was not a surprise. Despite the lax attitude that many teachers were taking towards seventh year lessons, Snape had been on a mission to put the graduating seniors to what he referred to as 'more productive uses'.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Spoil us? If anything Lupin's had us working twice as hard since Voldemort's hiatus."
There were many reasons to dislike Hogwarts formidable Potions Master, but Hermione had always taken particular offence to Snape' s blatant favouritism towards the Slytherins, not to mention his ill-concealed contempt for Remus Lupin. It was her inbuilt 'injustice detector', as Ron liked to call it. The trouble was that Snape maintained his dubious reputation only too well. Hermione could appreciate the strain that came with the role of double agent, but really, did the man have to be so bloody disagreeable?
And strangely, the only person who seemed to put up with Snape without complaint was Harry.
The events at the end of their fifth year had left a tangible mark on all of them, but most especially on Harry. For some unfathomable reason, Lupin had been hesitant to step into the role that Sirius had previously occupied in Harry's life. And for reasons of his own, Dumbledore did not force the case.
Instead, Dumbledore had urged Harry to continue Occlumency lessons with Snape. Apart from the occasional spat, the two had been plodding along without incident for four hours a week, for the better part of a year and a half.
Harry never said much about the tutoring, but both Ron and Hermione got the impression that on some level, Harry was comforted by the fact that there was at least one person from his father' s generation, gently coerced or not, who was willing to be more than just peripherally involved in his life. The thought of Snape playing any sort of father figure role was bizarre, but Harry seemed none the worse for it.
Blaise was now drumming his fingers on the table. "I believe the phrase he used to describe us to Lupin was 'pampered, milk-fed layabouts'. We're to do manual labour this afternoon," informed the Head Boy, with enough disdain to make Hermione grin. "Even after a year, I haven't got used to the fact that Lupin's a werewolf. Times are changing."
"For the better," Hermione assured, as she accepted her book bag that which Blaise had picked up and was holding out to her.
So. Wednesday afternoon Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins. It was time to face her demons. Or more to the point, a tall, blonde, grey-eyed demon who currently had the power to ruin her reputation.
Along with her morals.
Chapter Eight
Hermione Granger was a clever little bitch.
Of course, this was not exactly news to Draco, but he had the benefit of the past three days to truly appreciate just how wily the puffy-haired Gryffindor could be.
Student Heads and prefects were very busy people, granted. Most especially in the final weeks of school when there was a seemingly endless list of things to be done before Hogwarts closed for the summer holidays.
Head Boy Blaise Zabini , for example, was a dark haired blur as he zipped in and out of the Great Hall and Slytherin Common Room, prefect helpers in tow. He was usually the first person in Slytherin to be up in the morning, and with the exception of Professor Snape, the last to retire to bed.
However, the school was not such a big place that two students would be unable to conduct a brief conversation in private, in one of the Castle's numerous shadowy corners if they needed to. Even still, Draco had thus far been thwarted in every attempt to get close enough to Granger to even whisper an insult.
Honestly, the girl was proving to be as elusive as Crabbe and Goyle during spinach quiche dinners.
For the past three days, Granger had either taken her meals in her room or while she was on the move. Draco knew this because he went into the kitchens to question the house elves.
And when he did chance to see her, she was never alone. If Potter or Weasley weren't walking with her to and from classes, it was Ginny Weasley who accompanied her. From the cheerful, vacant expressions on her friends' faces, Draco surmised that they remained entirely oblivious to what has transpired over the weekend.
Well, good.
The last thing Draco needed right now was a purple-faced Ron Weasley challenging him to a duel in the Great Hall while Potter finally made inevitable