Disclaimer: Anyone and anything you recognise belongs to J K Rowling; the story, however, is ours.

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MetroVampire & Rhosymedre

Part 3 - A Short Course In Me, or Hermione 101

She was Head of Slytherin.

No. That was ridiculous. There was hardly anyone in the school less suited to being the Head of Slytherin than her, she thought. After Neville perhaps. Although it would be a damned close run thing, as they said.

All right, Hermione, my girl, time to get a grip. You and Snape will be able to find a solution for this between you - no matter what he says about joint lifetimes. Hang on for a few days - a week at the most - and it'll be over. How hard can that be?

It seemed perfectly straightforward. All she had to do was figure out how Snape would react in any given situation, and do the same thing. So, what would he do right now? She glanced at him. He was glaring at her again, although this time he did seem to be trying to make it as covert as he could.

Presumably that meant that he would not be staring into space in front of the house points totals.

She tried to force her mind into a Snape-ian thought pattern.

He would be unpleasant. And unfair. Those were givens. And he would be taking charge. She squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath. She spoke, trying to sound as disdainful as she could.

"I suggest, Miss Granger"... oh dear, she was going to have to work on that sneer... "that, instead of just standing around here, we get back to the Potions Room and see if we can save some of what is left of the... um... experiment. It may give us some kind of clue."

It wasn't quite the effortless contempt that she had been aiming for and the glint in his eyes told her that he hadn't appreciated her remark about 'standing around' either. Too bad, she thought with an edge of bad temper.

Irritated, she pulled the robes around her and stalked off without looking to see if he was following her.

Halfway to the dungeons, she noticed a group of three Hufflepuff students approaching. She couldn't immediately put names to them, but she devoutly hoped that they didn't have business with either her or Snape. In mild surprise, she watched them almost skitter away from her as she passed, throwing hasty sympathetic looks in the direction of Snape. They plainly thought that their Head Girl was on her way to detention. Which meant that the combination of general annoyance, heavy black fabric, and extra height had obviously made her stalk quite effective.

She was still relieved, however, when they reached the dungeons without any further close encounters of the student kind. The door to the Potions Room was shut. She pushed at it, but it didn't open. She was momentarily confused, and then it dawned on her. She turned to Snape.

"I need the password," she said, without preamble.

He looked as if he didn't want to give it to her. Then he finally said:

"Nightshade".

Trust him to pick something suitably cheerful and uplifting, she thought sourly.

They entered the classroom together. It was just as much of a shambles as when they had left. Ingredients were scattered and furniture was overturned. Six years of bitter experience had developed impressively fast reflexes in their particular intake, when it came to avoiding the consequences of Neville Longbottom. Behind her she was conscious of Snape closing and warding the classroom door. She picked up a chair at random and set it upright, trying to make a clear decision about where to start.

At the back of the room the offending concoction had formed a viscous silver-grey pool on the desk where she and Neville had been working. Gingerly, she picked her way through the remains of the lesson, and stopped, staring both at the mess on the desk top and at the impossible jumble of ingredients, broken glass and pottery shards on the floor.

"Where on Earth do we start?" she murmured, more to herself than anything else. The baritone rumble issuing from her own chest reminded her of the urgency of the matter.

"We start," said the sharp female voice, "by getting a broom, Professor. I doubt that any of this can be saved."

It was astonishing how you could get so much distaste into a term of respect, she mused, turning to see Snape holding a broom in one hand and thrusting another in her direction. Taking it, she began to help him clear an area around the desk.

After a moment Snape said:

"I suppose this would be as good a moment as any for you to begin, Professor."

She was taken aback for a moment.

"Begin what?"

The higher voice took on a sneering, sarcastic tone, which set her teeth on edge.

"Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself, Miss Granger?" he said with exaggerated courtesy. "It's a conversational ploy designed to facilitate social interaction by expressing interest in one's interlocutor, so I'm told."

She stopped in her cleaning to glare at him.

"Well, for a start," she snapped, "I don't sneer. Nor do I use phrases like 'conversational ploy designed to facilitate whatever in one's interlocutor'. If you start saying things like that around Harry and Ron you'll be discovered in a minute."

Their gazes held for a moment, neither of them prepared to give way. Finally, Hermione sighed.

"What do you already know about me?"

Snape gave an odd half shrug.

"Your name is Hermione Patience Granger. I've always thought it a singularly inapt choice of second name for you. You were born sometime in 1980 or 1981 I suppose, given that you are now in your final year. Neither of your parents are magical. You're a Gryffindor. You study hard and achieve high marks in every subject, although Madam Hooch says that your flying could be improved. You associate with Potter and Weasley, and can usually be relied upon to be somewhere in the vicinity when they are breaking school rules. Despite this flagrant disregard of the proprieties, your other teachers regard you with an over-sentimental fondness, which presumably accounts for the fact that you are currently Head Girl. You are bossy, interfering and over-eager to display your knowledge. And you own a large, fluffy, ginger cat which shows atrocious taste in deciding upon whom to bestow its affections."

Hermione blinked at this summation of her.

"Remind me to nominate you to speak at my funeral," she muttered.

Snape looked quizzically at her.

"Would you prefer insincere flattery, Miss Granger?"

"Would it make a difference if I said yes?"

She thought she saw his lips twitch a little at that, but he simply made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. She decided to let it go. Pausing in her sweeping, she collected her thoughts and tried to work out where to start.

"Um... I was born on 19th September 1980. My parents are called Alison and Frank. They're both dentists and they live in Esher, in Surrey. Patience was my grandmother on my mother's side hence the name. Um... I went to a small state run primary school until I got my Hogwarts letter. My best friend at school was Karen Marshall, who lived next door but two to us, and we used to swap dolls' clothes...." There was something very uncomfortable about hearing Snape's voice talking about dolls. She looked up at him. His expression was indescribable. "I suppose you don't really need to know that," she said a little sheepishly.

"Absolutely not," he said with feeling.

"OK," she said, trying to focus on what parts of her life would help him in the current situation. Finally, she continued. "My cat is called Crookshanks and he's a he not an it. He likes to sleep on the pillow at night, next to my head. I get on with everyone in Gryffindor, I think, not just Harry and Ron. I usually lose to Ron at chess. I don't eat meat or gooseberries or asparagus. I like chocolate and rhubarb." She racked her brains. It was difficult to describe yourself, just like that. "I like Arithmancy, Transfiguration and Potions best of all my classes..." she said a little defensively, trying to ignore his sound of disbelief, "... I don't like flying and I can't bear Divination or Professor Trelawney."

She stopped as she realised what she had just said.

"I don't think you need to worry about developing a sudden passion for Divination, Miss Granger." He sounded more amused than offended. "And this is something that I need to know," he added seriously.

"I read just about anything," she continued, "I like music, but I don't know much about it. I like cats, I'm not that fond of dogs..." again, she ignored his choking sound and thought in for a penny... "... I don't like to see people bullied and I don't like people who look down on others because of accident of birth or other things that they can't help." There was a hint of challenge in her tone on the last words, but Snape didn't react.

I usually help Neville with his homework...," she broke off as something occurred to her. "Professor," she said urgently, "you will... I mean you won't..." She shook her head impatiently, and began again. "What I mean is, if you... I... don't help Neville it will look odd... people will start to think that something is wrong."

He sighed.

"I see clearly that Mr Longbottom is destined to haunt me for some time to come." He paused, and then continued in a voice which sounded as if it was being physically dragged from him. "I shall continue with the extra-curricular coaching of Mr Longbottom. I trust he will appreciate it."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Snape put his broom aside.

"I think that we are ready to bottle what we can of this... substance."

Pulling out his wand, he murmured "Accio vials" and several plain glass bottles flew off a shelf at the side of the room. They came to rest, hovering above the desk. Snape plucked them out of mid-air and placed them on the table. Deftly, he used a Pleneo charm to transfer what he could of the silver-grey potion into the bottles. He then stoppered them tightly, sealed them with a charm and headed off towards his office. Hermione followed. Snape paused at the door, looking mutinous.

"If I'm to do this I need all your passwords," she remarked pointedly. After a beat he rather grudgingly conceded the point.

"However, I do not expect to find that Potter and Weasley have been making themselves free in here in my absence," he added, entering his office.

Hermione abruptly found herself very annoyed indeed.

"And I don't expect to find that my friends are suddenly going to start losing loads of house points for things that they say in the privacy of the Gryffindor common room," she retorted.

His face worked, and she was waiting for the inevitable explosion. However, it didn't come. When he did speak his voice sounded forced.

"Do not worry, Miss Granger. Anything that your... friends... say in front of me, believing me to be you, will go no further."

She nodded.

"And anything that people tell me because they think I am you will also be kept private," she responded.

They held each others' gazes again, and in that time a tentative truce was proposed and accepted.

"Now we've done this," she gestured at potion bottles that he was putting in the desk drawer, "I suppose I'd better show you my rooms. Or rather, your rooms."

He nodded in return, pausing to shuffle through some papers on the top of the desk. He straightened, holding a small sheaf of parchment. He held it out to her.

"You'll need this. It's the information and agenda for the staff meeting this evening," he said shortly. "I'll let you know anything significant before you have to leave."

Hermione took it.

"Thank you," she said simply. "Shall we go?"

Leaving the Potions Room - this time he stood back and allowed her to cast the wards - Snape steered her in the opposite direction from the one she would have chosen. They reached a blank wall, and Snape demonstrated a variant on the Dissendium charm which caused the wall to rearrange itself into an archway. Behind the archway was a staircase. He informed her that it would take them the greater part of the way to her rooms without the risk of being seen by the student body. It was undoubtedly a useful piece of knowledge, and one which went some considerable way to explaining Snape's apparent ability to materialise out of thin air.

Hermione only detected a trace of gritted teeth in his explanation.

Arriving at her rooms, she laid her hand on the door and said "Unicorn's Blood". The door swung open. She went in, and gestured for Snape to follow her, trying to distance herself from the thought that she was entertaining the Potions Master in her private rooms. It somehow felt a greater invasion of privacy than being alone with him in the classroom had been. He looked moderately surprised at her choice of password.

"What?" she snapped, made short by her own discomfort. "What were you expecting? Fluffy Bunny Rabbits?"

He scowled at her tone.

"My limited interest in the workings of the minds of teenage girls ends at the door of my classroom, Miss Granger," he replied repressively.

She ignored him, walking across her room, irrationally wishing that she had taken more time to clear up before she had left that morning. The bed was unmade, and she was uncomfortably aware that her nightdress was in a heap in the middle of the floor. She bent to pick it up. The sight of the crumpled white cotton in Snape's strong, very obviously masculine hand was almost too much for her, and she had to fight the impulse to run back through the school to Dumbledore, to tell him that she didn't care - she couldn't do this.

Jaw clenched, and trying not to shake, she dumped her nightwear on the bed, and pulled absently at the covers.

"These are my rooms," she said unnecessarily. "I'm afraid I'm a bit disorganised sometimes. But you can find everything if you look."

It was an unnerving experience, to see your own personal space through someone else's eyes. As rooms went it wasn't particularly girly. No frills, no flounces and not a hint of pink anywhere. There were very few ornaments; only one Muggle photograph in a plain silver frame, showing a pleasant looking couple aged in their mid-forties - her parents. There was a small hearth, with two comfortable armchairs upholstered in deep burgundy. In front of the hearth, the polished wood floor was covered by a deep pile rug, also in burgundy. To the left of the door were shelves, already haphazardly piled with books and scrolls. Attached to the shelves was a large piece of parchment, with diagrams and symbols on it in different colours.

A table, pushed against the opposite wall underneath a large picture window, was similarly cluttered. Set in the right hand wall was another door, which led to her personal bathroom. Next to the door was a large wardrobe in light oak and a chest of drawers in the same wood. A trunk was doubling as a low table.

Whilst the whole room was more or less decorated in Gryffindor colours, it was not oppressive, and the whole gave the impression of light and space. Apart from the photograph, the only items that could truly be described as personal to Hermione were a very old, very battered teddy bear propped on the bed, and a indeterminate pile of ginger fur, which had developed two baleful eyes.

Crookshanks got up, stretched, jumped off the bed and sauntered over to the two of them. He sniffed at Hermione's feet, and then at Snape's.

"Crookshanks, this is Professor Snape." Hermione gestured to the person who looked, and no doubt smelt, like her. "There's been a bit of an accident. He'll be staying here for a little while."

She felt a little stupid explaining things to her cat like that. From the expression on his face, Snape agreed with her self-assessment. However, Crookshanks fixed "Hermione" with a glare, and hissed at her.

"Please be nice to him," she urged, feeling even more foolish.

Crookshanks looked at her, and then at Snape, and then gave what could only be called a shrug, and returned to the bed.

Who said he had atrocious taste in his choice of friends, she thought with satisfaction.

She waved at the room.

"This is it. The house elves change the bed once a week, but you'll have to make it yourself in between. Or not. The wardrobe has my school robes and my blouses and skirts and my dress robes in it. Oh, and there are some other Muggle bits and pieces there. The chest of drawers has jumpers and trousers and..." She didn't care what the Headmaster said - she was not going to discuss her underwear with Snape. He could just find out for himself. "... and other things," she concluded vaguely. "I expect it will all be obvious. The house elves collect the laundry on Mondays and return it on Wednesdays. Um... " she pointed at the other door, "... the bathroom is through there. There's another cupboard in there with... well... that sort of stuff in. Would you like some tea?"

The last phrase was said in a sort of desperation to take her mind off the expression of rising disbelief on Snape's face.

"I have to live here?" he eventually managed.

She bridled at that.

"It could be worse," she said acidly. "You could have swapped with Lavender Brown. I'm sure you'd enjoy all those extra Divination classes. Or it could have happened last year. Then you'd have to share a room with her and Pavarti."

Good grief, she thought. For a moment I actually sounded like him. Snape blinked. The same thing had obviously occurred to him.

She pointed at the parchment hanging from the shelves. "That's my timetable. Everything you need for classes is either on the shelves or on the table. All my homework is up to date." She shrugged. "I can't really think of anything else to tell you." She tried to smile. It felt awkward, as if the muscles weren't really used to arranging themselves in that configuration. "I'm afraid I'm not a very interesting person."

When Snape didn't bite on that lead she looked at him curiously. He was pacing rather nervously.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, conscious of the deep irony of the question given their current situation.

He seemed to be struggling for words. Finally he managed:

"Miss Granger, please tell me one thing. Are you... do you... I mean, Potter..."

Another first, she thought bemusedly. Professor Snape lost for words. The gentleman in question shut his eyes and doggedly continued.

"Miss Granger, please tell me that you are not... romantically... involved with either Potter or Weasley... or anyone else for that matter..."

For a moment she was stunned. Then the possibilities began to present themselves to her mind. She collapsed into one of the chairs near the fire and began to shake. After a brief, unsuccessful struggle to control herself, she gave way to fits of helpless laughter. Even the poisonous glares from across the room couldn't sober her up; the whole vision was just too ridiculous. For one glorious instant she contemplated telling him that she was secretly engaged to Neville Longbottom.

She was also rather enjoying the rich baritone that she was producing. It was unexpectedly mellow. But then again, to her knowledge no one had ever heard Snape laugh. With a struggle she composed herself.

"No, Professor," she gulped, trying to reassure him. "I'm not romantically involved with anyone at the moment." Something prompted her to add, "although, if you decide to change that, I'd appreciate it if you'd discuss it with me first."

"This is not a laughing matter, Miss Granger," he said in an arctic tone. "You may rest assured that I will not be organising your love life for you."

That brought her back down to Earth.

"I'm sorry," she said with real contrition, "I wasn't laughing at you. It was more the whole situation - I just needed to get rid of some of the tension I think. Dinner is one thing, but I can't say I'm really looking forward to trying to convince the rest of the staff that I'm you at this meeting later." She paused. "Did you want any tea?"