Author's note: Just to let you know, I've played with OotP's timeline a bit here and have the scene starting this story on February 25th, rather than Easter break like it is in the book. In case anyone is interested, this will probably be a rather long story. Comments and constructive criticism are quite welcome, as are misspellings and typo corrections. Rated T for language and probable violence. Anything you recognize belongs to JKR, especially any sentences that are in italics. Those are lifted directly from OotP and upwards. I hope you enjoy it!

Edit: This chapter has been beta'd and made generally better by the wonderful Nargles394. Thank you so much for your help!

"Hey mate, it's almost six. You'd better get down to the dungeons or you'll be scrubbing half-melted cauldrons for a week."

Ron's whispered warning barely registered on the fringes of Hermione's consciousness. Her latest arithmancy essay (minimum length of two feet, one-and-a-half feet of parchment used thus far, one inch margins, assigned this morning, due next Wednesday) had captured her complete attention. Professor Vector had assigned a prompt regarding the usage of magi-mathematical probabilities in the creation of charms and potions, and it was the most fascinating thing they had learned yet in the term. With such a wealth of information at her fingertips and such an interesting prompt, there was no question as to whether or not she would need a third piece of parchment to finish the assignment.

"Harry? Hey, did you hear me? You're going to be late for your lessons with the Bat," Ron reached across the library table to nudge his friend's elbow.

"Er, well that's something I've meant to talk to you two about," Harry's eyes strayed to the frayed seams on his jumper sleeve, "I haven't got extra lessons with Snape anymore, he says I don't really need them now."

Hermione's quill froze over her inkwell and she stared at Harry, her Arithmancy essay now forgotten.

Stunned silence met Harry's muted declaration.

Then, simultaneous exclamations of "What?" from Ron and "Why haven't you got Occlumency lessons anymore?" from Hermione shattered the stillness. Madame Pince cleared her throat and sent them a hawkish glare from down the row.

"Well, Snape reckons that I can carry on by myself now that I've got the basics..." he muttered, still avoiding their gazes.

"That's mental, you dreamed about You-Know-Who just last week. Screaming in the middle of the night about Death-eaters and that imperiused Bode bloke," Ron whispered back, his eyes narrow.

"Ron's right, Harry. I hate to say it, but Professor Snape must have made a mistake, you need to keep taking lessons," Hermione lowered her head in an attempt to catch his eye, but Harry continued the examination of his sleeve, "I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them! Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask-"

"Really, Hermione, it's fine. I've...I've got it under control, alright?" Harry seemed to cast about for something else to say before standing abruptly and jarring his knee on the library table. He grabbed his transfiguration book and shoved it into his bag, "I-I've left my Divination book up in the tower, see you guys in a bit."

Spying the misty blue cover of Unfogging the Future peeking out from under a pile of Quidditch books that Ron had open, Hermione called after her friend's retreating back, "Oh, but Harry, Ron has his righ-" She stopped when she felt Ron's hand on her arm and saw him shake his head.

"Leave him be, 'Mione. I don't think it's his book he's after."

Trying to ignore the butterflies that bubbled up in her stomach at Ron's touch, Hermione stared for a moment at the library door as it swung shut, "Ron, did...did Harry just lie to us?"

"Well," he began with a bit of fluster, "Maybe not so much as lie as...as..." He deflated a little and sighed, "I don't know. It's not really any of our business, now is it?"

This attitude did not sit well with her at all.

"Ron, if he didn't finish his lessons with Professor Snape, who knows what Voldemort might do to Harry. It's of the highest importance! We...We have to make him see reason!" She finished with a resolute bang of her fist against the table and earned an irritated, "Shhhhh!" from the ever-vigilant Madam Pince.

"Aw, come on, 'Mione," came Ron's cajoling whisper, "For all we know, Snape really could have cut Harry loose from his lessons."

One glance at her mulish expression and he opted for compromise.

"Look," his voice dragged with resignation, "If he has any more dreams, we'll talk to him. Alright?"

She wanted to protest, to argue, to chase Harry down and demand some actual answers from him, but she couldn' t. Despite her concern and suspicions, Hermione knew it would be better to have more evidence on her side than one moment of shifty behaviour.

Letting out a strangled sigh, she scrubbed her fingers through her hair, "Alright, fine. But if there is even the slightest hint of him getting into Voldemort's head again, we're talking to him. Deal?"

"Deal," he agreed. Wasting no time, he returned to his Quidditch books, ignoring whatever actual homework he may have had.

Tried as she might to refocus on her Arithmancy essay, Hermione couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that had taken up lodging in the pit of her stomach. She hated to think it, but she was almost certain that Harry had been less than truthful about his lessons.

Perhaps this assignment wouldn't call for a third piece of parchment after all.

As icy winds howled around the castle's many spires, Hermione lay sleepless in bed replete with a purring Crookshanks curled on her stomach. She burrowed her hand through his warm fur and continued to ponder over what Harry had said (or rather, refused to say) in the library. No matter what way she looked at it, it was impossible to achieve such proficiency in Occlumency in less than one week. She was almost tempted to think that Harry had skived off the hated sessions if not for the fact that it would be nearly suicidal to cross Professor Snape in such a manner.

Professor Snape! She sat up at the thought, much to her cat's displeasure. There was a perfectly reasonable way to find out the truth without confronting her friend at all: ask the Professor. Ignoring the feline's disgruntled cries, she muttered a quiet lumos and reached between her bed curtains, withdrawing a small muggle notebook and pen from her nightstand. In her experience, they were the most practical tools for late night spurts of inspiration. She began organizing her thoughts and worries on paper, composing something that resembled a loose outline to help her address Professor Snape. Hopefully, he would not need much convincing. After all, if he actually had dismissed Harry from his lessons, then all she had to do was explain that Harry had been having the dreams up until last week. Being an Order member himself, he would no doubt agree that a few more weeks of lessons would be wise, if only to make sure Harry was fine on his own. Besides, with a matter of such great importance, she was positive everyone could agree that safety was best option.

After looking over her outline with a small sense of satisfaction, she wiped the notebook's page clean with a concealment charm and replaced it in her nightstand drawer. Laying back down, she resolved to go see the Professor the next day during his office hours and ask him about Harry's lessons. Content that she had struck on the right course of action, and happy that she now had a course of action, she found it much easier to relax and drift off to sleep.

Hermione counted it as a stroke of luck that Harry's announcement came the night before their Thursday Potions class. This would be a perfect opportunity pay close attention to the Professor's mood and possible receptiveness to her inquiry. Though some students would claim there was no such thing as an actual "good mood" for Professor Snape, Hermione held the opinion that even someone as dour as he had to have occasional good days. No matter what reputation or unsavoury epithets he had gained from the student population over the years, he was still human.

At first, it seemed as though luck were on her side. So far they had been in class a full twenty minutes and Professor Snape had not once criticized or goaded she, Ron, or Harry. It was quite miraculous. Hermione wasn't sure if that had ever occurred, not in recent memory anyways.

Twenty minutes stretched into thirty, then forty, and Hermione realized that Professor Snape had not so much as looked in the direction of their table for the entirety of the class. Even more bizarre, Harry had not uttered a full sentence while brewing his Invigoration Draught, even Ron couldn't pry more than the occasional grunt or monosyllabic answer out of him. Although his silence was alarming and seemed to confirm the worst of her fears about his Occlumency lessons, a small, stubborn part of her was pleased to note that Harry's potion was the correct colour for once.

Despite her misgivings towards the current state of relations between her friend and the Potions Master, the remainder of the lesson continued in surprising peace. Hermione had just finished cleaning up her workspace at the end of the lesson when she saw Harry turning in his bottled potion at the front of the classroom. Hoping to save her friend a bit of effort, Hermione cast an Evanesco on the remaining dregs inside of Harry's cauldron and began putting away his leftover ingredients. Just then, there was a loud crash and the tinkling of glass followed the too-familiar cackle of Malfoy's laughter.

"Whoops,"she heard Professor Snape's voice sneer,"Another zero then, Potter..."

The colour drained from her face and her stomach sunk into the floor as she watched Harry stalk back towards their table to grab another vial of potion. The look of horror on his face upon discovering the empty cauldron was enough to make her insides twist into a complicated series of knots.

"I'm sorry!"She whispered, both hands flying up to cover her mouth,"I'm really sorry, Harry, I thought you were finished, so I cleared up!"

Harry didn't say a word. Instead, he sat on his stool, staring at the tabletop in angry silence, until the bell rang. He was up and out the door as fast as he could without running, and sat between Neville and Seamus at lunch. Hermione felt awful.

Hermione spent the rest of the day in anxious mental debate. Should she approach Professor Snape or keep her nose out of the matter entirely? She was so distracted by the thought that she almost did not silence her canary in Charms, barely picked at her dinner, and got her foot stuck in one of the Grand Staircase's trick steps, something she hadn't done since her first year at Hogwarts.

It was evident that the Professor and Harry were on worse terms than usual. Hermione was appalled to even consider it, since she didn't see it happen, but she was sure that Professor Snape had dropped Harry's potion on purpose. What was worse, however, was how Harry didn't fight the professor's misconduct or call it out to the class with his usual bravado. Instead, he seemed to be taking the Potion Master's ire willingly, as though it were a punishment for something he had done.

Did she want to get into the middle of a mess like that? She sighed at that thought. It wasn't a question of "Did she?" or "Would she?" but rather "How much worse would she make everything when she did?" With Harry's safety at stake, what were a few (or even several dozen) zeros in Potions compared to that? There had not yet been an "Educational Decree" condoning corporal punishment, so it stood to reason that Professor Snape could do no real harm without getting in trouble himself. She could probably expect a loss of House points, yes. Detentions handling or scrubbing a myriad of disgusting things? Most likely. A drop in her Potions grades at a critical time in her educational career? Maybe. But actual harm? No, she didn't think so.

Her mind now made up, she took to watching the mantel clock in the Gryffindor common room in between the final paragraphs for her Arithmancy essay, waiting for six o'clock to arrive. If this were any other night, the warmth rolling out from the hearth combined with the cozy armchair would bring drowsy comfort. Instead, the heat was stifling and anxiety climbed up the back of her throat. She wished she could talk to Ron about her impending meeting with the Professor Snape, but she didn't dare to do so. He would no doubt make her see reason and talk her out of it. A small snort escaped at that idea. Ron? Being the reasonable one? That was a new thought. That bit of absurd humor did a little to help uncoil the knot in her stomach, but she still gave a small jump at the sound of the clock chiming seven.

With a shaky sigh, Hermione put away her essay into her book bag and made her exit out the portrait door. Her footsteps echoed off the walls of the deserted corridors, sounding lonely and eerie in the vast silence. Even the ghosts weren't out tonight. The temperature plummeted in correlation with her descent into the lower parts of the castle, she swore it was so cold that she glimpsed the occasional puff of her breath floating in the air.

Much to her dismay, she found herself in front of the wooden, wrought iron door to the Potion Master's office much sooner than she would have thought possible. The moving staircases had been kind enough to bestow an almost direct path to the dungeon stairway. That would be her luck, wouldn't it? The stairways could give you the most convoluted path imaginable when you're running late to an astronomy lesson in the tallest tower of the castle, but if you're on your way to an unscheduled meeting with the school's most dreaded professor? Then the stairs would be more than happy to oblige you on your journey. Sometimes, it felt as though the castle possessed more sentience than most thought possible, and drew its only source merriment from playing with the students.

Gathering every shred of that over-vaunted Gryffindor courage she possessed, Hermione rapped her knuckles against the coarse wooden door. "Enter," drawled the Potions Professor's muffled voice. He sounded rather bored.

'Well, I'm sure that will change quite soon,' She thought to herself in grim humour before she pushed into his office.