most definitely until I had read it, at the very least.

'Did anyone see you?'

'Not in your office. I saw Albert, and spoke to Ridley, though...'

I watched his expression carefully, but there was nothing remarkable at my mentioning of his deputy.

'Theo, eh?' he said, enlarging the box and taking out a little key to unlock it. 'Good, good… Did he have anything to say for himself?'

I barely heard him. I was transfixed by the opening of the box and the sight of the contents held within. Transfixed _and_ aghast. I closed my eyes and counted to ten, praying for someone, anyone, to give me strength.

'You sent me to retrieve your… liquorice wands?' I questioned through clenched teeth.

'I'm in Norway, in case you'd forgotten.' He didn't even bother to look at me when he asnwered.

'I thought I was picking up something important! Something to aid our investigation!' I looked at him wildly.

He shrugged. 'Rule of thumb for you, Granger; never make assumptions.'

And right there; _right_ there, I lost the will to live.

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks for reading : )<p> 


End file.

Harry Potter, Humor, Romance