“I know, I’m sorry““I already told you I’m sorry!”
“That doesn’t make it any better!”
“Weren’t you listening? He already knew. What was the point of not telling him?”
“But you promised, Frances!”
Hermione scowled and put down her quill. On most Saturday mornings the Gryffindor common room was an ideal place to study, but with a pair of fourth year girls reducing each other to tears halfway across the room, this Saturday was not one of them.
As she stared blankly into space, her mind drifted to the conversation she had had with Professor Snape several weeks previously. Ever since he had questioned the cost of her dedication to her schoolwork, she had brooded over it. She had even, after due consideration, started limiting her essays to one foot less than twice the required length. So far the only result seemed to be that she had more time to worry about what he’d been trying to tell her, but if nothing else she hoped it would demonstrate that she was taking his advice seriously.
When she approached the question logically, the obvious cost of her diligence was the time she devoted to her studies. Certainly it couldn’t be knowledge in and of itself! Her time, on the other hand, was not unlimited, so the direct consequence of her academic dedication was less time for other pursuits.
But what did he want her to do? Professor Snape could hardly want her to spend two hours brushing her hair and applying makeup charms every morning the way Parvati and Lavender did. Nor would he consider it worthwhile to spend endless hours discussing Quidditch tactics with Harry and Ron. She snorted at the thought.
No, he’d told her she ought to think, which implied that she would better spend her time thinking. As good as said it outright, really. Thus she was supposed to think. But really, there were so many things she could possibly think about; the word ‘think’ hardly limited the possibilities. What was she supposed to think about? That was the real question.
He had been trying to tell her something. That much she was sure of. He would never have bothered to speak to her without a reason, much less be so kind““at least by his usual standards. Clearly there was some puzzle she was supposed to solve, or some obvious conclusion she was supposed to rethink. But what?
It wasn’t that her life was lacking in puzzles. There were plenty, even in Gryffindor Tower: Parvati’s utter lack of enthusiasm for the upcoming summer holidays, Colin Creevy’s sudden obsession with photographing owls, the way Seamus’s jaw slackened every time he set eyes on Katie Bell. Outside of the common room there were other, less trivial enigmas: the slight furrow of worry in Professor McGonagall’s forehead which was becoming more pronounced with every passing week, the house-elves’ desire for servitude, the seemingly intractable idiocy of the Ministry of Magic.
The trouble was that almost all of the puzzles she could think of seemed unimportant, certainly not worth Professor Snape’s concern. When she considered the few puzzles that weren't trivial, she couldn't identify any that needed her in particular to solve them. Professor Snape was in a much better position to decipher them than she was, so he could have no reason to involve her unless it was specifically her understanding that mattered““she was certain he wouldn’t concern himself just to give her the pleasure of knowledge.
Besides, even if he did want her to figure out what was worrying Professor McGonagall or why the Ministry was so determinedly ineffective, Hermione had no information, no evidence, no way to draw solid inferences. The same went for the still unsolved puzzles of the cursed necklace and the poisoned mead. The last thing she wanted was to imitate Harry's obsession with Malfoy, jumping to baseless conclusions at the least provocation. She sniffed. She could not““she would not““reach conclusions without sufficient evidence with which to support them.
She chewed her lip, frustrated by her lack of progress, and contemplated the ink stains on the table before her. Maybe she was starting at the wrong place, approaching it from the wrong direction? But could she make any progress towards finding an answer without knowing the question?
She would, of course, need to apply evidence before concluding anything. Evidence… Maybe she could start with the evidence? It would be hard to find the right information without knowing what she was supposed to figure out. But it was somewhere to start, at least. If she observed enough, gathered enough data, the puzzle might emerge along with the solution.
It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning. At least it was something other than wasting long hours wondering what Professor Snape wanted her to figure out, and probably more fruitful as well. She smiled at the thought.
Observing would, of course, require time and energy. But when? Certainly not during classes““those were far too important. And there wasn’t likely to be much worth observing in the common room. In the hallways between classes, then. And of course in the bathrooms; people were always so careless of who was listening in there. But would that be enough? She grimaced, reluctant. She should, she supposed, refrain from bringing a book to breakfast. Well, at least this once.
Resigning herself, she glanced at her watch. Harry and Ron would probably come down for breakfast within the next half hour, but she could work on her essay until then.
Punctual as always (at least so far as meals were concerned), Ron and Harry emerged from the boys’ dormitories fifteen minutes later. Spotting her, they shuffled over to the table where she was working.
“Mornin’, ‘ermione,” Harry yawned.
“Good morning!” She set down her quill and stoppered her ink bottle.
“Ready for breakfast?” asked Ron.
“Of course. Just a moment while I put all this away.” Hermione nodded to the supplies in front of her as she gathered them up. After stowing everything in her room she bounced down to the common room to meet the boys, eager to get to the Great Hall and begin her observations. They greeted her with bemused smiles.
“What, no book?” asked Harry, mildly surprised.
“You know, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you actually wanted to spend time with us.” Ron grinned.
“Don’t be a prat, Ron.” Rolling her eyes, Hermione made a swatting motion at the air in front of him. She refrained from pointing out that her lack of a book was unlikely to keep them from their morning discussion of Quidditch““it would only raise questions she would rather not have to answer.
Sunday evening found Hermione sitting Disillusioned between the roots of her favorite tree at the edge of the forest. She didn’t dare linger visibly alone after her run-in with the centaurs at the end of the previous year, but she didn’t see why that should stop her coming, so long as she was careful about it.
Harry and Ron were busy with their homework in the common room, and it was early enough that they wouldn’t be looking for her help yet. She had already finished all her homework through Thursday, so she didn’t feel at all guilty taking the time to relax and enjoy the sound of the wind through the leaves.
Her newfound devotion to observation over the last day and a half had proven more rewarding than she had expected. Draco Malfoy certainly looked sick and unhappy, from what she had seen from across the Great Hall at meal times. Parvati and Dean also seemed unusually subdued, while Neville had grown noticeably more confident at some point in the last year. And Hannah Abbott now appeared to have a crush on Justin Finch-Fletchly““not that every girl in their year hadn’t seen that coming.
Meal times were also a good time to observe the staff, beyond her usual cursory glance to see who was present. Professor Sprout seemed slightly concerned about Professor Vector, judging by her looks and gestures towards the younger witch, while Professor Sinistra seemed wary of Madam Hooch. And much to Hermione’s amusement, Professor Snape spoke almost solely with Professor McGonagall, for all the rivalry between their Houses.
Hermione stared out across the lawn towards the castle, mentally going over her observations in search of a pattern or puzzle. As if drawn by her thoughts, Professor Snape came into sight, making his way across the grass towards the forest. As he drew nearer she saw that he was scowling. Though there was nothing unusual about that, really.
He continued towards her and she sat as still as she could, careful not to attract his attention through motion. He was less than twenty feet away now, and still walking closer.
He growled harshly, “There must be another way.”
She held her breath, hoping he might say more before he moved out of earshot, and almost cried out in surprise when a disembodied voice, immediately recognizable as the Headmaster’s, replied.
“But there is no other way, Severus. Surely you must see that?”
“No, Albus““”
Hermione strained her ears, but she heard no more as a gust of wind carried away the rest of the Potion Masters’ rebuttal and the pair walked on into the forest. For a moment she considered following, but realized that moving she would be all too easy to spot, especially for two such powerful wizards.
Sighing quietly, she settled back between the roots to resume thinking. Here at last was a puzzle worth pondering.