A Matter of Honor
by Amy McWilliams (McAmy)

Book 1: The Honors Project

Chapter 7: Work Begins

It took a long time for the Gryffindor common room to quiet down that night. Finally Hermione went to her room, and the crowd dispersed somewhat. She rejoined Ron and Harry in front of the fire a while later. As seventh years, they were insured the best seats--and having the Head Girl for a best friend didn't hurt, either.

As she looked over her timetable for the first day of class, Ron yawned. "I guess that means that Lavender Brown didn't get her proposal approved."

Harry caught the yawn. "Guess not. Wonder if McGonagall had to step in on that one or what? Or maybe she didn't finish?"

Hermione didn't respond, and Harry prodded her with his toe. "Hermione, can't that timetable wait for tomorrow?"

She looked up at him, her brow creased, and replied, "Wha…huh? I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Ron said, speaking extremely slowly and making hand gestures to illustrate each word, "He said, 'can't…that…timetable…wait…'"

Hermione shot him a look. "Funny, Ron. In fact, that bit gets funnier every time you do it." Ron still grinned, pleased with himself.

"You all right, Hermione?" Harry asked.

She sighed. "Yeah, I am. Just tired. I was so nervous for so long, and now that the term is here, I should be happy with all the good news. But I'm still nervous." Harry nodded.

"You'll be fine. You'll make a great Head Girl," Ron added, his mouth full of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, "And I'm sure that ol' Snape won't give you too much trouble. You just let me know if you need me to rough him up a bit."

Hermione smiled. "There was a note from him waiting for me upstairs; I'm supposed to stop by sometime tomorrow to make arrangements for the study."

Ron noted, "No wonder you're nervous."

Hermione gave him a look, not quite irritated.

"Hey," he said, looking at her in mock earnestness, "just because I'm not mad at you anymore about Snape doesn't mean I have to stop poking fun at him all together. That just wouldn't be right."

She laughed a little. "No Ron, it wouldn't be right at all."

"Right. Then I'm off to bed. Coming, Harry?" Ron rose and headed for the dormitory stairs.

"In a minute," Harry said.

After he'd gone, Harry looked at Hermione. "Are you really all right?"

She nodded. "I was also thinking about my parents. I sent them an owl while I was upstairs…with the good news. I…well, I wasn't very nice to them this summer, locked up in my room writing my proposal."

Harry tried to reassure her. "They know you love them. They understand."

She glanced over at him. "Do they? Or do they feel like Ron--like this is more important to me than they are?" Harry didn't know what to say. She continued, quietly, "And the thing is, Harry, it is. I feel like they don't really know me. Not really. Not any more. I couldn't wait to get back to school. I almost forgot to say good-bye…"

She turned to face the fire, a tear running softly down her cheek, and the two friends watched the flames together.

Snape's note had suggested that she stay behind after Potions class; they had Advanced Potions with Slytherin ("Gods, for once you'd think they'd give us a break!" moaned Ron when he saw it listed on his timetable) in the last class period. Neville, of course, was a nervous wreck as they entered the room and found their customary seats on the back row.

Draco Malfoy was there ahead of them, and snarled, "Why look, Crabbe, it's the Head Girl," as Hermione walked by. Ron reached over and calmly smacked him on the back of the head. Draco was too shocked to respond immediately, and before he could rise from his seat to follow Ron down the aisle, Snape entered.

He swept up to the front of the room, turned, and glared at them all. "So…" he let the word snake around the room, his voice smoothly menacing, "I see you have all survived long enough to make it to your final year. For some of you, this must have taken some very powerful magic indeed…" he glanced sharply at Neville before adding, "or just dumb luck." Neville's eyes were glued to his desk. "I was very disappointed in your final exams at the end of last term. Not at all what I'd expect from the house champions, after all…" his gaze drifted over Ron and Hermione to settle on Harry. Then he turned to Draco, seated in his usual place ("The sucking up seat," Ron had named it) in the front row. "And, though it shames me to say it, the papers from Slytherin House were not much better." Draco looked away, the smug smile gone from his face for the moment.

"Because of this…" the smooth, mocking tone was gone, and in its place, coldness--though his movements were still measured, his words still softly spoken. A slight change that, lucky for him, kept Seamus from lolling into an afternoon nap. "I want to begin with a review of the last several potions you brewed--or should I say, attempted to brew?--for this class last term." There was some shuffling, since no one had thought to prepare for this. Harry was pleased to see that even Draco looked a little disconcerted.

"Can anyone list for me the ingredients for the Basic Anti-Sleeping Charm Potion you were assigned at the end of last year?" Silence. Snape ran his eyes up and down the rows, waiting for somebody to attempt an answer. Hermione shifted a bit in her seat, and his gaze jumped to her. For some reason she felt shy about putting her hand up, and she sat looking at him for a moment before Draco raised his hand. Snape's expression had never changed, but she felt like she had done something wrong.

Draco had begun to list the ingredients, and Hermione regrouped in time to hear him name "crushed Unicorn Horn powder," which she knew was incorrect. Her hand flew into the air, startling Harry, who had been taking notes beside her.

Snape's eyes again shot to her, and Draco's voice faded. Raising an eyebrow, Snape asked, "Miss Granger, did you have something to add?"

She set her jaw and answered, "Professor, it should be 'Unicorn Horn essence'--the powdered form won't mix evenly with the bitterroot leaves."

Again that glint of something she couldn't place. He turned back to Draco. "Now that Miss Granger has answered part of your question for you, please continue."

Hermione flushed in anger, until, as Draco continued, Snape glanced back at her and nodded, ever so slightly, before turning away to slowly pace the front of the room.

The class finished their Potions just as the period ended (Neville had written the ingredients down incorrectly and used the powder, causing a bit of smoke and damaging the tabletop--"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Longbottom, for ruining your potion, five for the damage, and another five for not listening to your housemate's explanation as to why not to use the powdered form."), and Harry and Ron had cleaned up and gathered their things by the time Snape gave them all permission to leave. "See you at dinner," Harry said, as he and Ron hurried to put some room between them and Draco.

Hermione packed her bag as the rest of the class filed out. Snape finished sorting the homework parchments and said, "Miss Granger, I believe we were going to speak about the arrangements for your project?"

She looked up to find him watching her. "Yes, Professor."

He gestured to the door, "Shall we go to my office to get away from the smell of Mr. Longbottom's work for the day?"

She refrained from smiling and simply followed him to the door.

Seated in his office (which felt strange, she thought), Snape took out the parchment she recognized as her proposal. Her nerves tensed a bit, but Snape gestured to the page and said, "Miss Granger, your work here is excellent. Twenty-five points to Gryffindor for the best honors project proposal I have ever read."

She was stunned, but managed to say, "Thank you, Sir."

He continued as if she hadn't spoken at all. "Now. We have agreed that you will begin with the Cruciatus curse. While I know you are anxious to begin experimenting, I am going to ask you first to compile a reading list--the literature review you were so anxious to complete."

She nodded, not even noticing the words that, had he spoken them in class, would have seemed to mock her.

"If you could have a bibliography completed by this time next week, I will take a look at it and make whatever suggestions I deem necessary. I don't mean to keep you from experimenting for too long; I find that my best inspirations come when I'm actually working with ingredients, seeing them interact. Once I am sure that you have the theory in hand, we'll begin. Say…the third week of class? You will, of course, continue your reading as we go along."

Hermione was stunned; he seemed to expect her to make quick progress. That she had expected, but the simple fact of his seeming confidence in her abilities had her stymied. She heard him ask a question, but didn't know what he'd said.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I was thinking about the bibliography…" she covered. "Could you repeat the question?"

"It's not a quiz, Miss Granger," his voice was smooth and low, "I merely asked you if this time was convenient for you. If so, I would suggest that we meet after class again next week to discuss your progress and go over your bibliography."

"That would be fine," she said.

"Good. After that, when we begin the practical trials, I would want to arrange a second time during the week as well. Perhaps Thursday afternoon at this same time, to space things evenly across the week?"

"That would be fine," she said again, suddenly feeling a little like Neville. She forced herself to focus, and asked, "Professor Snape, will we be conducting the trials in the classroom, or somewhere else? I'd like to be able to check on things in between our meetings…" He waved his hand, but not quite dismissively.

"Yes, of course. I had thought to assign you one of the small workrooms just off the classroom, if you think that would be suitable. You would then have access at any time, and the storeroom would be convenient to you. I will give you the keys to both rooms, though some of the rare ingredients you will have to request from me directly. I would, of course, be available in between classes and in the evenings, if you needed me--though I would ask for some warning, especially for the latter, if at all possible. Will this do?"

"Of course," she said. "And thank you."

"I came across a book that I thought might be of interest to you…" he said, standing up and crossing to the shelves, when it hit her. She knew what was so odd about their meetings. It wasn't only that he'd stopped ridiculing her; it was more than that. He was actually interested in her ideas. He didn't hate her (oh, Ron would be horrified). He was treating her like a grown-up.

Having outlined all of the arrangements, Hermione had talked with Snape for upwards of half an hour about her work over the summer. He had asked several questions about her proposal, and had actually smiled--it was only there for a moment, and she wasn't sure she'd actually seen it, wasn't sure it was actually a smile, for that matter--as she'd grown excited describing her thoughts on the section suggesting applications of her primary work to the other Unforgivable Curses. Snape had (maybe) smiled at her. This semester was definitely going to be weird….

Someone called her name as she walked towards the Great Hall. She turned to see Remus Lupin coming down the stairs.

"Hi Professor," she smiled, waiting for him at the bottom.

He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug as he joined her. "Congratulations! I was so excited, I couldn't even look at you--or Harry--when you arrived last night. I knew you would be thrilled."

"I am," Hermione beamed.

"You look it!" he said. "I had to keep myself from sending you an owl when Severus announced in the teacher's meeting just before school started that he had approved your proposal. Have you met with him yet?"

"Of course." Hermione adopted her best know-it-all tone. "Do you think I'd let the whole first day of school go by without formulating my entire plan of attack?"

Remus laughed. "Of course not! Come on. We'd better go in--but you'll have to keep me posted, all right?"

As they walked into the hall, Hermione stopped him. "By the way, have you met with your own honors student yet? It seems you need a plan of attack as well."

He nodded. "Actually, I only saw him briefly today, and we're meeting tomorrow." He glanced at the head table, where most of the faculty was in place. "Better go. Talk to you later."

Hermione slid into her seat just as Dumbledore began the meal. In the middle of a conversation with Seamus and Neville (Quidditch, of course), Ron rolled his eyes at her for almost being late, and Harry, smiling, asked, "How did it go?"

Hermione started to explain everything--how excited she was, all of the arrangements they had made, the book Professor Snape had loaned her--and realized that Harry really only wanted to know that it had gone all right, that Snape hadn't been mean, and that she was happy.

She smiled at him, and said, honestly, "It was great, Harry."

He nodded. "I'm glad."

Closing the door behind her, Snape returned to his desk. He had a few minutes before he needed to leave for dinner. He was surprised at how much he didn't mind meeting with Miss Granger. When Remus Lupin had mentioned the possibility of her talking to him about a proposal last semester, he had been genuinely surprised. Hermione Granger had been an annoyance in his class since the first day he'd laid eyes on her. Yes, she was intelligent and talented (with an almost instinctive insight verging on brilliance, he allowed himself to add), but she was also one of the kinds of students he dreaded most: the smart child who answered every question correctly, letting the rest of the class off the hook. As long as Granger was in the room, they all knew that somebody already had the answer. She had never realized how detrimental that could be, no matter how many times he'd snarled at her, refused to call on her, or taken points from Gryffindor for her grand displays of hand-waving. He wondered for a moment why she had hesitated in today's class when he'd asked for the list of ingredients.

When she came to him about the proposal, he was impressed. He assumed she would talk herself out of it, decide on an Arithmancy study or take the easy route with Flitwick. Transfiguration with McGonagall would have been more of a challenge, or even Defense, with Lupin. He knew from watching her in class that neither of those would interest her, though--not enough to commit to a year-long study.

After their first meeting, he was convinced. Her idea was cutting edge, though the library didn't have the resources that would allow her to realize just how current her thinking was. He had been thinking along the same lines with the Imperius curse for some time, and had been intrigued by her description of her work with Professor Vector. More importantly, she had realized that Arithmancy didn't offer her the right tools for the job. He smiled to himself; of course she hadn't immediately jumped to Potions. With Weasley and Potter as her best friends, and Gryffindor as her house, why would she ever make Potions her first thought? Just showing up for the meeting had proven that she was brave enough to work with him; she hadn't been cowed by him in class for a long time, and it was clear that she was bracing for the worst when she arrived at his office that day. He had been tempted to show her his worst, to see just how determined she was, but her eloquent defense of her ideas that afternoon had made it impossible for him to do more than jab at her a bit in the beginning.

This girl deserved to know how smart she was--how good her work was. He realized that she wasn't, after all, the sort of student he'd always thought her to be. She didn't give every answer because she wanted the attention, or because she needed her teacher to tell her she was right--or at least that wasn't the main reason. She knew she was right, and she was too impatient to wait for somebody else to blunder through. She wanted to get on with the lesson. She wanted to learn.

He had scoffed at the other professors fawning over her in the staff room for years. Vector, especially, was a sycophant. Only Trelawny was worse, though not about Granger. (It amused him that she had so clearly dismissed Trelawny and her classes as worthless.) He had trusted McGonagall's appraisal of her, though he was skeptical of Lupin's praise. He had never seen her through their eyes, and had always suspected her of being merely a brown-nosing student determined to win over her teachers because of some need for approval. It appeared he had been wrong. When she had been talking to him about the expansion of her project from the Cruciatus curse to the others, she had glowed with excitement, and he had not been able to repress the smile that had flitted across his face.

Yes, he had to admit it; he was looking forward to working with Miss Granger.

He picked up her proposal and skimmed the opening paragraphs again. He stood, and, after filing it away safely, opened the door and left for dinner.

On to Chapter 8