8 Chapter Seven: Living With This Regret.

September 2nd, 1993 – Hogwarts

Hermione woke early, the sun having just begun to light the sky outside her window. She had grown used to waking with the sun, something that had become a necessity on the island once the were-bryds had been set loose. She had to learn to take advantage of all the daylight hours available because once night fell, the island was theirs and all she could do was take refuge in the tallest and sturdiest tree she could find and wait for dawn. After leaving the island, returning to England, her dreams had made sleep something she avoided whenever possible. It had taken months to be able to sleep without nightmares, something she greatly thanked Snape for. Now it was simply habit, the time her body naturally decided to wake.

After taking a relaxingly long shower she crept about the room quietly, gathering her things before either of her roommates had begun to stir in their beds. She still had an hour before breakfast would start, so Hermione decided to go for a walk on the grounds; the rain from the night before had stopped and she had been wanting to look for someplace to run while the weather was still nice. She would eventually need to find some place inside the castle to exercise once the snow started falling, but for now a good running route would do.

She was unable to sit still like she used to; too many years on edge if she wasn't moving had made her twitchy. Being still was dangerous; outside the protection of the Fidelius Charm it made you vulnerable to Death Eater raids, and even before that, sitting still was just a welcoming invitation for the were-bryds to try at getting their teeth in her again. She missed her private training room in her house; the wizarding school didn't provide any physically exerting activities outside Quidditch. So she was left to find her own form of exercise. Even now she had still never gotten over her fear of flying and wasn't about to try out for the team just for the chance at a little strenuous activity; she could find more enjoyable ways of burning off energy without death-gripping a broom fifty feet above the ground.

Wandering around the lake, she found a well-worn path that looked like it would do for a good place to run, just far enough away from the lake to be safe, unless the giant squid was in a very bad mood, and not running close enough to the school boundaries to be in danger of the dementors unless they left their assigned posts. Heading back toward the school, she caught sight of someone running along the path she had been scoping out on the opposite side of the lake. She couldn't make out who it was, only that he or she had dark brown or black hair; figuring she would find out who it was eventually, she was satisfied in the knowledge that she wasn't the only person in this school who had an interest in their physical condition apart from sitting on a broom.

Heading into the Great Hall for breakfast, she was just smothering her toast with marmalade and working on her second plate of eggs and bacon when Ron and Harry finally came in.

"Morning," she said as the two came to sit beside her, handing them their new schedules as she looked over her own. "Looks like we have new courses first off today. Are you guys looking forward to Divination? I know I can't wait to start on Arithmancy."

"I thought you were taking Muggle Studies?" Ron questioned, confused, sparing the paper the briefest of glances before shoving it in his bag none too gently and turning his attention to the more important task of filling his plate.

"I am," she confirmed, taking a sip from her cup of coffee, grimacing at the dark and bitter drink. Normally she liked it with a bit of sugar, unlike Sirius who, she found, tended to take his sugar with a bit of coffee, but between her first and second cups she had seen one of the twins messing with the sugar bowl nearest her and had not wanted to tempt fate, nor did she want to put in the extra effort to go find an untampered bowl. The pair had become quite keen on trying to prank her as she had managed to avoid them with only minimal effort, and it had seemed to have the same effect as outright challenging them to do their best to get one over on her.

"But they are at the same time, 'Mione," Ron stated, exasperated at the fact his brainy friend had missed something so obvious. "You can't go to two classes at once."

"Of course not," she agreed good naturedly, adding a dollop of honey into her mug in an attempt to find a safe sugar substitute, only to decide after a tentative sip that no, honey was not a trade off for sugar, before giving up on the drink as a lost cause. "That is why I had to talk to McGonagall last night; it is all sorted out."

"But—"

"Look, we have Hagrid's class today," she said quickly, pointing out the class on Harry's paper in an attempt to divert the attention away from her oddly structured schedule. It worked as Ron became engrossed in a conversation with the scarred boy about tales of his brothers' experiences in the class and how Hagrid might have handled the situations. Most of the stories wound up with Hagrid either forgetting to give them homework or unintentionally setting something mean and toothy on the class, more often both.

Pulling out a pen she brought from home for taking down quick notes without the hassle of pulling out quill and ink, she started to write notes filling in extra study times on Tuesdays and Wednesdays when she didn't have any conflicting class times. She scribbled notes at the bottom for extracurricular library time in the evening without being late for curfew, which is to say she planned on spending a lot of time in the library at night, and with the aid of her Time-Turner planned on using it to keep her extra library time beneath her friends' attention. This would give her a thirty-hour day next to the twenty-four hours the other students would be having. Even if her friends noticed her extra library time, they would probably think she was simply obsessing over her school work.

As the Great Hall began to empty, Hermione gathered her things before leaving the boys to go to their first Divination class and headed off to her first lessons in Muggle Studies and Arithmancy. Muggle Studies turned out to be exactly what she thought a wizard-run Muggle Studies class would be. While mostly accurate, a lot of the things they learned about were not up to date with current Muggle technologies and culture. Arithmancy, on the other hand, turned out to be a class Hermione greatly enjoyed and excelled at.

When she met the boys later on in Transfiguration, she was surprised to find them and a number of others in an unusually somber mood. After they turned in their summer assignments, McGonagall started them in on learning about Animagi. When her own Animagus transformation was met with silence, she finally demanded to know what had the class in such a quiet state. It was only after the admission that they had come from Divination did it seem to make sense with the professor, though Hermione could not see what that had to do with anything.

Apparently, much to Hermione's irritation, the Divination professor had seen a Grimm in the leaves of Harry's tea cup and now he was foretold to be approaching his coming death.

"Rubbish," Hermione muttered, voice catching sharply in her throat. Since reuniting with her friends, she had found her mind being dragged into remembering a nameless man with green eyes and black hair. In the past, she had dreamed of the man many times; sometimes things played out as they had, other times it was she who struck the killing blow. Regardless of who killed him, she or Halt, the man's lifeless green eyes would always bore into hers with accusation — it was her fault he was dead.

In recent days the scenario had changed; now the accusing eyes had been replaced by a more familiar green-eyed boy, someone she could too easily imagine dead at her feet, his eyes tearing into her soul sharper than any knife at her inability to save him, just another person dear to her whom she had failed.

A prediction made in jest from the way McGonagall had explained it, the death omen was just the professor's way of greeting a new class, something she did every year apparently. It did not make the metallic taste in her mouth taste anything less than what it was, as her teeth bit through the inside of her cheek.

"A rather morbid way to greet a bunch of impressionable thirteen year olds," Hermione stated carefully. Gathering her things together and shoving them into her bag more roughly than she had intended when class was over, she said, "You don't really believe that just because she saw something, something that may or may not have even been in your cup, now you are going to die?"

Harry did not reply, and his silence continued as they made their way into the Great Hall for lunch. On the way, Hermione took the time to shove the accusing green eyes back behind her shields where they belonged.

"Cheer up, you heard McGonagall," Hermione said encouragingly as she refrained from wincing from her tender cheek as she ate. "It's just the professor's way of greeting the third years; you can't take anything she says seriously."

"Have you seen a black dog anywhere, Harry?" Ron asked, ignoring Hermione's attempts at making the death omen seem like a bad joke.

"Yeah, a big one, the night I blew up my aunt." Ron dropped his spoon in shock. Hermione had to stop herself from face-palming at Sirius's dog form coming back to bite her in the ass.

"Probably just a stray," Hermione said calmly, not giving in to her inner irritation as she dished herself some more stew before propping her Arithmancy book up on a juice jug so she could read while she ate. "Don't look too much into it."

__________

Following lunch came their first Potions class, to the displeasure of most of Gryffindor House. Hermione was nervous about how to react to this timeline's Professor Snape. Unlike with her other professors, Hermione had spent over three months in close contact with the man preparing for this mission, fighting with him and along side him. She liked to think that by the end they had come to some sort of friendship, or that at least he had viewed her as almost an equal. Even if he did still call her a know-it-all, it had lost its bite after a time. Now she was back as his student and not his intellectual peer, and she wasn't sure if she could ever earn that place back, if he would even let her try. Taking her seat next to Neville, she set out her books and summer works on the table top. After they turned in their summer homework, Snape immediately passed out a quiz to test them on their knowledge of the potion covered in their summer assignment.

Hermione had to stop herself from snapping at the collective grumbling. It was for their own good; most had at most only glanced at the reading when they did their assignment and probably didn't remember much of what they had read. They would need to know the information covered in the quiz to properly brew the potion tomorrow; without the proper information, at best their brew would be completely useless, and at worst their cauldron would melt down and its fumes kill the whole class.

Finishing off the last question, she had time to look over her answers; she had decided over the summer when she was doing her summer work that if she ever wanted to work her way back up into the Potion Master's good graces, she was going to have to stop acting like the know-it-all child she had been at this age. Her first step was simple enough in theory but harder to put in practice; she would have to stop putting all the extra work into her assignments. This meant essays the exact length and no longer, no extra flourishes of information and no incessant hand-waving. She had applied this method to her other classes as well. She simply wouldn't have time to do all the extra work along with her new classes and extracurricular activities; even with a Time-Turner she would run herself ragged by Christmas. Looking over her test, she noted that there were other uses for rat spleen that she could have listed, but she decided to keep it to why it was used in the shrinking potion and set down her quill.

Defense Against the Dark Arts passed much the same, only with less grumbling from the student body as Professor Lupin quizzed them on what they knew so far, which was scattered and lacking from their previous two incompetent professors, one having been possessed by a Voldemort parasite and the other a plagiaristic chronic liar.

By the end of the day they were ready to head outside for some fresh air when it came time to head to their first Care of Magical Creatures class.

"Hermione, what happened to your book?" Ron asked as she pulled the snarling book out of her magically extended bag. There were a number of holes decorating the edges of its back cover.

"Oh, that — the book and I had a misunderstanding the first time I tried to read it, but it's alright now," she said, giving the book a look that made it stop snarling and start whining.

"You know, 'Mione, you can be scary sometimes, right?" Ron said, pulling out his own snarling book with a look of apprehension as he double-checked that the book was securely closed.

"So I've been told," Hermione said with an amused smile that made the book in her hand whine even louder.

"C'mon, gather 'round, got a real treat for yeh today, follow me," the large man called as he came out of his hut, before leading the class to a corral at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. After showing them how to properly open their book in a manner that didn't involve threatening with sharp pointy objects, Hagrid left to fetch the topic creature of their lesson.

"Merlin, this place has gone to the dogs. When my father hears about—"

"Do shut up, Malfoy. You're lowering the intelligence of the whole class," Hermione interjected, causing a number of Gryffindors to snicker, as she sat down on the low wall of the corral and began flipping through her book, looking for the creature they would be learning about today.

"What did you say to me, Granger?" Malfoy fumed, storming over to the Muggle-born, who couldn't be bothered to look up at his approach.

"I said," Hermione clarified, marking the correct page in her book before setting it aside and standing to look the pure-blood in the eye; he was a few inches taller than her glamoured self. "Stop your incessant whining about your father. Most kids grow out of that when they are six," she said, placing her hands on her hips.

"You shut your filthy mouth, Mudblood," Draco snarled, pulling his wand impulsively and pointing it at her.

"Hermione—" Ron warned, pulling his own wand.

"Leave her alone, Malfoy," Harry snarled, moving forward protectively.

"Stay out of this," Hermione said, gesturing at Harry and Ron to stay where they were. Not breaking eye contact with the blond boy who was beginning to look unsettled by the intensity of her stare, she said, "I can handle Malfoy."

"Look, the little Gryffindor doesn't need the Pot-head and Weasel," Pansy piped up. "You'll show her the difference between a Mudblood and a real wizard, won't you, Draco?"

"The Mudblood thinks she so tough," Millicent sneered, causing a round of laughter from the Slytherins that had gathered behind Draco, who seemed to get a new boost of confidence as he glared at the lone Gryffindor.

She scoffed over Draco's shoulder at the boy's little posse with an amused raise of the eyebrow. Malfoy's eyes kept glaring at her, only to keep glancing at her empty hands like he was waiting for her to draw her wand before attacking. Hermione could only shake her head in amusement at both herself and him; had she really been so intimidated by this boy and his little gang? With a final dismissal of the situation as Malfoy continued to be reluctant to make a move, she turned to go back to her book. "I don't need help with a little boy still hiding behind his father's coat tails."

"Why, you—" he spat the moment she broke contact with him, a spell leaving his wand a moment later, headed right at her. The next thing he knew, the Slytherin Prince had one arm pinned painfully behind his back and the other pointing his own wand at his throat.

"Still hiding? You can't even confront me without a gang of your admirers boosting your fragile ego," she said loud enough for the rest of the class to make out clearly, before dropping her voice to a whisper so quiet only he could hear. "Your actions are shameful and petty, stooping so low as to attack a Mudblood like myself in the back. I would have expected more from someone of the House of Malfoy," she said before taking a far colder tone, tightening her grip on his wrist behind his back, wrenching it up higher, causing the boy to whimper in pain. "I do not take kindly to attacks on my person. If you try something like that again, Malfoy," she twisted his wand wrist, forcing him to drop the wand, "I will break your arm, and I won't even have to draw my wand to do it." When she released him, the blond boy jerked away. She stooped to pick up his wand from the forest floor, inspecting it curiously.

"Don't you dare!" Malfoy shouted, cradling the arm she had held behind his back gingerly even as he kicked Crabbe in the back of the leg to get him moving. The larger boy stalked forward but then seemed confused as to what to do. Hermione turn the wand between both her hands; it would be easy for her to snap the delicate instrument. She took her time, drawing out the tension as the group of Slytherins seemed ready to start cursing her if she made a move to destroy the wand, even as Harry and Ron moved closer to her on either side, despite her telling them to stay out of it. The rest of her House were either watching with interest but not making any move to help out or making themselves scarce, in Neville's case as he tried to steer clear of the impending fight.

Putting her attention on the wand in her hands, Hermione got a good look at the wand that until now she had only gotten to see the end normally pointed at her. Her own wand spoke a great deal about herself, more than she would have liked to admit. Vine wood was an uncommon wand material that would seek out those with a drive to accomplish things far beyond and greater than the ordinary pursuits, even surprising those who know them the best. She had picked up the book on wand lore on a whim over the summer and had found the information on her wand quite enlightening; had it known her so well at eleven that it knew she would someday be driven to accomplish what most had thought impossible?

Slightly shorter than her own, Draco's wand was surprisingly smooth and without decorative carvings on it like hers. Contrary to its simple design, the plain-looking hawthorn wand appeared rather elegant in its simplicity. She briefly wondered if Draco was aware of the lore that came with a wand of hawthorn. A wood full of contradiction – light and dark, healing and death.

Surprisingly well fit, in her opinion. She only wished she knew what the core was; it might have given her more insight into Malfoy's own core. At the core of her own was a dragon heartstring; while not exclusive, as a rule dragon heartstrings tended to be powerful magical conduits and were quick to learn. They tended to bond very strongly to their original master, but that loyalty could be transferred just as strongly to a new wielder.

With a slow gesture so as not to be mistaken for an attack, she held it out, handle first in a gesture of peace, toward Draco. Not that she believed the hawthorn wand would listen to her, even if she tried to cast something. It felt almost lifeless beneath her fingers compared to the familiar warmth of her own wand; its loyalty wasn't so easily won.

"I'll remember this, Mudblood!" he spat, stalking forward past Crabbe and snatching back his wand before retreating back to his group where Pansy began fawning over his wrenched arm. Hermione went back to sitting on the wall with her book, not sparing the boy another glance.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, where did you learn to do that?" Ron said, pocketing his wand before sitting by her.

"Muggle defense lessons, Ronald. Dad insisted that I learn how to protect myself after he heard about the basilisk incident last year. Not sure why he thought it would help with a giant snake that could kill with a glance, but it does seem to have its uses," she mused, flipping through her book as it whined.

Just then Hagrid returned, thankfully drawing the attention away from Hermione, leading a small herd of what he announced to be Hippogriffs. After using Harry as an example on how to properly approach the beasts, Hagrid let the class try approaching their own.

Hermione stroked a hand through the golden plumage of her Hippogriff, watching keenly for signs that her hands were moving to an unwanted area. He seemed content to stare disinterestedly off into the distance until her fingers moved to rub under his belly. Golden feathers began to rise on the back of his neck in agitation as his yellow-hawk gaze turned on her.

"Right, belly rubs are a 'no'," she amended, moving her hands away from the unwanted area. The hippogriff let out a keening cry before regally holding his head high and making a display of adjusting his wings as if to say 'One as beautiful as I does not stoop to belly rubs.'

"Of course not, how stupid of me to think such a thing," Hermione amended, inclining her head at the golden beast in apology. He seemed to contemplate her for a moment before going back to staring off into the distance. Buckbeak, Harry's designated dapple grey hippogriff, was milling about unattended, nipping at tails and robe sleeves while Hagrid and Harry talked off to one side. Trotting by, Buckbeak gave a painful peck to Pheobus's heels, Hermione's haughty palomino, resulting in a kick from the injured party.

Pheobus flared his wings in a threat display as Buckbeak retreated back across the corral. Hermione flattened herself against his horse-ish half, behind the wing joint, relatively safe from being hit by the massive appendages that could easily knock her off her feet if not break a few bones.

"Easy," she soothed, running a hand from feathers to fur, "easy there, pretty boy." Pheobus gave a disgruntled grumble before rubbing at his beak with a taloned foreleg. Class passed without much further incident until Malfoy approached Hermione, still fuming from being embarrassed in front of the whole class and having spent most of the time sulking to one side of the corral. Rather than directing his anger at the Gryffindor, he had what must have been a moment of insanity, because he willingly walked up to Pheobus and began openly insulting the proud creature to his face.

"You're not dangerous at all, are you, ugly turkey." Even though she would have liked to see the pure-blood prat get what was coming to him, it wouldn't have ended well for Hagrid to have someone injured in his first class, especially Malfoy, who could make Hagrid's life very miserable. Running forward, she grabbed the blond by the collar of his robes; he had frozen in panic at the sight of the large beast rearing up on his hind legs, massive golden wings spread to their full extent. She managed to pull him out of the way just in time to keep the long talons from ripping him open shoulder to hip, but she was not fast enough to dodge herself, as a talon cut into her shoulder. Hagrid stepped in then and collared the Hippogriff before it could pursue Malfoy further, as it had every intent to, throwing its full weight against the collar in protest of the restraint.

"'Mione, are yeh alright?" Lumbering over after tethering the golden hippogriff a safe distance away, the large bearded man seemed near to tears as Hermione bunched up the sleeve of her robe to cover the wound.

"Yeah, I'm fine Hagrid. It's just a scratch," she said, waving the gamekeeper off. "If it's alright, I'll just go have Madam Pomfrey look at it."

"Ah, righ', if yeh sure," Hagrid nodded, tossing a ferret at Pheobus to distract him from pulling at the collar. "Why don't you take someone with yeh?"

"Alright," she agreed, slipping her un-muzzled Monster Book into her bag before tossing it at Draco. "Come on, Malfoy." She turned to Harry and Ron who had come over to check on her, Buckbeak nipping at Harry in a plea for attention. "You two better take good notes for me while I'm gone," she said, pointing sternly at the pair before heading off toward the castle, giving no time for them to protest. Malfoy seemed conflicted about whether to follow before a snarl from the bag in his arms spurred him into motion, gathering up his own things and following after the witch.

"Something on your mind, Malfoy?" Hermione inquired once they were out of sight from the rest of the class, as they walked up the hill toward the school. The Slytherin seemed oddly quiet for having a filthy Gryffindor-Mudblood insult him in front of his House, only to end up saving him at her own expense before ordering him around like a house-elf.

"Why did you do that, what's your game, Granger?" he demanded, watching her with open suspicion as if she was about to do something vile to him. He winced, rubbing at the shoulder she had wrenched behind his back, where his bag strap dug into the tender spot. Granger's bag was held tight in his arms, the lid held tightly closed, preventing the Monster Book from escaping and taking a bite out of him.

"There's no game, Malfoy," Hermione said, pulling her sleeve away to look at her injury. It wasn't too deep, from the look of it, a few stitches and she would be good to go, but knowing Madam Pomfrey, it could be healed in a matter of hours. That is to say nothing about the medi-witch's bedside manner; Pomfrey would probably be spending more time fussing over her than actually healing her.

"Then why did you do that? You hate me and I hate you," Malfoy said, though his voice seemed to waver and his pale complexion turned a shade of green as a fresh wave of blood began to seep from her wound. A crimson trail dripped down the front of her robe; the magical garment repelled the fluid to an extent, before she could replace the bunched fabric compression over it.

"Hate is such a strong word, don't you think," Hermione reasoned. "I find you childish, imbecilic, conceited and just an all-around prat." She paused for a moment to give him a sidelong glance; he was glaring at her indignantly but said nothing, looking like he might protest at her description. In contrast the green tint to his complexion said he might lose his lunch if he opened his mouth, as his eyes kept glancing at the red trail seeping from her fingers and down her robe. "That doesn't mean I hate you. Would I like to punch you in the nose on a regular basis — yes. Would I like to watch you be brutally mauled to death by an animal, even if you asked for it — no."

No, this boy did not deserve such a fate; not that she had any plans to try and befriend the boy when she saved him. She had other ulterior motives for saving the blond prat; while saving him from being slashed to ribbons by a magical horse-hybrid might have constituted a repayment of her debt, she had something far more involved in mind. Malfoy remained silent the rest of the trip up to the castle; when they had made it to the entrance hall, Hermione stopped abruptly and held her hand out expectantly toward the Slytherin.

"I can make it from here," she stated smugly.

"What?" Malfoy piped up, confused, still looking green enough to lose his lunch all over his expensive-looking shoes as he avoided looking anywhere near her arm.

"I said, I don't need a pack mule anymore. Now give me my bag." This seemed to bring him out of his daze as he ground his teeth in irritation, tossing her growling bag at her feet before storming off, muttering loudly about washing his hands, not knowing what kind of diseases the Mudblood might have rubbed off on him while he was handling her things.

Hermione could only give a long-suffering sigh as she slung the pack over her good shoulder before heading off toward the hospital wing. Though she would have rather liked to avoid going anywhere near the wing, there was no avoiding it when the boys and likely Hagrid would be by to check to see if she had shown up.

"Madam Pomfrey, are you here?" she called, peeking in the door, silently hoping the medi-witch was out and she could go off with a proper excuse to take care of it herself.

"Oh dear, what's happened now?" the medi-witch in question fussed, coming out of her office.

"Had a bit of a mishap with a Hippogriff, it's just a scratch, though," Hermione muttered, setting her bag down on the floor by one of the many empty beds, the flap flopping open and her book taking the conventional opening to escape out and under a cabinet filled with medical potions. Hermione could only groan in exasperation, "Not again."

"Well, let's have a look here," the medi-witch said, gesturing Hermione to sit on the bed, where she ran a basic diagnostic spell on the gash before having Hermione change into one of the pairs of hospital pajamas. The cut was long but not deep, but it seemed the scans kept coming back with a mixed result, and Hermione did her best to distract the woman from prying further. She was only partly successful, meaning that while the medi-witch did not cast any more complex diagnosis spells, Hermione would be staying the night, and if all looked well in the morning, she would be let out in time for breakfast.

Hermione was relieved that Pomfrey did not pursue the abnormality; she did not have a good explanation for why she had a large mass of scar tissue glamoured out of sight or why it had not been there at the end of last year. She only hoped the medi-witch wouldn't run any further detailed spells without her knowledge; there was no telling what damage they would pick up that she couldn't explain away.

"It shouldn't leave too bad of a scar, dearie, be healed in a day or two," Madam Pomfrey reasoned, dripping two drops of a fluorescent green potion into the wound that made Hermione's shoulder tingle pleasantly before wrapping it in bandages and leaving her to put her hideous pajama shirt on.

Plopping herself down on the bed, knowing she wouldn't be able to sneak out yet, Hermione busied herself with what homework she had for the day. She ran out of work all too quickly and was left wishing she had grabbed one of her extra books from her trunk before coming there. In a final effort to find something productive to do she attempted to lure out her Monster Book from under the cabinet.

She was interrupted from her hunt for the elusive book by her dinner arriving. Using a scrap from her pork chop dinner, she managed to coax the book out far enough to catch and restrain it back in her bag. She was just finishing off her dessert when the door opened, revealing Harry, Ron and a distressed-looking Hagrid.

"Hermione, are you alright? I thought you would be at dinner," Harry asked, concerned, coming to sit at her bedside.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Madam Pomfrey just wants to keep me here because some of her scans were coming back odd; it has nothing to do with my arm," she said, picking up her cup with her injured arm, showing she really was fine. "She just wanted to make sure it was healing, before letting me go. I should be able to leave for breakfast tomorrow."

"Yer sure yer awright, Mione?" Hagrid said, coming closer, wringing a massive handkerchief between his hands. Hermione smiled at him before standing from her bed and going to give the groundskeeper a hug.

"I'm fine, Professor, and I'm looking forward to your next class." Her words seemed to make the large man feel better because he smiled back and stayed for a time to keep her company along with the boys until they were ushered out by Madam Pomfrey. Hermione was about to settle in for the night when there was a tapping at the window by her bed. She opened the window, and a tawny owl swooped in and landed on her headboard. Taking the offered letter, she read it by the light of her wand since Madam Pomfrey had turned out the lights.

Dear Emma,

Hope my old friends won't be bothering you too much; I don't know what they were thinking, letting them around a bunch of kids! Sorry to hear Wormtail wouldn't stay home, I was looking forward to paying him a visit. I suppose it will just have to wait till the Hogsmeade trip.

Mooney is there teaching, good for him. Does he look well? His condition can take quite a toll on him at times. I don't know how he has been handling the last twelve years by himself or if he believes what they said I did, but if you could convince him, I'm sure he would be more than happy to help, and he could help you in ways I cannot.

How is Harry? Is he enjoying being back at school?

Sincerely,

Gary

Folding up the letter, Hermione placed it in her charmed journal for safe-keeping. Taking the owl to the window, she sent it off to rest in the Owlery, seeing as she wasn't planning on writing back until she had some news on where Lupin stood in her plans.

__________

The next morning found Hermione awake early as usual and nearly pacing at the door, waiting for the medi-witch to finally release her. She was finally released just before breakfast and was nearly bolting out the door, vowing that if she was injured again, she was not going back to the hospital wing; she couldn't stand being cooped up. Instead of heading to breakfast, she ducked into a secluded alcove, stuffing the sling Madam Pomfrey had insisted she wear for the day into her bag. Pulling out her Time-Turner, she gave it two turns and was back at six o'clock with time to test out her new jogging route. Hopefully it would be enough to burn off some of her excess energy, or she might not be able to sit through the double Potions class right after breakfast. Slipping up into her dorm, she left her school things there before changing into her running pants and tank top, slipping on a set of worn sneakers before heading down to the grounds, pulling her hair back into a pony-tail as she crept out of the common room. She was half way around the lake when she saw someone coming her way from the opposite direction.

"Oh, shit," she muttered, having forgotten about the other runner she had spotted the previous morning. Keeping her eyes forward as they drew nearer in an attempt to not draw his attention as they passed, she almost succeeded.

"Ms. Granger, what are you doing out here?" Snape's still sleep-groggy voice growled out. With a reluctant sigh Hermione slowed to a stop before turning to face the Potions Master. He looked different wearing the old sweats and sneakers and was not near as intimidating without his signature flowing black robes. It looked as if he had simply rolled out of bed before heading out; he didn't seem fully awake and his hair was in disarray. Even in the few months she had known him in the past, she had never seen Snape look quite so normal. There were a few times she had caught him sleeping hunched over a book at the table they had been researching at, but she had never seen him look so un-Professor-Snape-like while he was awake – well, mostly awake.

"Running, Sir," she replied as he stared with a narrowed gaze; on normal circumstances it would have looked intimidating, but with his current disheveled appearance it made him look like an unhappily awoken cat.

"From what I have heard, you are supposed to be in the care of Madam Pomfrey." He seemed to reluctantly force himself to be more alert, which was not helped by the erratic angles his usually limp hair was sticking up at. Hermione was sorely tempted to poke fun at the fact, something she would have done just a few months ago, but this was not the Snape of her time nor was she the Granger of his. "Sneaking out without permission to go traipsing around the grounds alone when there is a murderer about. Should I expect to find Potter and Weasley following along shortly?"

"No, Sir, I doubt anything would get those two up early, let alone something that involves physical exercise that did not involve a broom," she said, scoffing, in an attempt to cover her amusement, as she folded her arms over her chest. "Madam Pomfrey discharged me already."

"So you thought you would simply wander the grounds with no heed to the dangers of a student being out here alone," he sneered, eyeing the layers of bandages peeking from under her tank top strap.

"I did take precautions sir," she said, pulling her wand out of its holster on her arm before returning it.

"You think a third year would have a chance against a murderer like Black?" He scoffed at the idea.

"No, I don't think a third year would have a chance against Sirius Black," Hermione said tactfully, knowing she was going to have to pick her words carefully when speaking with the Potions Master; if anyone was going to catch on to her lies, it would be him. So she was careful to only speak in truths, even if they were half truths; she almost laughed at how Slytherin she was being. Snape gave a long-suffering sigh before raking his hand over his face and the stubble dusting his cheek.

"If you must insist on continuing with your physical exercises, the need of which seems to escape the rest of your school mates, then you will meet me outside the entrance hall at six-thirty sharp on weekdays. Now come along, Ms. Granger." Hermione hesitated in following the professor as he continued along the path. She hadn't expected the offer for her to accompany him, but he was right, had she been the average third year, she would be in a great deal of danger running around the grounds alone with dementors and murderers about. She knew he was simply doing his job as a Hogwarts professor, even if it meant that she would be intruding on his personal time. She was glad he hadn't simply banned her from coming out to run in the mornings; not that it would have stopped her, she would just have been more discreet about it.

"Sometime today, Ms. Granger." Hermione was pulled from her thoughts by the voice before jogging after the professor.

"Coming Sir," she called. This was turning out to be a strange morning.

__________

Coming downstairs for breakfast after her post-run shower, Hermione was called over by her two friends, who had saved a seat between them at the long table. She had been able to remove the bandages to reveal a pink line of freshly healed skin running from the top of her right shoulder to just over her breast.

"Morning," she said, taking her seat and pouring herself some pumpkin juice.

"We were afraid Pomfrey wouldn't let you go. How are you feeling?" Harry asked, offering to dish her out some porridge. Hermione snatched the ladle from him.

"I'm not an invalid, Harry, I can get my own breakfast, and for the last time, I am fine," she snapped, filling her bowl before drizzling honey and fruit over it.

She made it halfway through breakfast before Madam Pomfrey was on her, insisting that Hermione either use the sling that had been given to her or the witch would confine her to the hospital wing. She was insistent on the dangers of overworking the muscles before they had time to mend. Reluctantly Hermione pulled the sling out of her bag, putting it back on as she left the Great Hall to their double Potions.

Taking her seat, Hermione found herself between Neville and Malfoy, a dangerous combination to be in between, when one was likely to sabotage her potion while the other was likely to sabotage his own potion. Slipping her arm out of her sling so she could write down the brewing instructions, she knew the moment before Neville knocked over his ink pot ruining half of his notes, that Snape was standing right behind them.

"Five points from Gryfindor for Mr. Longbottom's clumsiness and another five points for Ms. Granger's failure to follow instructions." He sneered, "I believe you were told by Madam Pomfrey to keep the sling on." Hermione bit her tongue to keep a snarky retort that would have earned an eye roll or even an amused smile from her Snape; this one she doubted would respond so mildly to her teasing.

Replacing her arm in the sling with a shrug, she shifted her quill to her left hand. He was most likely looking to dock points from her as a way to get back for ruining his morning. Without so much as a grumble she carried on with her notes, using her left hand with surprising ease. If having her wand arm broken, as well as being shot in the same shoulder had taught her anything, it was to not be too dependent on her dominant hand. Also, dodging is a good idea when projectiles of any kind are involved.

The lesson went on as they began brewing their Shrinking Solution. Then came the difficult part of preparing her ingredients without using her right hand. She wasn't about to let Snape get the better of her by docking more points because he was asking her to do things the hard way. She honestly didn't care about the points, but her pride wouldn't let her back down from a challenge to her ability to get a task done, handicap or no handicap.

Laying out her ingredients in neat piles, discretely snagging a few that Neville had grabbed too many of and would have most likely added on accident, she looked up at the Potions professor, who was circling the room and seemed to be waiting for her to ask for help. She locked eyes with him, black eyes narrowing as she raised her chin in smug challenge. Picking up her knife and slicing up her ingredients one by one, she wasn't the fastest nor the neatest, but but she got it done with the relative ease of one who had spent years learning the finer uses of knife and its use both as a culinary tool and as a weapon.

When it came to skinning her Shrivelfig, she had to be a little more creative in her task as it took a little more finesse and a lot more patience. In the end she could only sit back with a triumphant smirk when her potion turned the correct orange color. Even Neville had finished his potion, though it had a slightly more reddish hue to it; his own success seemed to surprise the soft spoken boy and was most likely due to her removal of the extra ingredients from his work space.

"The potions will need to stew, so clear up your things before turning in your samples," Snape instructed as he peered into Hermione's cauldron before stalking away looking like he had one too many lemon drops.

By the time they left the dungeons Hermione was grinning, which caused Ron and Harry to question if she had hit her head the day before, as they headed up to lunch. Following lunch Hermione had another of her contradictory classes, so after attending Charms with Harry and Ron she left as they headed to Defense to go to her Ancient Runes class before meeting back up with them in Defense.

Defense turned out to be a rather unique lesson compared to others they had been to. Professor Lupin took them to the teachers' lounge after a brief run-in with Peeves. There they would be learning about boggarts and have a practical lesson to learn the spell to counter them.

"I would like you all to think of what frightens you the most and a way to make it appear comical," Lupin instructed as the students lined up and the boggart was released from its cabinet. They started with Neville's Professor Snape, followed by Parvati's mummy and Seamus's banshee. Soon laughter was ringing through the room as each boggart was turned into something far more humorous. Through the class it went until it turned on Hermione. She stepped forward, sure of what she would see and intending on dispatching it before the dead body of one of her friends turned up in the class room. The boggart settled on a form and Hermione froze.

The expected body of Harry or Ron had not appeared as she had thought. Someone behind her screamed, but the large grey form only had eyes for her. Fur a steel grey and eyes once a grey-blue were now a more familiar cold gold.

"Your fault," it snarled, lips pulled back over menacing fangs as the werewolf hybrid took a slow step closer and then another. "Your fault."

"Halt..." The whisper slipped out before she could stop, another step closer. She had not been prepared to see that face again nor his accusations.

"It's. All. Your. FAULT!" he screamed in his old voice, the one she had grown used to on those first few months on the island, no trace of the growling wolf but full of his anger and judgment.

"Riddikulus!" The were-bryd changed and in its place was a puppy with oversized paws that was sent toppling head over tail, causing a round of laughter from the crowd around her before it moved on to its next victim. The lesson went on, but Hermione could only pay half a mind to it, wrapped up in her own thoughts. The class continued until Harry's turn came, only to have the professor jump in the way before the boggart could take shape, and he finished it off.

"Excellent," Lupin said, clapping his hands. "Well done. Now, for homework kindly read the lesson on boggarts and summarize it, due Monday. Class dismissed." The class was still happily chatting as they left, except for Hermione, who took her time gathering her bag, still lost in her thoughts after seeing her old friend, even if it was just the boggart taking his shape.

"Ms. Granger, might I have a word," Lupin said, coming over with the record player he had been using during class to help keep the mood of the class light. "In my office."

"Is there a problem, Sir?" she asked, following him out of the staff room.

"No, not at all, kindly get the door," he said as his hands were full. Hermione opened the classroom door for him and then his office door at the top of the back stairs. Setting his things down, he pulled out a chipped tea set.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked, tapping the tea pot with his wand and bringing it to a boil.

"Yes, please," Hermione said, looking around the room before back at the professor. "Sir, did you want to talk about something?"

"Yes," he replied, passing her a chipped cup before taking a sip of his own as he gathered his thoughts. "Your fear, do you know what it was?"

"Yes," Hermione acknowledged, "it was a werewolf of sorts. Why do you ask?"

"You said something, was it a name?" Hermione nodded after a contemplative pause. "Did you know who that was?" Hermione was quiet for a time, sipping her tea, debating on how much to tell him. If she wanted to gain his trust, she was going to have to be at least a bit honest; he was a werewolf himself and probably unsure of how to treat her fear.

"He was my friend, before he changed," she said, staring into the contents of her cup.

"But not after," Lupin questioned, shifting in his chair.

"No," she said softly rubbing at her injured shoulder absentmindedly. "No, he wasn't himself after." Halt's words had made her true fear plain enough to her.

'Your fault.'

Her fault for not being stronger when the were-bryds had attacked her and Halt.

Her fault for taking so long in carrying out his last wishes.

Her fault in taking so long to return home.

And above all else, it was going to be her fault when she failed to change things and she got a first hand look as the coming war destroyed everything she has left.

Lupin seemed saddened by her statement.

"Surely you saw him after he changed back—"

"He didn't change back!" Hermione spat out angrily, slamming her cup on the table, startling the professor. "He couldn't change back. He was different than other werewolves, and I couldn't–" She cut herself off; she couldn't, that was what it all boiled down to. She wasn't smart enough to help Ron. She wasn't there when Harry needed her most. She couldn't help Halt after he risked himself saving her, and when she had been faced with the same situation again, she had not been able to prevent Severus's end anymore than she could have Halt's.

"I'm sorry." They were silent as they finished their tea before Hermione excused herself to leave.

"Sir, I wasn't afraid of him, you know," she said, pausing in the door way, "I was afraid of failing others, like I failed him." Like I've failed so many times.