A Matter of Honor
by Amy McWilliams (McAmy)

Book 1: The Honors Project

Chapter 12: A Breakthrough

"Professor Snape!" she called, hurrying towards his office door.

He flung it open with a worried look on his face. "What is it--what's wrong…" he demanded.

Hermione smiled, "Nothing…nothing's wrong, Professor…I think…I think we've done it!" She turned quickly to lead him back to her workroom.

They had agreed that, at the beginning of February, she would begin work on the Imperius Curse. But Hermione couldn't quite let go of the work on Cruciatus yet, not completely, and as she drafted that section of her final report, she had done a few more tests. Today, they had paid off.

As they entered the workroom, she grabbed his arm, pulling him nearer to the cauldron. "Look! Doesn't that mean what I think it means?" she said, excited.

He leaned down and sniffed the fumes, then turned to look at her. "You tell me, Miss Granger--what do you think it means?"

"That it will work," she answered. "This experiment is on too small a scale, and we'd need to check out the possibility of using wormwood as a substitute--in small amounts, of course…" she trailed off. "But I think it will work."

He raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, she thought she'd miscalculated--that he had seen something that she hadn't, or that she was missing the obvious. But then he smiled. "I believe you're right. Congratulations. Excellent work."

She smiled, and then hugged him around the neck. "Thank you, Professor Snape. And congratulations to you too."

She turned back to her work, more determined than ever to move on to the next Curse. Her mind was spinning so quickly that she didn't notice him leave.

Outside the door to the workroom, he adjusted his robes, paused, and raised an eyebrow. For the life of him, he couldn't remember a student ever--for as long as he'd been a teacher--giving him a hug.

Ron and Hermione still weren't speaking much, but he had apologized to her, and they seemed to be trying hard to get along. With Valentine's Day around the corner, however, things were a little tense again. The Ravenclaw seventh years had received permission to have a party--sixth and seventh years only, from all houses--in the Great Hall on that evening. Not everybody was going; some didn't have dates and didn't want to go on their own, others were dating fourth or fifth years, and still others, like Ron and Harry, didn't want to go through the ordeal of asking anybody.

"So…I guess you'll be going to the party?" asked Harry one night in the common room, realizing that he didn't know what Hermione's plans were.

Ron looked up at her, then away, pretending not to be interested in her reply.

She glanced at Harry, and then back to her book. "Actually, I won't." Both Ron and Harry stared at her. She flushed, then continued, eyes on the page, "Ralph and I haven't seen each other again since Christmas."

Ron swallowed hard. "Er…I'm sorry, Hermione. I know I've said so before, but I really am sorry."

Hermione said quietly, "It wasn't you, Ron, believe it or not." But there was no malice in her tone.

They sat silently for a few minutes before Harry said, "Maybe we could just boycott the whole stupid holiday." Ron grinned, and Harry could see Hermione smiling behind her book.

Later, when Ron was deeply involved in a game of chess with Dean, Harry leaned towards Hermione and said, "I'm sorry about you and Ralph."

She nodded, then looked up from her book. "It's all right. I realized about halfway through the second dance that it wasn't going to work out." She smiled at the look on Harry's face. "I know, I know--what's wrong with Ralph Innes? Nothing, really. It's just, well, you'd think we'd have more to talk about. We share responsibilities, we're both working on honors projects, we both come from Muggle families…"

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, his mom's a Muggle, and his dad's a wizard, but he's chosen not to practice magic since he married her. They left it up to Ralph to choose what he wanted to do when he was old enough to come to Hogwarts, though they knew he'd have to be trained, regardless."

"Wow," said Harry. "But…" he prompted her to continue.

She sighed. "It's not that he talks too much about Quidditch--though he does." She looked pointedly at Harry, who smiled. "I've learned to put up with that from you and Ron. But, for all I said about Ron not understanding me, it's like Ralph understood me even less. And I guess I didn't really understand him either. I can't really explain it. It's like…well, you're going to laugh at me for this," Harry grinned wickedly at her, "but it's the best example I can think of. One night he was at Remus's office rearranging a meeting because of an extra Quidditch practice. I know things come up, and I don't even fault him for having to rearrange the meeting--but he just seemed, I don't know, disorganized. And he never wants to talk about his work."

"Imagine that," Harry teased.

After a minute he asked, "Hermione, how do you put up with me and Ron?"

She saw that he was serious, and considered her answer. "You and Ron are my best friends, Harry. We've all learned to put up with each other. But you…or rather, I…I want something…more, I guess, from somebody I'm going to be in love with. I want to spend my life with somebody who shares my interests--not that we have to be exactly the same, but you know what I mean." Harry nodded. "Somebody who…I don't know, somebody who is calm when I'm a nervous wreck, practical when I'm idealistic--somebody who needs me to balance them out as well. Somebody who's as smart as I am--or smarter, even. I'm not saying you and Ron aren't smart, Harry, but I mean somebody who loves learning like I do. Somebody who…who makes me feel safe and trusted, and accepts me for who I am."

They were silent for a minute. Harry said quietly, "I understand exactly what you mean, Hermione."

Several minutes later, just when she was involved in her reading again, Harry turned to her and said, with a gleam in his eye, "You know, Hermione, it seems to me like you ought to date Remus. He seems like just your type." He laughed and wiggled his eyebrows as she flung a cushion at him.

But the words on the page blurred in front of her eyes as she realized that she hadn't been describing Remus Lupin. Without realizing it, she'd been describing Professor Snape.

They should have known that Hogwarts had been too quiet for too long. ("Do you realize that none of us has spent the night in the hospital wing in over a year?" Ron asked one night.) During the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Draco Malfoy and Evan Bishop had ganged up to trap Harry against the side of the stands. He'd hit the wall hard, and had to go to the hospital wing. Ron and Hermione had gone with him, as Madam Hooch tried to sort out the remaining players.

It was quite a serious broken arm, Madam Pomfrey had said, but she'd mended it quickly. Harry wanted to return to the match, but she had said "definitely not." Without Harry, it was very likely that they'd lose, meaning that their only hope of winning the Quidditch cup would be if Ravenclaw beat Hufflepuff and Hufflepuff…well, if Hufflepuff beat Slytherin.

"We're doomed," Ron said.

"Hush, Ron. You're making it worse," Hermione scolded.

But luck--or rather, the Slytherin's bad judgment--was on their side. After the end of the match, Professor McGonagall came hurrying into the room, looking both excited and angry.

"Did we win, Professor?" asked Ron.

"No," McGonagall said, "they've called off the game and there's to be a rematch. When Bishop and Malfoy shoved you into the stands, apparently you put up enough of a fight that it caused Bishop to drop something out of his pocket. A vial of…well, we're not sure yet what it is. Professor Snape is analyzing it right now."

"I'm sure he's happy about that," muttered Ron, and Hermione glared at him, shaking her head.

McGonagall didn't seem to have heard, though Harry was sure she probably had.

"Professor?" he asked, "so…does this mean that whatever it was, there will be a rematch? Or…"

"Yes, Mr. Potter," she nodded sharply, though Harry knew her irritation wasn't directed at him. "Whether it was something to be used against another player, or something…something beneficial to Bishop, Madam Hooch had declared that the game will be scratched from the books and replayed." Harry sighed, relieved.

"Now. I think that the sooner you two let your friend here get some rest, the sooner Madam Pomfrey will allow him to leave. And Miss Granger, don't you have your meeting with Professor Snape to attend?"

Hermione had all but forgotten. She'd asked to see Professor Snape briefly this evening ("Crikey, it's Saturday," Ron had moaned) because of some trouble she was having with a formula. "I do!" she exclaimed, grabbing for her book bag. "But…" she turned to McGonagall, "won't he be working on the…"

Professor McGonagall eyed her over the top of her glasses. "Miss Granger, if I were you, I would never presume that Professor Snape wouldn't keep an appointment, no matter what had come up. Now go on."

Hermione left, quickly, and McGonagall smiled before turning back to the two boys.

As she neared the Potions classroom, she could hear Snape fuming from the other end of the hall. "Of all the idiotic…drug use in sports, like common Muggles…should know better…" CRASH. She wasn't sure what had just hit the floor. She stopped in her tracks for a minute, but didn't hear anything further.

She took a deep breath and walked into the room.

Professor Snape was staring intently at a cauldron that was just beginning to boil. His eyes were narrowed, his hands braced on either side of the cauldron against the desktop, and he was breathing deeply and deliberately. She saw him mutter something under his breath, close his eyes for a moment, and straighten.

As he reached for a mortar-and-pestle, she said, "Professor Snape?"

He gave her the look he usually reserved for the moment right before he took fifty points from Gryffindor on Harry Potter's behalf. In a flash, it was gone.

"Ah, Miss Granger. I wasn't sure that you would keep our appointment, seeing as how…your friend…" he sneered at the word and returned his focus to the cauldron, "is still in the hospital wing. I trust he is recovering nicely?"

His tone told her that he clearly hoped nothing of the kind. She managed to respond with civility. "Harry is fine, Sir. Should we reschedule for Monday? I know…that is, I don't want to interrupt…"

Looking at her again, but not as coldly, he said, "Ah. I see that you have heard the news about Mr. Bishop." Beginning to grind some leaves into powder, he continued, "While I know that it is hopeless to try to keep the news from spreading over the school before curfew, I hope that you, at least, will not add to the rumors?"

She nodded as he glanced up at her. "Especially," he added, "as you may well be here when I determine with what, exactly, Mr. Bishop was flying around this afternoon. Now, ask your question, and then I assume you'll want to do a bit of work?"

With that, things went back to normal, although Snape was still agitated (it didn't affect his potion making, she noted; he was still as methodical as ever) and Hermione wanted very much to say something to him. She just wasn't sure what, or even why.

Later, as she was sitting in the workroom reading over some notes from the week, she heard voices in the classroom. Professor Snape appeared in the doorway. "Miss Granger, I need to close your door for a moment, and ask that you not listen at the keyhole."

Despite his words, his tone was polite. She said, "Of course not," and he pushed the door shut.

Of course, now she was completely distracted. She didn't know who was out there, or how long she'd be shut in the workroom. She assumed it had something to do with Evan Bishop. And she'd promised not to listen…. After a few minutes of hypothesizing, she forced herself to attend to her experiment. She'd be done for the night soon, and there was still no sign of whatever-it-was being over.

As she began to clean up, however, there was a knock at the door. "Yes?" she said.

"You can come out now," Professor Snape replied, opening the door. "And I apologize for the inconvenience. Would you mind stepping out here for a moment?"

She followed him into the classroom, starting when she saw that Professor Dumbledore was there. "Good evening, Miss Granger," the Headmaster said. "Good evening, Professor," she replied, noticing that his eyes weren't twinkling tonight.

Then he said to Snape, "Severus, I'll see you in a few minutes," and left.

Snape sighed. "Miss Granger, I'm afraid something has come up and I must attend to it personally."

He paused, and she ventured, "I'm done, Professor, and was just about to leave, so…"

He interrupted her with a wave of his hand. "I didn't mean to drive you away; I was just letting you know that I would be unavailable for the rest of the evening. I wanted to ask…" he paused, furrowing his brow, "but no, you said you were about to leave, and I don't want to keep you."

"What is it, Professor?" she asked, hoping that she could help with something--he seemed upset. "I hope it's nothing too terrible about Evan…" she stopped as he glared at her, but the look was gone almost as soon as it had flashed across his face.

"Mr. Bishop faces a stiff penalty…for use of a forbidden stimulant," he said, and Hermione didn't know if he was testing her to see if she'd spread the word or choosing to trust her. "But there is other news…I can say no more than that." He paused.

Hermione decided to try again. "I actually meant…that is…if there's something you needed me to do, I would be glad to stay and help…" her voice trailed off.

He studied her face for what felt like a full minute, and then motioned to his desk. "I had thought to ask you if would finish up this Shrinking Potion for me. I need it for class tomorrow; the third years are going to try to brew the antidote. I know it's not in your job description as my honors student, but if I leave it now…"

She glanced at the cauldron. "You'll have to start all over. Of course I can finish it, Professor. I'd be happy to."

A look she couldn't identify crossed his face, briefly, and then he said, "Thank you, Miss Granger. I trust you can see where I've left off."

She nodded, taking her place at his cauldron.

As he left the room, he added, "And I'll add five points to Gryffindor for your assistance."

"It's not necessary," she told him. "I'm glad to help."

He did grant her the points, she noticed the following afternoon, though they had always worked under a tacit agreement--ever since she'd earned the points for her proposal (and she suspected he had only given her so many then because he was allowing her to make up for the points Neville had lost the first day of class)--that her work on the project would not affect her house's points. She knew that, upon completion, the honors project would earn Gryffindor a set number of points anyway. And she had reason to suspect that Remus had been handling Ralph's project in the same way, so as to keep things even.

At the thought of Ralph, she flushed, but shuffled her notes and tried to look like nothing was on her mind but her reading as Harry joined her at the fire. "All right, Harry?" she asked.

He stretched out his arm, and replied, "All right. Good as new."

It dawned on her that she hadn't seen Ron all day. "Where's Ron, anyway?" she asked, and noticed that Harry didn't look at her as he said, lamely, "I'm sure he's around somewhere."

"Hrmmph," she muttered, immediately suspicious that they were up to something and not letting her in on it.

Harry fidgeted for a minute, then said, "Well, actually…" she shot him a look, "I do know where he is. I just…I wasn't supposed to tell you."

Now she was irritated. "Why on earth not? What could there possibly be that he wouldn't want me to know about?"

Harry looked sheepish. "Well," he faltered, then sighed, resigned. "He's on a date."

Hermione's mouth fell open. Harry continued, "he didn't want you to know, because he's not sure…well…I mean…he's not sure if it'll work out, and he didn't want you to…"

Hermione cut him off, angrily. "Did he think I'd be jealous? I guess not, or he'd have told me straight out, knowing him. Did he think I'd make fun of him if she turned out not to like him? Or...that's it. He thought I'd feel sorry for him, didn't he. As if I have the time to spend worrying about Ron Weasley's love life!" She sputtered to a stop.

Harry tried to explain. "I think he just didn't want you to think he was bragging, and didn't want you to feel bad. I don't think he meant anything by it, Hermione, honest."

She sighed. "I just wish all of this…this mess…would be over. I'm so tired of it."

"So am I," Harry exaggerated a sigh, "so am I."

She smiled despite herself. "So?" she asked, pointedly.

"So…what?" Harry said.

"So who is it?"

"Oh," he answered. "It's Sarah McClintock. She's sixth year, in Ravenclaw. She's in Magical Creatures with us."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and her eyes glittered. "Oh, really…" she drawled. "She's pretty, right? With long dark hair and green eyes?"

"Yes…" Harry was cautious. He'd seen that look in Hermione's eyes before. "What are you on about?"

Hermione looked at him. "Why Harry," she said, still glittering, "you can't expect me not to give Ron a hard time about this can you? Especially not after he tried to keep it from me."

Harry grinned, "Oh, no. Of course not…."

On to Chapter 13