Written in Blood

My darling reviewers! How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…Oh, just read the story!

And if you don’t know by now that it isn’t mine, here’s a little reminder!

:Author dresses in flashy can-can outfit, and sings (to the tune of the can-can): Not mine, no, this story’s not mine! No, it’s J.K. Rowling’s, even though she doesn’t want Si ‘ca ‘cause she killed him, yes, oh yes, she killed him, I will not forgive her, no, I won’t because---(Author is dragged out and beaten with a wet noodle by people who can actually write successful song parodies)

And I’ll stick to stories!

Tally-ho!

Over the next few weeks, Snape’s students began to see a marked change in his appearance. It appeared he had begun using scouring charms on his hair, so that it now hung in shiny waves about his face. It also seemed he was making an effort not to scowl, and indeed be a bit kinder to the people he met. This of course had its downside. Unaccustomed to being nice, his anger would occasionally break through his outward demeanor, more terribly than usual even for Snape, and terrify some unwary student who happened to be passing by, spilling a potion, or interrupting his concentration.

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say most of Snape’s students noticed a change in the Potions master. Hermione Granger had absolutely no time to spare, with her schedule full of Advanced Potions, Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts (once again taught by Lupin, after Umbridge had been ousted), Advanced Herbology, Advanced Muggle Studies ("What do you do, live like a muggle during class times?" ---Ron), Advanced Charms, Advanced Transfiguration, and Advanced Arithmancy. Refusing to heed anyone’s advice that she drop a few classes (as she had done after her third year), Hermione was more often found in the library than the common room or even her dormitory. Lavender Brown confessed to Ron once in October that she hadn’t seen Hermione in three days, despite sharing a room with her and that every morning her eyes had dark bags under them. "Horribly unattractive, you know," she lectured Ron. "You really shouldn’t let your girlfriend get away with things like that, even if it is our N.E.W.T. year."

At every meal, she ate rapidly, hurrying off to the library once again. "It isn’t fair," Ron complained to Harry after being stood up for yet another Hogsmeade weekend. "She finally agrees to go out with me, and she’s in the bloody library every time I want a word!"

Harry nodded, sympathetic. Even though he wasn’t dating Hermione, he missed her as much as Ron did. Both of the boys’ grades had taken a serious dip at the beginning of this year, as Hermione had announced that her notes would no longer be available for her friends to copy. "NO," she had firmly stated. "How do you expect to get through your N.E.W.T. exams if you can’t even take your own notes?"

She had developed the somewhat annoying habit of pronouncing N.E.W.T. as "En-ee-double-you-tee" instead of ‘newt’, driving everyone crazy, much as she had with S.P.E.W., which they had mercifully heard nothing about this year. Instead of shortening the word itself, she would rattle off "en-ee-double-you-tee" extremely quickly, so that anyone unfamiliar with her idiosyncrasies would have a very difficult time divining what on earth she was talking about.

Her study habits, while somewhat admired and envied by all of Ravenclaw house, were obviously starting to take a toll on her by Halloween. A pool was started by those in her house (and most likely in every other house) on when she would crack under the enormous pressure of her workload. Each day Hermione showed up in class, money changed hands, to the disgruntlement of the teachers, who could never find proof of any gambling. The entire school (including the staff, among whom it was whispered another betting pool was going) seemed to be waiting with baited breath for the star student to take a tumble.

In very early November, a surprise Potions exam took Hermione completely unawares. As Snape rattled off directions, directions forming themselves on the board, Hermione stared down at her cauldron, eyes unfocused. Harry nudged her with his elbow, thinking she had fallen asleep on her feet (it wouldn’t be the first time), but she did not respond. He poked her harder, muttering, "Hermione?" out of the corner of his mouth. She only stared harder, and whispered, "I can’t."

"What do you mean you can’t, Hermi We We’ve done a Polyjuice potion before, you’re a whiz at this!"

She looked up at him, eyes bleak. "I can’t," she repeated, louder this time. Loud enough to call the attention of Professor Snape. His eyes flicked over to them, taking in Hermione’s desolate appearance. Hair uncombed, eyes somewhat haunted, robes askew, she looked like she had recently been discharged from Azkaban. How had he never noticed before?

"Miss Granger, is there something you would like to contribute to the class?"

Hermione’s eyes turned wild, as she looked frcallcally from face to face, seeing every eye fixed on her. "No, no Professor, there isn’t…" her voice shook, exhaustion of the mind finally rattling her, "there isn’t anything I’d like to share. Is that unusual? I have nothing to say! Except one thing!" Her voice grew in volume, until she was shouting, baffling her classmates. She drew in a deep breath, hands pale and gripping the side of her cauldron, eyes going even wider as she readied herself for an announcement. She screamed, "I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO PREPARE THIS POTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

There was utter silence in the dungeon. She stood there for a moment, spent, and then crumpled onto the floor in a faint. Harry immediately bent over her, but was shoved rudely aside by Snape, who gathered the unconscious girl into his arms, and strode toward the door. He quickly spun around, eyes dark in his face. He snapped, "Mister Malfoy! Take over the class," as he hurried out the door to the Hospital Wing.

The door swung shut, leaving a very pale seventh year class, as Malfoy sauntered to the front of the dungeon, collecting gold from Crabbe and Goyle on the way.

********************************************************

Hermione awoke in the Hospital Wing ten minutes later, feeling a throbbing pain in her head. Madame Pomfrey saw her open her eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief, calling, "Minerva, Albus, she’s awake!" before bustling over to Hermione and stuffing a cup full of liquid into her hands. Hermione took a sip, grimacing at the awful taste, as Professor McGonnagal and Headmaster Dumbledore walked into the room.

Professor McGonnagal’s lips were pursed into a very thin line, as she surveyed her favorite pupil (not that teachers were allowed to choose favorites, of course). How had she not known the girl had too much on her plate to possibly handle? The answer was simple—she had wanted to see Hermione pull through by herself. That was the reason she had granted the girl the use of the time-turner her third year, and why she hadn’t intervened in her over-full schedule this year. She felt some need to see the girl succeed, and hadn’t wanted to interfere. Well, that would end right now. Without preamble, she told the girl firmly, "Miss Granger, your schedule will be amended. You will drop two courses of your choice. You will spend EVERY night in your dormitory, and your library privileges, although it pains me to say it, will be restricted to four hours every day." At the girl’s horrified face, she softened her voice. "I do not wish to keep you from succeeding, or indeed garnering the highest possible marks on your N.E.W.T.s, but our chief responsibility as a school is to ensure your well-being, and not merely your excellence. We wish to see you make a full recovery, and if garnishing your library time is the only way to achieve that end, so be it."

Hermione had gone pale during this speech, and there were tears openly coursing down her cheeks now.

"Which classes will it be, Miss Granger?" McGonnagal asked as gently as she could.

Through her tears, the Deputy Headmistress managed to make out the choked words "Muggle Studies" and "Herbology," in a tone of resignation. McGonnagal nodded, and said, "Professors Benning and Sprout will be very sorry to lose you, I’m sure." At this, Hermione gave a sob and hid her face in her hands. Unable to convince herself that this was really the best course of action, McGonnagal turned to the Headmaster. He patted her on the shoulder in dismissal, and she turned to go, feeling relieved Dumbledore would take it from here.

The Headmaster sat on the foot of Hermione’s bed, as she continued to sob. "There, there," he told her gently, "it really isn’t as bad as all that. You still have plenty of classes to keep your mind sufficiently occupied. And I, for one, will be very glad to see you in the Great Hall one of these days." His eyes twinkled as she raised her head, beginning to exert some sort of control over herself once more. "Now," he asked her, "which class do you spend the most time researching in the library, may I ask?"

Uncertain where this line of questioning was leading, she replied shakily, "Well, it used to be Arithmancy, but I think I have the hang of that now. It’s most likely Potions. The Potions N.E.W.T.s are traditionally terrible, and I just w-want to b-b-be p-p-p-prepared!" The last word was nearly lost in a wail, however, as she burst into a fresh bout of tears.

The Headmaster simply waited for her to cry herself out, weeping brokenly, as she rocked back and forth on her hospital bed. When she had exhausted her supply of tears, the Headmaster began again, as if nothing had happened. "Well, in that case, I suggest you arrange to take private lessons with Professor Snape. He certainly can help you with anything you require to know in that area, and has indicated that he will be amicable to aiding and abetting the furthering of your research."

This unexpected good fortune caused Hermione to even cease lamenting over the loss of Herbology. "He did? How did you get him to agree? I’ve asked him over and over for a moment to talk—"

"Well, Miss Granger," the Headmaster shrugged, "Professor Snape has recently become a bit more amiable, if you have not noticed—as I’m sure you have not, busy as you undoubtedly have been. His reasons, however, always have been and always will be his own, I’m afraid. I do suggest, however, that you take advantage of this opportunity." With that, he stood, preparing to go. "I will expect you at the Great Hall for dinner tonight. In the meantime," his eyes were gentle as they twinkled at her, "do try and rest. We all know you need it."

Shorter chapters mean more frequent updates! Well, actually I have the whole story planned out, and this is where this chapter ends. It’s how I keep myself from doing strange things to the plotline when I eat too much cheese late at night. So, never fear, this will NOT be an unfinished story! That is, if I get enough reviews…

Shameless and loving it!