Hermione slowly but surely felt her senses returning to her; she could feel this throbbing pain in her inner arm, but her muscles no longer felt tense from constantly running. She remembered her attempts from fleeing the Snatchers, and how their leader seemed to take an interest in her. It had made her skin crawl.

"Hello, my lovely," he had said, staring at her with his unfeeling, gray eyes. He caressed her cheek, pawing at her as much as he could. "And who might you be?"

Hermione wanted to yank herself away, but she couldn't, due to the circumstances dealt to her with her secondary gender. She did not feel the thrall of the Alpha before her; he was not her mate, thank Merlin, but that wouldn't mean that he was incapable of raping her. "Penelope Clearwater," she bit out, the first name coming to her mind escaping her lips. "Half-Blood," she added in quickly; she could hardly give her real name, let alone true Blood Status, given the massive Galleon bounty currently on her head.

The Snatcher smirked as if in triumph; he believed her! "You're going to be my favorite," he declared, running his knuckles up and down her cheek.

It was a miracle that her beaded bag hadn't been taken from her person when they were all hauled off to Malfoy Manor; all her worldly possessions, as well as a fair few belonging to Harry and Ron, lurked within its confines. However, a conveniently placed spell to untrustworthy individuals rendered the undetectable Extension Charm just that—undetectable, meaning that they would believe that the bag was worthless. Then, once they stood in one of the many ballrooms of the manor, all held had broken loose.

"Take them to the dungeons!" Bellatrix Lestrange had raged. "Except for the Mudblood."

"No!" Ron had roared, as he and Harry were dragged to the opposite end of the room by Wormtail, and he struggled in the traitor's grip. "Take me! You can have me!" he begged them all, looking very much as if he would punch the Death Eater. "Take me!"

"Quiet!" Wormtail hissed at him, and promptly took them downstairs to the dungeons.

"We're going to have a little discussion, girl to girl," Bellatrix proclaimed in that shouty voice of hers, Hermione's attention immediately drawn to her again. "Now," she said, pacing around her, as if she was a serpent about to strike at the slightest provocation, "what do you know about the vaults at Gringotts?"

Hermione swallowed at the weight of the question. "They are guarded by the goblins, due to a centuries-old tradition," she said softly, lowering her eyes, "with special magicks in place to ensure that only those who are blood related, or authorized specifically, to enter the vaults."

Bellatrix gritted her teeth, obviously disappointed with the correct answer. "Well, that does not explain how this came to be in your keeping," she snapped, reaching outwards, and summoning the Sword of Gryffindor into her gnarled hand. "It was in my vault, as it was entrusted to me by the Dark Lord himself. Can you tell me why you had it?" she demanded, tossing the sword away from her, with Lucius Malfoy catching ahold of its hilt. "Did you steal it?"

Hermione shook her head. "No," she replied, although her voice shook.

"Liar!" Bellatrix shouted, smacking her, hard, across the face, to the point where her knees buckled as she crashed to the floor, landing, hard, upon her back. Bellatrix leaned down, her long, dark curls tickling Hermione's cheeks. "I'll ask you again, Mudblood," she said, her patience obviously running out, "how in Merlin's name did you get the sword? How were you able to steal it?"

"But I didn't," Hermione said, staring up into the witch's eyes, knowing entirely well how mad she was; her voice did shake this time, as tears filled her eyes, exhaustion and fear suddenly getting the better of her, as her cheek throbbed. "I didn't take it..."

Bellatrix shook her head. "I don't believe you," she declared, whereupon she yanked up the sleeve of Hermione's peacoat and pale brown jumper, and removed a dagger from within the confines of her black robes, and began slicing into her flesh of her inner arm.

"Stop!" Hermione begged, the screams echoing off the ancient walls of the manor. "Please, stop, please!" she cried out, giving way to indistinguishable wails as she struggled in the witch's firm grip upon her, as the blade, laced with poison, commingled with her blood...

Hermione let out a shout as her eyes snapped open, and she bolted upright in her bed, looking around at her new surroundings. Gone were the black walls and hard floors of the manor, and, instead, she was currently perched in a comfortable bed, equipped with Warming Charms, in a sage-green colored room. There was a fire cracking merrily in the grate directly opposite the bed she currently occupied, and snow covered the landscape outside the window behind her. A bedside table held a lamp and her beaded bag, while a couch was placed just beside the fireplace, and a small bookshelf, filled with books, was positioned on the other side of her bed. There was a door upon the same wall as the bookshelf, leading Hermione to believe that it was an attached lavatory.

The door to the room opened, and Poppy Pomfrey came through it, much to Hermione's shock, but she couldn't explain why the Hogwarts matron appeared quite a bit younger than when she had arrived there at the age of eleven, or when she had voluntarily left at seventeen. "Oh, goodness dear, you're awake," the matron said, her eyes kind as she hurried forward, placing a hand upon Hermione's forehead. "No fever, good. Let me just see..." She lifted Hermione's wrist and pressed her index finger there, measuring her heartbeat. "Just slightly elevated, but that can be explained by anxiety, as it happens, from being in a new environment."

Hermione blinked, unsure what the matron was talking about. "But, Madam Pomfrey," she protested, ignoring the lingering feelings of doubt from within her, "you've known me since I was eleven."

Madam Pomfrey blinked. "Which would explain the Time-Turner," she said at last.

Hermione shook her head. "Time-Turner?"

"Are you not familiar with them, dear?"

Hermione bit her lip. "No, I'm familiar with them, and I've even used them before. Of course, not for a period of around four years, and only under instructions from my Head of House and the headmaster..."

"What is your name, dear?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

"Hermione Granger," she responded, looking around. "I suppose this is a private patient room at Hogwarts Castle, then?"

"Yes," the matron replied. "Are you unfamiliar with them, dear?"

"I always was put out in the main infirmary," Hermione explained. "I suppose it comes with the territory of not being a student anymore..."

Madam Pomfrey looked critically at Hermione. "Am I to understand that you are a Muggleborn, my dear?" she asked.

Hermione nodded. "Yes," she said carefully; even though the matron had never claimed to be prejudiced against Blood Status, this was clearly not the matron she once knew, so she knew she had to tread carefully.

"I saw that rather nasty cut upon your arm," she told her softly. "I was able to ensure that it will not become infected, and utilized Deluxe Dittany to remove the poison, as well as heal it."

Hermione's brows knitted together. "Deluxe Dittany?" she asked. "I've never heard of that. Is it a fairly recent innovation?"

"It is in the most private of potion stores, my dear, and only put to use in the most healing extreme circumstances," the matron told her patiently. "It not only closes the wound, but also disinfects, and removes poison, or potentially dark magic, from it. It is also exceptionally rare, with very hard-to-find ingredients, so much so that many potions masters cannot make it, and its recipe is close to becoming lost to time."

Hermione felt amazed; she had never come across such a recipe, leading her to believe that it likely had been removed from all Hogwarts-issued and approved potions textbooks. "So, about the Time-Turner," she began hesitantly, "do you believe I traveled backwards in time?"

"I should say so," Madam Pomfrey said. "What year do you recollect it being?"

"1998," Hermione said softly.

Madam Pomfrey looked stunned. "Dear me..."

"What is it?" Hermione asked. "What's wrong?"

"Dear, it is 1981," Madam Pomfrey told her, "April the nineteenth, to be exact."

Hermione felt shell-shocked; not only had she traveled backwards in time seventeen years, but she had also been practically comatose for a week. "I... Oh, Merlin..."

Madam Pomfrey summoned a chair and sat down beside Hermione. "I understand that this must be a great shock for you," she told her softly. "You were in dire straits when our gamekeeper and Keeper of Keys, Hagrid, as well as his dog, Fang, discovered you in a snowbank, nearby the Whomping Willow."

Hermione gripped upon the matron's offered hand as if it was a lifeline; she made a mental note to introduce herself to Hagrid and Fang, as well as thank them for their heroics. "Other than the scar upon my arm, did I have any further injuries to my person?"

"Other than dehydration, malnutrition, bruises, and a lacerated shoulder, all of which I have managed to heal, no dear," the matron assured her. "You are currently wandless, as is to be expected, although, given your Blood Status, I am unsure it would be wise to leave the castle at this point in time. We will make a Floo Call to Mr. Ollivander to get you sorted, don't you worry, dear."

Hermione wetted her lips; thankfully, she had both some Galleons and Muggle pounds saved in her beaded bag, for emergencies. "Who is currently in residence at the castle?" she whispered, hoping beyond hope that she would be safe there, at least temporarily.

"Headmaster Dumbledore won't return from his business in France until this evening, so our Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, is acting-Headmistress until then. Am I to assume that you are familiar with her?"

Hermione nodded stiffly. "Yes. When I was a student, she was my Head of House."

Madam Pomfrey smiled. "Ah, a Gryffindor," she praised, clearly impressed. "She has asked me to keep her informed about our unexpected guest. Would you like to see her, my dear?"

"I would, yes," Hermione told her.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Give me a moment," she said, and stepped out of the room, returning a moment later with a bundle of clothing. "I had one of the elves fetch these from a local clothing store," she explained with a small smile. "Why don't you go into the bathroom and have a shower before meeting the Deputy Headmistress? It will give you an opportunity to clear your head sufficiently."

Hermione nodded; it was only April, so she knew she had some time. "All right," she said, pushing back the warm blankets and getting to her feet. Other than a bit of lightheadedness, and a momentary stumble, she remained standing.

"Good," the matron praised her, and handed over the clothes. "You will find plenty of flannels in the bathroom, as well as shampoo, conditioner, body wash, razors, and lotion. Combs and brushes have been provided for you as well, dear."

"Thank you," she said quietly.

The matron nodded and departed the room, leading Hermione to grab her beaded bag and scurry into the bathroom. Shutting the door behind her, she inspected the clothes that the matron had had a house-elf retrieve for her—a dark brown calf-length skirt, black tights, black ankle boots with a small heel, a chocolate-colored blouse, cotton panties, and a brand new matching sports bra, much to her relief. It wasn't as if she didn't have feminine, attractive bras; it was just that lace made her skin itch, and the underwires were simply a nightmare upon her ribs.

After she undressed, the nightgown and panties she had been wearing vanished, likely to the laundry services, before she crossed the room and adjusted the temperature of the shower to one of her liking. Stepping inside the generously-sized cubicle, the wonderfully warm water felt like heaven upon her skin; she had taken to bathing in various lakes whenever she had been able to find one, but cold water never did the job that warm or hot did. She massaged her scalp with the provided shampoo and conditioner; shaved her sanitary areas, underarms, and legs with the stylishly pink razor; and lavished her skin with the body wash. Once she was finished and had dried herself off, she put on the provided lotion upon every appropriate surface of her body, her milk white complexion coming back, so much so that her skin practically glowed.

She got dressed in the provided clothes from the matron, zipping up the boots last, and then she brushed and combed her hair, which had dried expertly with the Wixen Flannel. There was also a toothbrush and some toothpaste, a rare occurrence for a wixen bathroom, but, given that she was without a wand, she was pleased that the matron had considered her teeth. Turning, she opened the door of the bathroom, and spotted Minerva McGonagall sitting there in the converted room—now looking like a lovely parlor, for the first time.

"Professor," Hermione breathed, gripping tightly onto her beaded bag.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall answered pleasantly; she was sitting at a table, with a floral-painted teapot, two cups of tea, a small pitcher of milk, a bowl of sugar, a dish of lemons, and a pot of honey. There was also a tea stand, with egg and cress, smoked salmon, cucumber, and chicken sandwiches; on the second row, fluffy scones were featured, along with clotted cream and what appeared to be fresh strawberry jam; on the third and final row were berry tarts, fairy cakes, and Victoria Sponge. "Would you care to join me?"

"Yes, thank you," Hermione answered, stepping forward and taking the other seat.

"Take whatever you like, Miss Granger. You must be hungry."

Hermione gave the woman a soft smile, serving herself two chicken sandwiches, a scone which she topped liberally with cream and jam, and a fairy cake. "Thank you."

"This is a special wizarding teapot," Professor McGonagall explained. "All one need do is tap their wand upon it, say the tea they want, and it will fill with the tea. Do you have a particular favorite, Miss Granger?"

"Tetley's British Blend, please, non-decaf, professor," she answered flawlessly.

"Oh, I am fond of that one myself," the older woman replied, tapping the teapot with her wand, and, not a moment too soon, the teapot whistled, before it rose up into the air of its own accord, and filled their cups. "What do you take with your tea, Miss Granger?"

"Two sugars and a dash of milk, please."

As soon as Hermione had requested that, the milk pitcher and sugar bowl jumped to attention; the milk pitcher flew through the air, adding her milk, and then the sugar bowl bounced towards her cup, its top lifting off, and her spoon lifting to provide the teacup with sugar. Hermione looked up at the deputy headmistress, whose own tea was being provided with some lemon juice and a spoonful of honey. Although Hermione had lived in the Wizarding World for a period of seven years, she had never seen such things, and wondered why that was.

"More and more wixen are favoring the Muggle way of preparing tea," Professor McGonagall informed her patiently, likely picking up on her unspoken question. "But I don't suppose that is why you came here, Miss Granger, is it? To have tea with your former Head of House?"

Hermione gave the older woman a smile. "No, although, of course, you are only former to me, as you haven't met me yet. From your point of view, I am a future student of yours."

Professor McGonagall was quite amused by the quip. "Indeed, Miss Granger," she agreed. "I heard from Poppy that you came to us from 1998, but not by your own volition."

Hermione nodded. "That is correct, professor."

"How old are you, Miss Granger?"

"Eighteen, professor."

"Well, then, if you will allow me, we will dispense with the formalities. I shall call you Hermione, and you may call me Minerva. Is that objectionable to you?"

Hermione shook her head. "Of course not, Minerva."

Minerva smiled. "Tell me, Hermione, when is your birthday?"

"The nineteenth of September, 1979," Hermione informed her.

"Ah, so the younger you is close to achieving your second birthday in this timeline," Minerva said, nodding her head. "So, we know that you are eighteen, came to us from 1998, are a Muggleborn, were sorted into Gryffindor House, and you are an Omega... I suppose there is a Second Wizarding War occurring in your timeline, unless the first one is still happening?"

"It is a second war," Hermione confirmed. "In my timeline, Tom Riddle, the official name of the man whose tyranny is attempting to ruin life as we know it, was first vanquished on the thirty-first of October, of this year. He was vanquished by Harry Potter, son of James Potter and Lily Potter, nee Evans, at their home in Godric's Hollow."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "You seem to know quite a bit about young Harry. You must, given that he was likely in your year..."

"He was, and one of my best friends," Hermione confirmed. "It was he who Riddle chose to mark as his equal, after executing James and Lily. In so doing, Harry vanquished Riddle's corporal form, and was marked with a lightning-bolt scar. As such, he was placed into the custody of Lily's older sister and her husband, as both James and Lily's parents would die from Dragon Pox and cancer respectively, in short order, thus paving the way for Harry to be raised by Muggles in an abusive household where he was beaten, starved, and made to play house-elf until he received his Hogwarts letter. Of course, both of them attempted to stop his admittance by running away, with Harry, as well as their own son, Dudley. Hagrid, bless him, managed to track the family down, hand over Harry's letter, and frighten the Dursley's into submission when they slandered Dumbledore's name. Of course," Hermione admitted, lowering her eyes, "the headmaster has permitted his position of power to go straight to his head, and, in so doing, sanctioned child abuse against a boy under his protection for nine months of the year..."

"Ah," Minerva said, sipping her tea, "so you are distrustful of the headmaster as well?"

Hermione mentally breathed a sigh of relief that the old cat was on her side. "Who with sense wouldn't be, given the circumstances," she muttered.

"But what I cannot understand is," Minerva said quietly, "why Harry was placed into the care of individuals who knowingly hate the Wizarding World."

"Because it was believed that Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, who had been entrusted as secret keeper for the Potters in Godric's Hollow, was the one to betray their location to Riddle," Hermione informed the woman patiently. "Of course, what they'd neglected to inform everyone was that they had switched the secret keepers, as Sirius believed himself to be the more obvious choice. Instead, they elected Peter Pettigrew as secret keeper, but he is a Death Eater, Minerva, who is secretly feeding information to them this entire time."

Minerva's eyes widened in shock. "I see," she said quietly. "Well, that shall be remedied forthwith, and he shall be sufficiently sniffed out," she informed her.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief; perhaps coming back in time would do the world a fair bit of good. "Thank you," she said quietly. "You should also be made aware of the notion that he is an unregistered Animagus, and that he takes the form of a rat called Wormtail. In my timeline, he manages to get away with the crime of handing over Lily and James to Voldemort by framing Sirius, who, naturally, confronts him about it. Wormtail causes an explosion, killing twelve Muggles, and leaving his finger at the scene of the crime. Sirius was found laughing maniacally and was promptly arrested and given a life sentence in Azkaban without a trial."

"Goodness me!" Minerva cried. "And where did this Wormtail end up?"

"In the care of the Weasley family, as a familiar," Hermione explained. "He was first the rat of Percy Weasley, the third-born son of Arthur and Molly, and then went into the care of Ron, their youngest son, once Percy made prefect during his fifth-year, and received an owl from Arthur and Molly as a gift."

"Well, he shall be dealt with," Minerva vowed. "I'll leave it with Alastor and he will ensure that Wormtail is brought to justice."

"Good," Hermione said quietly. "That's good..." She bit her lip. "Also, Minerva, there will be an ambush, sometime between June and Halloween of this year, where Molly's brothers, Fabian and Gideon, will be killed by Death Eaters. I would hope that such a thing can be prevented in this timeline..."

Minerva nodded. "We shall see to it that our fighting strategies are up to par, and that groups of four at the minimum are sent out," she declared. "Now, dear, is there anything I can provide for you, other than food, clothes, and shelter?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes," she admitted. "I need a new wand, if that isn't a problem."

Minerva smiled. "No, of course not. Did you manage to take your NEWTs?"

Hermione gave her a rueful grin. "I did," she confirmed. "Harry, Ron, and I opted not to return for our seventh year, in favor of tracking down Horcruxes—"

"Dear Merlin! Did Riddle actually..."

"Yes," Hermione told her, "he did. I know what they all were, and a vague idea of where they might be in this timeline, as well as methods of destroying them. In my bag," she said, lifting it up slightly, to show Minerva, "I have my NEWTs results, which the headmaster insisted I take before this mission, as well as lots of banned books on Horcruxes and how to destroy them, as well as the history behind them."

"How many NEWTs did you take, Hermione?"

Hermione sighed, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly, not wishing to be automatically branded an overachiever, although she knew entirely well that she should be proud of her hard work, despite having next to no time to study, given that it was decided after the Christmas holidays that she should take her NEWTs. "Advanced Ancient Runes, Advanced Arithmancy, Astrology, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Herbology, Transfiguration, and Potions."

"I see," Minerva responded. "And your grades in each subject?"

Hermione still kept her eyes lowered. "An O in each, Minerva." She snapped her fingers, directly causing her beaded bag to open, and the results flew out of there, zoomed across the table, and hovered just above Minerva's eye level so that she could see them.

Minerva smiled; she saw the official seal of the Ministry of Magic, as well as the authorization signatures from Albus as headmaster, herself in the capacity of Deputy Headmistress and Hermione's Head of House, and Professor Tofty, the official proctor of examinations. "I expected nothing less," she said, nodding in thanks to the parchment, which rolled itself into a scroll, and returned to Hermione's bag without having to be asked. "This will certainly make it easier to obtain you a wand, Hermione, although I'm positive the wandmaker will give you one, no questions asked, if Poppy and I vouch for you."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Minerva. That would be lovely."

Minerva promptly smiled at the young witch again. "Drink your tea before it gets cold, then, dear. And do eat your sandwiches and things. Poppy says you need to get your strength back."

ᛦ

Hermione was permitted out of the hospital wing the following morning with a clean bill of health, although she was encouraged to eat whenever she was hungry, so as to put on a good amount of weight in order to get her strength back. Her first order of business was to go down to Hagrid's Hut and thank him properly, as well as introduce herself to the half-giant. The cover story that she and Minerva had come up with was that she was a niece of the Head of Gryffindor House, although had been born via an affair of one of Minerva's brothers. Hopefully, she wouldn't need to put a gagging clause onto their conversations.

Hermione stepped outside and inhaled the fresh, springtime air; in this timeline, the students got two weeks off for Easter, as opposed to one, so the students wouldn't be returning until the following Monday. The snow had melted away completely, and spring had officially sprung, due to the hyacinths, daffodils, primroses, and bluebells which dotted the lush green landscape of the castle grounds. The headmaster had decided to extend his stay in France, so Hermione didn't need to worry about him just yet, thank Merlin, and hoped that Hagrid didn't bring him up overly much.

Hermione approached the hut of the half-giant and climbed the wooden stairs, before tapping firmly upon the door. She smiled as she heard Fang barking from within the confines of the small house, along with Hagrid shushing him before his lumbered footsteps were heard, whereupon he opened the door. "Hagrid?" she asked tentatively; the half-giant had always told her, Harry, and Ron to call him that in their youth, but she had to appear a bit hesitant, as this was his first time meeting her.

"Oh, Miss Granger," he said, his face transforming into that of a grand smile. "Come in, come in," he said happily, standing back.

"Thank you," she said, stepping inside, only to be assaulted by Fang, who bounded up to her, doing his best to lick her face.

"Sorry abou' 'im," Hagrid said apologetically, and grabbed ahold of Fang's collar. "Ye do no' jump on guests, Fang."

"It's fine, really, Hagrid," Hermione assured him, and soothed the much-younger Fang by scratching him behind the ear, much to the dogs' delight. She smiled as he butted her hand with his forehead for a moment, before going over to his basket and falling asleep. "He's truly a sweetheart," she told the half-giant.

Hagrid chuckled. "I think so," he replied. "Can I offer ye a cup o' tea, Miss Granger?"

"That's lovely, Hagrid, but I've just finished breakfast," Hermione told him; she really didn't want to be offered his famous rock cakes or Bath buns.

"O' course, o' course," Hagrid said quickly.

"And please call me Hermione," she told him, smiling. "Miss Granger makes me think of an aunt of mine who was a bit terrifying..." It was true; her father had an older sister, Caroline, who was a right terror when she wanted to be.

Hagrid chuckled at that, clearly amused. "Noted, 'Ermione."

"I came here to thank you, and Fang, for saving my life," Hermione said softly. "It was very brave of both of you to go out into the snow like that, in a blizzard no less, risking your own lives, to save mine."

Hagrid bowed his head, flushing deeply. "It was Fang who done it," he admitted softly, "I jus' provided ther 'eavy lifting..."

Hermione placed a gentle hand upon his arm. "Well, regardless of who it was, the both of you are heroes in my eyes, Hagrid."

Hagrid sniffled at that. "Thank ye, 'Ermione," he said, dragging out a handkerchief the size of a picnic blanket from his pockets, only to emit a sound similar to a trumpet whilst he blew his nose. "It's kind of ye to say so."

Hermione chatted pleasantly with Hagrid for a quarter of an hour, before she excused herself to walk a bit around the grounds of the castle. It was getting warmer, with a light, warm breeze tickling her cheeks as she left the hut, though she was thankful for the light spring robe that Minerva had so considerately lent her. She would be meeting the wandmaker tomorrow, as he was having lunch with Minerva that day, and, hopefully, would be able to procure a wand.

As she stepped out of the confines of the hut entirely, she stopped, poised, upon the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was plenty light outside, and the weather was pleasant enough, leading her to believe that, if she was careful, a little trip within the woods wouldn't be amiss. She stepped through the first line of trees, enjoying the scent of flowers and wet moss as she walked deeper within, but it was only a few moments later that an entirely different scent seemed to fly into her nose, quite unexpectedly.

It was sandalwood, musk, and the pleasing aroma of wet earth after a rainstorm filled her nostrils as she came towards a clutch of trees. Pulling her robe more closely around her, she felt hot all over, the slick within her threatening to burst forth at any moment. Heart pounding, she rounded the clutch of trees and spotted a man, crouched down, harvesting Lady's Mantle. As she stepped closer still, she broke a rouge twig with her boot, directly causing the man to stiffen, before he turned around to look at her.

Hermione, heart pounding, gazed at Severus Snape, who, at twenty-one, didn't appear to be as perpetually angered as he had done in her timeline. However, as the gasp left her lips, her mind informed her of one thing and one thing only. "Mate?" she whispered, her voice quivering, and wrapped her arms around herself, fearing that rejection was imminent.

The potions master, however, appeared momentarily shocked, only to immediately scent the air, which directly led his dark eyes to dilate twofold, whereupon he gathered up his potions ingredients, and proceeded to stalk towards her. "Mate," he practically growled back.