Disclaimer: Oddly enough, I am not J.K. Rowling. These characters belong to that person.

Author's Note:

Given that my last story, Time to Heal, was so well received (heck, I even got a marriage proposal!), I'm beginning yet another, if marginally shorter, one.

Took me a while to piece it together the seams. This fic takes place in seventh year, Hermione will be eighteen, and is non-canon, as it takes place at the school with a still-living Dumbledore. .

I realize that I've been rather hard on Ron in my previous fics, and this one will be no exception. In reality, I like him far better than Harry in the books. So. I am sympathetic to his romantic plight (he can be clueless at times, though) and in his defense, Hermione isn't the easiest person to get along with.

Especially when she's caught in a terribly confusing romantic quandary of her own…

'Harry, I've done it! I've done it!'

A war-like whoop of jubilation, just under 95 decibels, directly into his left ear made Harry Potter jump out of his seat in surprise, nearly falling off of his side of the double desk. Before the interruption, Harry had been trying to corral his unnaturally energetic field-mouse into a position on the table top where he could transfigure it to the assigned shape non-verbally. The animal remained reluctant to stop its frantic skittering to and fro and, abandoning the futile chase, he sat back upright on his chair and smiled weakly at his best friend.

'Good job, mate.'

'Only six tries, too.' Ron Weasley was gazing down happily at the creature on his desk, blatantly proud of his achievement. Of all the students in the class, only one other person had managed the transfiguration so far. 'Matches the instructions exactly.'

'No, it doesn't.'

This snippish observation had come the student sitting directly opposite them, her face obscured by a book on theoretical Transfiguration.

Ron stared at her in disbelief.

'How is this not a perfect Outstanding, Hermione?' he said, gesturing emphatically at his newly-transfigured rodent. 'Are you blind? Or are you just upset that I'm actually at your level on this lesson?'

This last sentence was said with an air of newly minted self-assurance, and Ron smirked at Harry as if expecting his friend to side with him.

Harry didn't meet Ron's eyes. He knew that getting involved in this argument was a bad idea.

Hermione glanced over the top of her leather-bound tome and fixed Ron with a look of annoyance.

'Tortoises, which were the animals that we were supposed to be changing our mice into, Ron, are land-dwelling reptiles. Turtles, like the one you have right there,' and here Hermione nodded her head towards the creature on Ron's desk, 'are strictly aquatic.'

Professor McGonagall, attracted by the unnecessary amount of chatter emanating from the group during a non-verbal spell assignment, chose this particular moment to walk past their table.

'That's a Red-eared Terrapin, Mr. Weasley,' she said, frowning down at Ron's newly-transfigured mouse, one dark eyebrow arched upwards. 'Wrong Testudine. Try again.'

Ron swore viciously once McGonagall was out of ear-shot and glared at the Marginated Tortoise that was happily munching on a piece of lettuce on Hermione's desk as if it was to blame for his mistake in genus. Both the land-living reptile and the girl ignored him, the latter turning to the next page of her reading with an air of supreme indifference.

'Hermione! Wait up.'

Hermione closed her eyes in frustration but paused briefly to let Harry catch up to her, hitching her book bag to a more balanced position on her shoulder. The hall was beginning to fill up with students going to their next class, chattering loudly as they went.

'You're not even trying to be nice to him!' Harry said as soon as he caught up to her.

On reflection, Harry would realize that it had been the wrong thing to begin a conversation with.

'Nice?' Hermione spun around to face him, fists clenched, eyes blazing. 'When he's waltzing around with his new girlfriend, making disparaging remarks about me in the Common Room and generally acting like a pompous, stuck-up ass, you expect me to be NICE TO HIM?'

Hermione's voice had grown to a near-shriek at the end and Harry stepped back several paces. The other students in the hall turned around to look at the source of the noise.

'You could just…' he tried in vain, stepping back a pace with hands upraised in what he hoped was a placating gesture.

Hermione did an abrupt about-face on her heel, her bag of books swinging wildly from side to side, and resumed her purposeful march down the corridor, scattering first years right and left.

Harry didn't try to follow her.

With a half-stifled Gaelic curse, Minerva snatched her hand back from the cage, eyes streaming. Her index finger burned, crimson blood running down to her wrist in rivulets and soaking into the pale fabric of her sleeve. Clutching at the deep cut with her left hand to staunch the flow, she closed her eyes and bit her lip down hard, willing the involuntary tears trickling down her face to stop.

The snapping turtle inside the cage glared at her with beady eyes, long neck stretched out and moving side to side in snake-like fashion, as if daring her to try picking him up again. Draco Malfoy's creation. Malfoy had made no attempt at following the lesson's guidelines, which had clearly specified the transformation of the base subject into a fully-functioning tortoise.

Not a turtle.

Silently cursing the shelled-reptile in every language she knew, Minerva drew her wand from her robe pocket and – bloodied-fingers slipping slightly on the slick surface – restored the turtle to its proper form with a flick of her wrist.

It squeaked.

Minerva eyed the mouse darkly. It was more than tempting to switch to her animagi form and scare the living daylights out of the rodent in revenge for the damage that it had inflicted upon her poor fingers. However, the sensation of throbbing in her hand reminded her that she had more pressing matters to attend to. Gritting her teeth at the injustice of it all, she strode over to her desk and picked up a strip of cloth from a drawer, wrapping it twice around her fingers and the space between her thumb before balling her hand into a tightly clenched fist. A quick look at the injury had showed her that the wound needed attending to by Madame Pomfrey.

With a final glare at the cowering field mouse in the cage, Minerva picked up her bag of assignments for marking and made for the classroom door, pausing briefly at the threshold.

'I'll deal with you later,' she muttered to the empty room.

'Do I really want to know, Minerva?'

'An altercation with a newly-transfigured Chelydra serpentina, Poppy. The American reptile objected to my manhandling him en-route to his cage and expressed his displeasure in a painful manner. Do be a dear and repair the damage for me.'

Poppy Pomfrey carefully un-wound the improvised bandage from Minerva's hand, frowning when the injury was revealed.

'He hit an artery,' Minerva observed lightly, glancing down at the still-bleeding wound.

Poppy ignored her assessment – correct as it was – and tapped her wand against the tip and base of Minerva's index finger. Almost instantly, the gash closed and smoothed into painless unbroken skin.

'Thank-you, Poppy.'

Minerva flexed her long fingers tentatively, testing their capabilities. Finding nothing amiss, she gave Poppy another quick smile of thanks and moved to leave the Wing.

'You will try to be more careful, Minerva?' Poppy called after the retreating witch. 'Like using your wand to move the vicious and venomous ones rather than carrying them with your unprotected extremities?'

Her words fell on deaf ears.

The note fell on Hermione's desk exactly fourteen minutes into the Charms lesson the next day.

Checking first to make sure that their diminutive teacher was busy with another student, she unfolded it surreptitiously. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the contents.

A crude representation of what was obviously herself, surrounded by a pile of books and study sheets, had been roughly sketched in on the parchment. The drawing changed after a few seconds to show a smiling, red-haired boy waving his results card which had a row of Outstandings down the center. Mere moments passed before the scene changed yet again to a sketch of herself, also holding a report.

Her results were all Trolls.

'Oh, why won't you just grow the hell up, Ron!'

These last words had risen to an angry shout. Hermione crumpled up the note into a ball and hurled it in Ron's general direction, missing her desired target by a mile. She was fed up to the teeth with him and his vindictive attitude over the past month and this was the final straw. 'Can't you bloody well leave me alone?'

All eyes in the room were now on the two teenagers, the other students whispering excitedly amongst themselves as the battle that had been expected for weeks now unfolded between their two peers. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat in a nervous way, attempting to head off what was rapidly becoming a scene.

Ron sat back in his chair with a swagger, covering up his unease in the best way he knew how: smug indifference and a winning grin.

'Don't get your knickers in a twist, Hermione,' he said jovially.

The classroom became dead silent.

It was then that Hermione did something rather rash.

The aftermath of the events from the morning class was predictable.

'For Heaven's sakes, exactly what has gotten into you, Miss Granger? You are the Head Girl of this school! Losing your temper and swearing a blue streak in front of your class is not a part of that position! And transfiguring Ronald Weasley into a squirrel? You know the Ministry regulations forbid that!

Hermione didn't answer. Instead, she looked off towards the office bookshelves to the left of the desk, deliberately avoiding meeting McGonagall's eyes.

'And why, in God's name, did you transfigure his desk into a giant spider?'

It was remarkable the range of tone and inflection that she was able to inject into each sentence.

'Hermione.'

McGonagall's voice was low.

'Look at me, Hermione.'

Her half-pleading tone worked: dark hazel eyes looked up to meet her own.

'Tell me what's troubling you.'

No response.

'Communication has never been a problem between us, Hermione. Why has it become next to impossible now?'

'May I go, Professor?'

McGonagall stared at her student intently for a few moments before speaking.

'You may. You will be serving your detentions with Madame Pince in the Library for the next month, every Tuesday after dinner for three hours. Gryffindor also will lose 20 points for your disgraceful exhibition.'

With a vague nod of acknowledgement, Hermione turned around, picking up her book bag from the chair beside her, and left the office without a backwards glance.

Leaving an utterly perplexed middle-aged-witch in her wake.