A/N: This is the ‘final’ version of Ordinary People, last edited on 7 February 2004.  It’s also the one with the formatting that I most approve of.  The entire novel is in this one file, with a list of chapter links at the beginning.  Final author’s notes follow.

 

Summary: How do you go about life when you're one of the ordinary looking people?  A SS/HG romance that strives for realism.

 

Rating: PG-13

 

Disclaimer: Never owned anyone mentioned here, never will...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ordinary People, A Severus Snape/Hermione Granger Romance

 

by: Hayseed ([email protected])

 

 

            Chapter One--Things as they are

 

            Chapter Two--An eventful evening

 

            Chapter Three--Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

 

            Chapter Four--Broken heroes are rarely useful

 

            Chapter Five--Not quite back to normal, after all

 

            Chapter Six--The unlikelihood of change

 

            Chapter Seven--Adventures in experimenting

 

            Chapter Eight--Vampirism and French sadists make strange bedfellows

 

            Chapter Nine--Your lovely awkwardness

 

            Chapter Ten--Romancing the mundane

 

            Chapter Eleven--Indeed there will be time

 

            Chapter Twelve--The latent causes of faction

 

            Chapter Thirteen--Bloody Romans and their damned incantations

           

            Chapter Fourteen--The worst day since yesterday

 

            Chapter Fifteen--Not every action has an equal and opposite reaction

 

            Chapter Sixteen--I will fear no evil

 

            Chapter Seventeen--One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies

 

            Chapter Eighteen--The jaws that bite, the claws that catch

 

            Chapter Nineteen--Conditions of complete reality

 

            Chapter Twenty--Things as they might be

 

            Endnotes and Footnotes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

            Things as they are---

 

 

Hermione Granger knew she was not beautiful. No one had ever told her this, of course, but she'd managed through the years to figure it out on her own.

 

Not that there was anything wrong with her, in particular, she supposed. Nothing out of the way. Now that she'd fixed her buck teeth.

 

She frowned at her reflection in the mirror, automatically straightening her collar. Oh well--she was actually about fifteen minutes early at the moment; she could afford a bit of shameless self-mockery. Hermione looked more closely at her reflection, wincing at the obvious bags under her eyes. They didn't help her a bit. Nor did their cause--she hadn't been sleeping well since she'd arrived at Hogwarts this term.

 

Of course, no one seemed to be in a particularly good mood. There was too much of an air of...anticipation.

 

It was unspoken. This was Harry Potter's seventh year. Voldemort's time for a final strike on Hogwarts. The final battle, as it were. No one mentioned it, but Hermione noted a definite subdued air in the student population. Even Draco Malfoy had been quiet for a change.

 

All the professors were on edge. Dumbledore was very nearly brisk with students and Snape downright poisonous. They moved in groups--rarely did you see a single professor out prowling the halls. And every student knew that being out after curfew meant at least a hundred points from their House. Past nine PM, you could hear a pin drop at the other end of the castle.

 

But it wasn't all seriousness--they were still children, after all, for all that they'd been asked to shoulder adult burdens. Lavender Brown wailed about her on again, off again relationship with Justin Finch-Fletchley to anyone who offered to commiserate with her, Ron Weasley showed up periodically in the common room armed to the teeth with Honeydukes' sweets and bottles of butterbeer, and even Harry laughed that morning in Potions when Blaise Zabini's cauldron exploded on Professor Snape and he literally sprouted daisies.

 

And in the middle of all this sat Hermione. Neither flesh nor fowl nor good red herring.

 

Her friends had been surprised when she hadn't made prefect and thus been overlooked for the Head Girl position, but Hermione herself knew better. Grades notwithstanding, she spent too much time in trouble to be asked to reprimand others for the same activities she herself indulged in. And recently, even her grades had taken a dip. Not noticeable to anyone save herself, but a dip was a dip.

 

About halfway during her fifth year, she'd realized she was nearing the end of what Hogwarts was going to teach her. It had saddened her at the time; after all, Hermione lived for knowledge. To know more and to be able to use that to help people--that was what she craved. She studied because she wanted to, no other reason. And some time during that year, she'd basically finished learning the Hogwarts curriculum. Two and a half years too early.

 

And so, Hermione's brain crying out for other knowledge, she'd turned to other subjects. Muggle ones, many of them--literature, both wizarding and Muggle, mathematics, physics, chemistry, history, even art. But she also continued to study vigorously in her magical subjects, particularly Potions and Transfiguration. She began reading the journals, learning what ideas were current and what ideas were groundbreaking.

 

Hermione also found herself shocked at how ignorant the wizards doing the publishing seemed to be. Wizards were so wrapped up in the application of magic, they'd never bothered with the theory of it. Through all of her vast research, Hermione couldn't find a single wizard or witch who had made an honest attempt at determining the origin of magic or even the mechanics of it.

 

So she delved deeper, the selfish drive to answer her own questions pushing her. Hermione slowly began integrating her Muggle education into her wizarding one, trying to think of magic in terms of biochemistry, in terms of physics, in terms of mathematics. Boldly, she'd begun to submit her ideas in paper form to various journals through anonymous owl post under the initials H.G. Right off the bat, Hermione realized that she would never be taken seriously as a sixteen year old witch just beginning her sixth year of training, so she took great care not to give away any hints as to her identity.

 

She had been greatly surprised when her first paper was accepted immediately for publication in a fairly prominent journal. A second and third followed in quick succession, and Hermione soon found herself engaged in written debates with some of the greatest wizard minds of her time. She received letters and queries by the handful, causing Harry and Ron to tease her mercilessly about secret admirers. She had, of course, not informed anyone of her moonlighting as a scholar of magical theory and had no plans to.

 

But yes--her schoolwork suffered slightly for it. She no longer cared much about her grades. How could she, when she was working on ideas so much more interesting? Why should she bother to remember the twenty-three uses of mandrake root when she was trying to pin down the exact origin of magical energy manifesting in a single individual?

 

If the professors noticed that their pet student was no longer scoring a hundred percent or higher on every exam, they chose not to comment on it to her. Besides, it wasn't as if she was failing. She was still consistently scoring above ninety percent and she knew that she could have gotten at least fourteen NEWTs in her sleep during her sixth year. Her OWLs, in fact, had been the highest the school had seen since Tom Riddle came through.

 

And so, Hermione's status as the Gryffindor Know-It-All had declined a bit. Her fellow students still pestered her for help on occasion, but she was just as likely any more to toss out the title of a book for them to read than to actually give them the answer they were looking for.

 

Even her rock-solid friendship with Harry and Ron was more faulty than it used to be. With Ron joining the Quidditch team their fifth year as Keeper, he and Harry had one more thing in common that she didn't share. They still palled around and kept up the pretense, but it was half-hearted at best. Hermione could barely keep her eyes open once they started on a Quidditch discussion, and neither boy hardly ever bothered to ask her what she was up to any more.

 

But she didn't blame them--Harry was justifiably worried about the upcoming battle and Ron...

 

Well, Ron was Ron. Big and cuddly and unconditionally loveable, but not generally the most perceptive Gryffindor in the pack. And any more, he was way too busy chasing after girls to pay much attention to anything else.

 

Hermione had once fancied that she had a slight crush on Ron, back during her fourth year. She'd been flattered that he'd gotten so angry about Viktor Krum and she'd spent the entire summer convincing herself that she was in love with him.

 

And then her fifth year. As soon as Hermione set eyes on Ron in Diagon Alley for their annual meeting, she knew she had been lying to herself. Ron and Harry were more her brothers than anything else. Ron hadn't been jealous--he had been trying to protect her from getting hurt, just as he would have Ginny. She was no more in love with Ron than she was with Crookshanks. He and Harry were the closest people in her life--she felt more comfortable around them than anyone else.

 

Even her parents, and that hurt to admit.

 

But, truth be told, they'd always been a little unsettled by their odd daughter. She'd had so much trouble as a little girl because of her burgeoning magical abilities and then she'd compounded it by going off to some strange school to learn more about such nonsense. Hermione knew that her parents were still hoping that she would come home, marry a nice boy from a well-to-do family, and start supplying them with grandchildren to spoil.

 

All of these thoughts brushed briefly through Hermione's mind as she stared at her reflection, taking in the relatively standard features of her face, the curly hair that still defied control even after countless haircuts and different hair-care products, and the utterly not special figure, neither helped nor hindered by her school uniform. Someone no one would even look twice at, and to date, someone no one ever had looked twice at.

 

Well, except for Viktor Krum. Briefly. Until he'd gotten back to Bulgaria and noticed the legions of girls following him around asking for autographs.

 

Hermione sighed and gathered up her textbooks, making her way slowly to the door. It had been nice to be noticed.

 

She made her way to the Potions classroom without incident and slipped into her usual seat beside Neville a full three minutes early for class.

 

"Not as early as usual, I see," Neville remarked to her with a slight grin.

 

She returned the grin. "I was caught up in my daydream of you," she said cheekily.

 

"You watch it or I'll tell Ginny on you," he replied.

 

Hermione laughed. Neville Longbottom was perhaps the greatest surprise of her year. Somewhere between his fourth year and his seventh year, he'd turned from a timid, pudgy little boy into a tall, broad young man with nearly beautiful features and an easy smile. Of course, he was still terrified of Potions (more accurately, of Professor Snape), and so most of his self-confidence disappeared once he walked in that door, but outside of that arena, he was one of the most well respected prefects on the grounds.

 

And of course the perfect picture was completed with the perfect girlfriend, Hermione thought without rancor. Ginny Weasley had blossomed into a kind, sweet, absolutely beautiful young woman and she and Neville were wonderful together. Not even Ron complained about his baby sister and her boyfriend.

 

But her thoughts were interrupted as Professor Snape billowed into the classroom, a glare permanently fixed on his face since they'd set foot on the grounds in September. Not even Draco Malfoy tried to test his patience these days.

 

Hermione had it from Harry, who was allowed to attend the meetings of the Order of the Phoenix, that Snape'd had a very difficult time proving his loyalty to Voldemort when he returned three years ago and lately his motives had been questioned again.

 

Certainly Snape looked as sleep-deprived as any of them and Hermione absently noticed that he often winced as he sat down or moved quickly. She supposed that being tortured nearly nightly and playing spy against the most evil man alive would tend to put one in a bad mood.

 

"We will begin NEWT revisions today," Snape said softly and without preamble "The Potions NEWT is a practical one and covers all seven years of your coursework. You will, of course, continue to study the more complex brews in an outside effort--I will assign weekly essays on these brews. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for you, most of these potions require too much time to be brewed in a classroom setting. Although I consider each of these essays to be testable material, so do not be surprised if one or more show up on your midterms or even on some of your NEWTs." Here he looked at Neville, who swallowed loudly. "Today you will brew the Swelling Solution you made during your second year without the benefit of a textbook. Each piece of information that you must look up will cost you five percent of today's grade. Now, get started!" he barked.

 

Neville jumped in his chair.

 

"Relax, Neville," Hermione muttered. "This is an easy one. You just dump everything in the cauldron and let it boil for an hour. Remember?"

 

"I...I think so," Neville stammered.

 

"Granger!" Snape snapped from behind them, causing both Neville and Hermione to jump. "Recall that you will not be permitted to give Longbottom instructions during his NEWTs and behave in kind. Ten points from Gryffindor."

 

"Yes, sir," Hermione mumbled, feeling her cheeks redden. She automatically gathered together the ingredients she needed and began chopping, shredding, and skinning.

 

Fifteen minutes later, she had a happily bubbling cauldron full of what would be Swelling Solution in an hour. Adjusting the burner so that it would not boil over, Hermione surreptiously pulled out a notebook containing some equations she'd been puzzling through the night before and began reworking them. She also tried to keep an eye on Neville so that she could intervene if he worked himself into the middle of a complete disaster. So far, he seemed to be doing all right, although he'd needed to check his book once to verify some ingredients.

 

The classroom was fairly quiet. Snape stalked from table to table, examining potions, deducting points here and there. Hermione was so absorbed in her work that she barely noticed him beside her, criticizing the consistency of Neville's potion (although thankfully not the color). She did, however, notice him when he came to a halt at her table.

 

"Miss Granger..." he practically hissed.

 

"Sir?" Hermione dragged her eyes from her work with no small degree of effort.

 

"What is this? Doing Arithmancy homework in my classroom? Twenty points from Gryffindor and put it away immediately." Snape's glare intensified.

 

Indignation welled in Hermione's breast. Her potion was fine, so what was it to him if she chose to do something else while she waited for it to finish? "It's not Arithmancy, sir," she said boldly.

 

He leaned in closer, eyes widening at her audacity. "I see equations, Miss Granger, and I believe the only subject those are required for is Arithmancy."

 

"No, sir, I am working out the Principle of Second Quantization," she told him, inwardly relishing the gasps of her classmates as she continued to talk back to Snape. "My potion only needs to simmer for thirty more minutes and I did not trust my earlier figures and wanted to recheck them."

 

Second Quantization? she saw him mouth, losing the glare momentarily. But then it was back, deeper than before. "Detention, Miss Granger," he returned in an even tone. "And put that book away. I will not tell you a third time."

 

For a single moment, Hermione considered defiantly ignoring him, but in the end, her common sense won out and she grudgingly put the notebook back in her knapsack. She kept her head bent over her cauldron for the remainder of class, making sure her Swelling Solution was flawless and thinking of horrible things to do to Snape and mentally going through the equations she'd been working on.

 

She all but sauntered up to his desk after he dismissed the rest of the class. "I believe I have a detention to discuss, Professor?"

 

He nodded shortly. "Return to the classroom tonight at eight PM. I'm sure there will be plenty of cauldrons in want of a good scrubbing."

 

"Yes, sir," Hermione retorted with a frown, not trusting herself to say any more. She turned to leave, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

 

"Oh, and Miss Granger?" he called after her.

 

"Sir?" She turned to face him questioningly.

 

"Why are you working on graduate-level Muggle physics problems?" he asked.

 

Hermione started at the look on his face. He wasn't scowling (for once) and seemed genuinely curious. She permitted herself a cheeky grin. After all, she already had detention and points from Gryffindor had ceased to bother her years ago. "They're interesting. And I'm curious about the origins of magic from a more mechanical perspective," she said truthfully, forgetting for a moment just who she was talking to.

 

Snape's eyes showed his surprise. "Have you ever read the Magical Review Letters?"

 

"Periodically. Why?" Hermione wanted to laugh--actually, she'd published her second paper in MRL.

 

"There's an article in there. Six months old, by now. But I think you might find it of some interest. Apparently there's a wizard out there who has a similar curiosity. I can't remember the title, but the author's a fellow who goes by H.G. He's made quite a splash in the academic community lately."

 

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said, making a hasty exit from the classroom before she lost her composure. Her own work was being recommended to her by the most hated professor at Hogwarts, who had gone from snarling at her to genuinely interested in her. Bizarre.

 

----------

 

Severus Snape considered himself a difficult man to surprise. He paid too much attention to his surroundings to be genuinely taken back by much of anything.

 

He had early on consigned Miss Granger to annoying overachiever in his head. One of those poor children who overcompensated for their real lack of intelligence by showing off what knowledge they had and memorizing books and that sort of thing. Their goal in life was to be number one. But in general, their ambitions stopped there. A hundred percent on a test, valedictorian of their class, whatever they could achieve that did not require actual independent thought. Book learners. Hard workers.

 

It had never occurred to him that Miss Granger might actually be brilliant. In fact, when he'd taken note of her grade slips over the past two years, he'd simply assumed that she'd found her wall and could go no higher.

 

But today, when he saw her working on problems in Muggle physics that he hadn't ever seen before simply for her own benefit, he'd finally had to consider the possibility that Miss Granger might be a true intellectual. That maybe she hadn't read her way through the entire Hogwarts library (as reported by Madam Pince in Miss Granger's fifth year) because she felt the need to show her knowledge off to her classmates but because she'd genuinely wanted to understand the information contained in those books.

 

So her infamous OWL scores were not the product of a need to be the best. Rather, they came from the fact that Miss Granger might really be the best without a great deal of effort. And that would also explain why she hadn't groused over not making prefect. She knew as well as any of the professors why she hadn't been given the position and understood (and perhaps even agreed with) their decision.

 

Severus frowned. He was unaccustomed to having his entire view of an individual so radically altered.

 

Miss Granger might be worth teaching.

 

In fact, if his suspicions were correct, there was probably very little he could teach her any more. Twelve years of teaching rudimentary potions to idiot children rather dulled the intellect. He hadn't published a paper in more than five years, although he was currently working his way through H.G.'s theories, trying to come up with a decent rebuttal to them. There was something about H.G.'s logic that did not sit well with Severus--he just couldn't determine what. It was as if there was a next step that H.G. had not taken in his work that was numbingly obvious to Severus.

 

He had a sneaking suspicion that he did not have a good enough grasp on the Muggle sciences to formulate his thoughts properly. And he certainly wasn't going to expose his ignorance to one of the world's greatest minds. No--research first, then rebuttal.

 

Idly, Severus' mind drifted back to Miss Granger's physics dabblings. Maybe she could...

 

No! Severus immediately berated himself. What was he thinking? A Gryffindor and one of Harry Potter's best friends? No, he would put all of this nonsense out of his head and work the theories out himself. Miss Granger had admitted to being unfamiliar with the work of H.G.--she couldn't possibly be helpful.

 

Of course, he told himself right on the heels of that thought, if she had managed to come up with the same ideas as H.G. completely independently, she was even more brilliant than he secretly suspected.

 

No matter. She would serve her detention, he would antagonize her as usual, and he could push all thoughts of her out of his mind.

 

----------

 

"So, Hermione, what was all that in Potions today?" Harry asked his friend at supper that evening.

 

"I don't know what you mean," she replied testily.

 

Harry frowned. "Don't be stupid on purpose, Hermione. It doesn't suit you."

 

Shrugging, Hermione grabbed a roll from the basket and began to butter it. "I just didn't want Snape to think I was catching up on homework in his class."

 

"So what were you doing?" Harry prodded, taking a roll for himself.

 

"Like I said," Hermione replied. "I was reworking out the Second Quantization. I can't quite figure out how it's useful and none of my books explain it very clearly."

 

"See, Hermione, I don't know as many words as you, apparently," Harry said sarcastically, grinning at her. "I know you think you answered my question, but--"

 

"All right, all right," she cried. "I'm sorry. Look--it's just something I've been working on out of some Muggle physics textbooks."

 

"Muggle physics?" Harry echoed. "Why are you studying that?"

 

"It's interesting," Hermione said. "And besides, I really think that wizards could use some of the same constructs used in particle physics to investigate the nature of magic. I just need to learn more about the formalism to be completely sure. At first, I thought it might be biochemical, and I still do to some extent. I mean, how would we be able to manipulate the energy otherwise, if it wasn't wired into us genetically somehow?"

 

Harry threw his hands in the air. "You've lost me, Hermione!" he cried as soon as she paused to take a breath. "I'm sure it's all fascinating stuff, though," he said quickly as she glared at him. "I just don't see why it bothered Snape so much that you were working on it during class."

 

"I should be doing Potions in Potions class," Hermione reminded him. "That's all there is to it. And it bothers him to have a student talk back besides."

 

"When's your detention?"

 

"Tonight. In about twenty minutes, in fact," Hermione said, checking her watch.

 

"What's in twenty minutes?" Ron asked from Harry's left, suddenly deciding to join the conversation instead of staring longingly after some nameless sixth year Ravenclaw.

 

"My detention with Snape," she told him gloomily.

 

Ron gave her a compassionate look. "Well, good luck, love," he replied.

 

"Thanks. I'll need it. Actually, I should probably go ahead down to the dungeons--wouldn't want to be late." Exchanging one last look with her friends, Hermione gathered up her books and left the Great Hall, making her way back down to the Potions classroom.

 

 

Chapter Two

            An eventful evening---

 

 

Clearly Professor Snape did not trust her. He'd brought a stack of papers for marking down to the classroom and watched her carefully as she obediently scrubbed out the filthy cauldrons he'd indicated to her. Hermione didn't know whether to be insulted or amused at the insinuation that she would cheat on her work if his back was turned. Probably a little of both, really.

 

"Do desist with that dreadful whistling, girl," Snape said icily from behind his desk, not even bothering to look up.

 

"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione apologized. She hadn't even been aware that she was whistling. Best to be quiet. In an effort to keep her mind busy enough that she didn't start whistling again, Hermione started to mentally recite Shakespeare as she scrubbed. Her Muggle grade school had required students to begin recitations at an obscenely early age, but they were nearly always completely unoriginal Shakespeare passages--two every term.

 

Hermione sighed to herself--you worked with what you had.

 

Sonnets first. Number seventy-one, that one hadn't been so bad. No longer mourn for me...a stubborn stain there...when I am dead...Hermione scrubbed viciously at it.

 

She'd finished the handful of sonnets she knew on the second cauldron. Julius Caesar next. That took up three more cauldrons and by now, Hermione was actually sweating. She pushed her hair out of her face, hating the way it stuck to her forehead, and kept scrubbing, resolutely ignoring Snape and starting on Macbeth.

 

Twenty cauldrons, half of Shakespeare's major tragedies, and an innumerable number of hours later, Hermione threw away her last filthy rag and pronounced the last cauldron clean. "Professor, sir?"

 

Snape grunted, looking up from the paper he was marking.

 

"I'm finished. May I go?"

 

Throwing down his quill rather violently, Snape stood up. "Come--I will escort you back to your common room. Students are not allowed to walk the hallways alone at this hour." He sounded nearly as displeased with this as she felt.

 

They walked side-by-side in silence, neither one willing to begin a conversation. Hermione's hands ached slightly--she knew she'd given her fingers some nasty blisters and they were beginning to cramp besides. Wincing a bit, she tried to flex them, assessing the damage. Unfortunately, one of the larger blisters (on her thumb) popped open in that moment. Hermione gasped sharply, willing away the tears forming in her eyes.

 

Snape actually looked down at her. "What is it?" he snapped.

 

"Nothing, sir," Hermione replied meekly, trying to hide her hand behind her back. The tears began falling down her cheeks and she cursed inwardly.

 

"You've hurt yourself," Snape stated. "Let me see."

 

"I'm fine." Hermione actually managed to glare at him.

 

"Don't be foolish." Snape roughly pulled at her arm, forcing her hand into plain view. "You stupid little girl, why didn't you wear gloves?"

 

"Don't call me that," she hissed. "And let go of my hand."

 

They stopped walking, standing in the middle of the corridor marking the entrance to Gryffindor tower. "Five points from Gryffindor. These need treatment," Snape said mildly, refusing to let go of her hand.

 

"I'll go see Madam Pomfrey tomorrow, then," Hermione said in a cold tone. "Professor, I believe we are in front of Gryffindor tower now. Let me--"

 

A crash down the corridor cut her off.

 

Hermione and Snape exchanged curious looks. "Be quiet," Snape said in a low voice, drawing his wand.

 

Nodding once, Hermione pulled out her own wand.

 

Communicating only through looks, she and Snape made their way carefully down the hall, moving as quietly as they possibly could. As they drew nearer, Hermione could make out a lone figure standing in the hallway. Even closer and she could see its face. Harry Potter.

 

Snape relaxed beside her with a nearly inaudible sigh. "Potter," he said irritably. "Do I want to know what you're doing in the hallways after curfew?"

 

But Harry had a strange look on his face and he was holding himself oddly. "I'm not allowed to say, sir," he said quietly, eyes flicking slightly to his left.

 

Snape blinked slowly. "A hundred points from Gryffindor, Potter, and detention with me," he said in an even tone that did not contain his usual glee at Harry-baiting. And then he did something that Hermione considered quite strange. He raised his eyebrows at Harry and wiggled his wand a bit.

 

Harry shook his head slightly. "I don't think that's fair, sir," he replied. "You wouldn't give detention to Malfoy if he were here."

 

And Hermione caught on. Harry wasn't alone and he was probably in considerable danger. Someone was standing to his left--a Malfoy possibly. And most importantly, Harry did not have his wand.

 

"Are you trying for more detentions, boy?" Snape asked in that same even tone. "Three perhaps, or even four?"

 

Harry cleared his throat. "I believe three are sufficient, Professor." His eyes widened, belying his fear.

 

Snape closed his eyes and Hermione felt bile in the back of her throat. Three armed attackers?

 

"Oh, well played, Severus," a voice said smoothly from the shadows. "Well played, indeed." Hermione stifled a small scream as Lucius Malfoy himself slid out of the shadows and pointed his wand firmly at Harry's throat.

 

"Lucius," Snape replied. "Might I inquire as to what you are doing in the hallways of Hogwarts at such an obscene hour?"

 

"You might, friend," Malfoy said silkily. "And if you did, I might say that it is of no concern to you. Ah, ah," he continued, now pointing the wand at Hermione, who had been trying to move away. "Stay still, little Mudblood. Wouldn't want anyone to hear us, now would we? Now, why don't we just put our wands down and have a nice little chat?"

 

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand.

 

"And what if we don't?" Snape asked, pointing his wand at Malfoy.

 

"Well...I could always kill young Potter," Malfoy drawled. "But no. I'm afraid you would see through that threat--you both know as well as I that my Lord is intent on having Potter for himself. But I have no qualms about killing the little Mudblood here." He smiled coldly at Hermione.

 

"Let them go," Harry said suddenly. "You have me and if you let them go I'll go with you quietly."

 

"Oh no, Harry Potter," Malfoy replied. "I couldn't do that. You see, Severus would go whining right to that old fool as soon as we left. And don't bother protesting, Severus. My Lord and I have been aware for some time that you are not what you seem. Don't worry--you will pay. But not tonight, I think."

 

Snape's eyes narrowed, but he stood eerily still.

 

Hermione blinked as a sudden thought hit her. Harry had said there were three attackers. So far, she'd only seen Malfoy. Where were the other two? Probably not under Invisibility Cloaks--they were too awkward for sudden movements. And she couldn't think of another way to become completely invisible. The only other possibility was...

 

Faster than Malfoy could react, Hermione pointed her wand to the ceiling and shouted, "Reveal!"

 

Two tall men--one with a scar running the length of his face and the other with the broadest shoulders Hermione had ever seen on a human being--shimmered into view on either side of Harry as their Concealment Charms broke, each with a firm hold on one of his shoulders.

 

"Oh," Malfoy said deprecatingly, looking down at Hermione. "What a bright little girl we have here. Such a shame, really. Crucio."

 

And before she could move, Hermione found herself on the ground, feeling as if every bone in her body was being shattered again and again. She grit her teeth, willing herself not to scream. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

 

The pain worsened and she could no longer hold it in. She screamed long and loud, electric bursts of pain jolting across every inch of her body.

 

And then it was over.

 

That was it. Excruciating torment to blissful nothingness.

 

Hermione welcomed the looming unconsciousness with open arms.

 

----------

 

Hermione's eyes opened of their own accord. Certainly she would have stayed unconscious if she'd had anything to say about it. Parts of her body that she didn't even know existed were aching. Even her fingernails managed to hurt somehow.

 

"Gah," she muttered, closing her eyes once more.

 

"Ah, good," a gentle voice said from nearby. "You're awake."

 

And it all came back to her in a flash. Detention. The corridor. Cruciatus. Harry. "Harry!" Hermione cried, sitting up straight and gasping at the pain of it.

 

"Miss Granger!" the voice, probably belonging to Madam Pomfrey, cried. "You must calm yourself. The pain is worse if you fight it!"

 

"Got to tell...Harry, the Death Eaters, Malfoy!" Hermione's thoughts were jumbled and hazy through the miasma of pain. With no small amount of effort, she swung her legs off the bed and attempted to stand.

 

Swaying unsteadily, it was only a matter of moments before her legs gave out completely. Much to her surprise, however, a pair of arms wrapped around her and pulled her roughly out of her fall. "It would do you good, Miss Granger, to obey Madam Pomfrey," Snape hissed in her ear.

 

Blinking with the shock of the realization that she was now standing, clutched in Professor Snape's arms, Hermione allowed herself to be pushed back into the bed without protest.

 

Madam Pomfrey pulled the covers firmly up to Hermione's chin and then rounded on Snape. "And what do you think you're doing out of bed? Go on...back with you!"

 

If she hadn't been in so much pain, Hermione would have started laughing out loud at the pained look on Snape's face as Madam Pomfrey began prodding him and pushing him back into a nearby bed.

 

"Neither of you are in any shape to...I mean, really. I'd say you've both been subjected to some nasty curses..." Still muttering to herself, Pomfrey moved between the two beds, looking into pupils, poking them with her wands, and other such incomprehensible stuff.

 

"Cruciatus," Snape croaked. "Both of us."

 

"That would certainly explain the fact that you're both fairly well concussed. But pray, Severus, where did those awful bruises come from? And all that internal bleeding?" Pomfrey asked him, concern obvious in her voice.

 

"Lestrange threw me against the wall a couple of times," Snape admitted. "Dropped my wand."

 

"Well..." Pomfrey said in what might have otherwise been a conversational tone, save for the look in her eyes. "Here...eat this, both of you." And she thrust large chunks of chocolate at both Hermione and Snape. "You'll feel much better. I've taken care of your heads, so you can sleep as well."

 

Hermione grimaced at her chocolate. The idea of eating right now was about as appealing to her as kissing a Malfoy. But she took a careful bite under Pomfrey's stern glare and chewed reluctantly. "Need to talk to the Headmaster," she said in between bites. "Need to tell him..."

 

"Yes, yes, Miss Granger," Pomfrey said impatiently. "Severus explained to us that Potter has been taken right before he passed out. I'm sure everything is being taken care of. Eat your chocolate, dear."

 

"But Harry doesn't have a wand," Hermione protested thickly, swallowing. "And Malfoy all but admitted they were taking him to Voldemort! He'll be killed before sunrise."

 

"The Headmaster has contacted the Ministry. Don't worry about it, Miss Granger. You need your rest now." Pomfrey's tone suggested that she wanted to hear no more on the subject. And with that, she swept out of the room, dimming the lamps with a flick of her wand and leaving Hermione alone with Professor Snape.

 

Reluctantly, Hermione finished off her chocolate, feeling her stomach churn in protest. But the pain was indeed abating and her eyes could focus nearly properly again. She looked over at Snape, who seemed to be eating his chocolate as slowly as humanly possible. "What happened?" she asked him hesitantly. "After...well..."

 

"I tried to Stun Malfoy to break the curse and Potter very nearly broke away from Lestrange and Nott. Nott Stunned Potter and Lestrange came after me. When I came to, they were gone. Potter, too." Snape looked down at the chocolate in his hands, his hair falling like a curtain over his face.

 

"Do you know where they might have taken him?" Hermione asked.

 

Snape frowned. "Probably straight to You-Know-Who. He's taken to living in his grandfather's old mansion lately. Fortunately, He's even crazier than before--he won't kill Potter immediately. He'll want to toy with him first. Maybe someone can get there in time."

 

"Who?" Hermione asked bitterly. "The Ministry? Not bloody likely."

 

Snape inclined his head in silent agreement.

 

"Aargh," she growled in frustration. "I hate sitting here being useless like this! I want to go help him."

 

"You'd likely get yourself killed in the process," Snape commented mildly.

 

"Aren't you just a little ray of sunshine?" Hermione snapped.

 

He lifted his head to scowl at her. "Thirty points from Gryffindor."

 

She flapped her hand at him. "Oh, take away all the stupid points you want. I don't care. Harry's going to die today; I'm stuck here in a bed while my nerves twitch. Somehow House points don't matter."

 

"How about detention until you graduate, then?" Snape asked dryly.

 

Hermione gaped at him. His eyes were twinkling a bit and there was a slight grin on his face. "Did you just make a joke?" she asked, incredulous.

 

He shrugged. "It doesn't have to be. I really can give you detention until you graduate."

 

"No...no, that's quite all right, thank you. I just--"

 

"Didn't know your snarky git of a professor was physically capable of making a joke," he finished for her.

 

Hermione's eyes widened. "No...I mean...well, yeah," she finally admitted.

 

"I find that Albus' deluded manner of joking to dispel the tension in a situation often works," Snape said.

 

Flopping back against her pillow with a sigh, Hermione allowed her eyes to close, sleep claiming her before another thought could pass through her mind.

 

----------

 

A slight rustling noise woke Hermione up. Flexing her toes, she realized that most of the pain had finally abated and she could probably walk without assistance. Cautiously, she opened her eyes, straining to see in the dark room.

 

Professor Snape was standing beside his bed, pulling robes across his shoulders.

 

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked drowsily.

 

He did not even turn around. "Go back to sleep, Miss Granger."

 

She sat up. "You're going after Him, aren't you?"

 

"I realized there is a second place Voldemort may have taken the Potter boy. There is no time to notify anyone. Surely Albus is already gone. I must go." Snape finally turned to face her. His face was tense and his eyes glittering with some unidentified emotion.

 

Hermione made up her mind. "Take me with you," she said, crawling out of bed with relatively little effort. She pulled her discarded robes over the hospital gown she was clad in.

 

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped.

 

"Why not take me along? I'm not useless, you know." Hermione folded her arms across her chest.

 

"You're just a child. And injured, besides." Snape stepped closer to her. She could smell his breath--chocolate and some unknown tang.

 

"If I recall, you've not had a smooth evening yourself, sir," Hermione retorted. "And I'm not just a child. Besides, you shouldn't go alone."

 

Snape rolled his eyes. "I can't believe I'm even considering this."

 

She grinned at him. "It's decided then. Where are our wands?"

 

"Here," Snape replied, thrusting her wand into her hand. "I stuck them in my pocket when I was bringing you up here."

 

"Shall we be off, then?" Hermione asked brightly. She slipped on the shoes beside her bed and tied them expertly.

 

"One thing first, Miss Granger," Snape said, pointing his wand at her. "Ennervate."

 

A rush surged through Hermione's limbs--she'd never experienced an Ennervate while conscious. She was instantly alert and the last vestiges of pain cleared completely. "Wow!" she muttered. "That was better than a whole case of Jolt cola. I assume you would like the favor returned?"

 

"If you don't mind," Snape replied tersely, lowering his wand.

 

"Ennervate," Hermione said, watching Snape's body stand more firmly.

 

"Right, then," he said. "Let's go."

 

Quickly and quietly, they crept out of the infirmary.

 

"To the forest," he whispered, putting a hand on her arm. "We can Apparate safely once we're off the grounds."

 

The Forbidden Forest was even more sinister looking than usual. Hermione felt as if there were hundreds of eyes watching her every move. She simply put her head down and followed Snape, hoping they reached an Apparition point soon.

 

He stopped abruptly and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, maintaining a careful distance between them. "Just Apparate without a destination in mind," he said. "I will guide you, as long as we keep in contact with each other. I am correct in assuming you can Apparate?"

 

Nodding, Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on Apparating. Technically, she wasn't allowed to Apparate yet--she didn't have a license or anything. But during her sixth year, she'd taught herself. Not even Ron and Harry knew that she could Apparate.

 

But Apparition with no clear destination was a nauseating experience, she learned. Hermione staggered a bit as they reappeared, sagging against Snape's side. He looked down at her impassively.

 

"Where are we?" she asked once she felt able to talk again.

 

He shrugged. "I'm not quite sure. But Voldemort holds many of his more important meetings here. And it's not nearly as well known as the Riddle mansion."

 

She surveyed her surroundings. Pitch black, of course, and very difficult to make out, but they appeared to be standing in an open field of some sort. There was no indication of actual location. A sheep bleated off in the distance, echoing through the fields. Hermione squinted, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. Something caught her eye. "There!" she exclaimed softly.

 

"What is it?" Snape hissed, drawing his wand.

 

"Light. It's faint, but it's there." Hermione also drew her wand, holding it at the ready, willing her hands not to tremble.

 

With a silent jerk of his head, Snape commanded her to follow him as he crept closer to the source of the light. Hermione complied, making her movements just as quiet.

 

As they approached the light, Hermione saw that it indeed came from a house of some sort. Quite a large house, really, to be standing in a field in the middle of nowhere.

 

Putting a finger to his lips, Snape waved her over to a window. Carefully, Hermione peeked in and had to clap a hand over her mouth.

 

Harry Potter was laying still in front of a roaring fireplace and pacing above him was none other than Voldemort himself. His red eyes were narrowed into slits and he was absently twirling a wand through his long fingers.

 

"Now that I have you, Potter," Voldemort hissed in a voice that sent cold shivers down Hermione's spine, "I'm finding that it is much less fun to kill you than I initially thought it would be."

 

Either Harry's reply was too soft for her to hear or he simply didn't answer.

 

"Come, boy, beaten already?" Voldemort asked. "Crucio."

 

Harry's body began to convulse helplessly on the rug and his screams jarred Hermione's ears. She noted with no small degree of horror that blood was streaming from Harry's ears and nose. Catching Snape's eye, Hermione saw a similar expression of horror on his face. What do we do? she mouthed.

 

He frowned at her and pointed at a tree on the horizon. Stealthily, they made their way to it. Hermione was for once thankful for her standard black robes and dark hair, concealing her fairly well from any potential observers.

 

"He can't last much longer," she whispered hoarsely. "We've got to get him out now."

 

"That house is warded to the teeth," Snape replied. "I don't know how we're going to get in. It was hard enough to get to the windows."

 

"What if..." Hermione said slowly. "What if you slipped in under a Concealment Charm? They wouldn't notice you, then."

 

"And I'm sure they'd just open the door if I knocked," he whispered in a sarcastic tone.

 

Hermione grinned. "I'll create a diversion, Professor. Don't worry. The door will be open."

 

His mouth fell open. "I forbid it," he snapped. "You cannot. Miss Granger, these are Death Eaters. That's Voldemort in there, not some pissant seventh year student. If they see you, they will kill you."

 

"Not unless He tells them to," Hermione said. "And He's currently preoccupied, I think. Don't worry, Professor Snape."

 

And with that, she dashed off toward the house again, heedless of potential observers.

 

 

 

Chapter Three

            Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death---

 

 

Severus grit his teeth and bit back a curse. He cast the Concealment Charm over himself, condemning Miss Granger in his thoughts. The stupid girl was going to get herself blasted to bits.

 

But if her sacrifice was to be a meaningful one, it was imperative that he get to that door as it opened. Once through, it was a relatively simple plan--grab Potter and Disapparate. He tried not to think of the fact that Voldemort would be in the room as he tried to implement this plan. Severus took off running after Miss Granger, making his way to the door of the house and crouching beside it.

 

About halfway down the hill, Miss Granger let out a piercing battle cry specifically designed to catch the attention of everyone within five miles. She tossed an unidentified spell at the house, smiling grimly as it alerted the wards. Severus permitted himself a smile at her utterly Gryffindor idea of a diversion.

 

At least it seemed to work. Nearly immediately, the door was flung wide open and three Death Eaters came rushing out--Lestrange, Goyle, and Avery, by the look of it. But Severus did not stay around to look too closely. As soon as they were clear of the door, he slipped through it, willing himself not to look back and see how Miss Granger fared.

 

The house was much larger on the inside than on the outside, but Severus had almost expected that to be the case and was not overly perturbed. Wand drawn and Concealment Charm strong, Severus crept down one hallway after another. The few Death Eaters he passed were masked and evidently heading toward the entrance, toward Miss Granger. Closing his eyes, Severus tried not to think about her, tried to concentrate on his goal.

 

Potter.

 

Potter and Voldemort.

 

Inwardly, Severus sighed. His initial plan of simply grabbing Potter and Disapparating was somewhat stymied by the fact that he was unwilling to leave Miss Granger behind if he could help it.

 

And she was right. The Death Eaters would not kill her without Voldemort's leave. Which meant she would be brought before him. She and Potter would be in the same room. Then Severus could start grabbing people and Disapparating. But first, he had to find the room.

 

So he continued. Up and down corridors, peeking into dark rooms, hoping that his Concealment Charm would hold.

 

And then he heard it. A vaguely male voice, shrieking in agony.

 

Potter. It had to be.

 

Severus allowed himself to move more quickly, neglecting the doorways he passed, following the screams. Closer and louder--he had to be nearly right on top of them.

 

The door was standing wide open. Not even warded. Of course, Severus supposed, with such strong wards on the entrances to the house, internal wards were not completely necessary. And Voldemort was a bit too arrogant to be properly paranoid.

 

His loss, Severus thought as he slipped into the room housing the Boy Who Lived and the wizard trying to kill him.

 

It occurred to Severus nearly immediately that he was not sure whether or not Voldemort would see through his Concealment Charm. Powerful wizards could often break such enchantments. So he quickly moved to the back of the room, to hide in the deep shadows, gazing steadily at the Dark Lord's back.

 

But he could see around Voldemort, see Potter sprawled on the hearth still, coughing. Blood spattered the floor around the boy and more of it came with each cough.

 

"I've thought long and hard about how I would kill you, Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed. Severus cringed at the sound of that inhuman voice. "At first, I thought a simple Killing Curse would do it, but then I realized my folly. You survived that once and I do not enjoy making the same mistake twice."

 

Potter finally stopped coughing, gasping for air and choking on his own blood.

 

"And then," Voldemort continued--Severus could practically hear the slimy smile on his face. "And then, I decided that I must discard all Unforgivables in dealing with you, my dear boy. Too pedantic. For you, Harry Potter, only the most exotic, humiliating death would suffice."

 

"Do it, then," the boy whispered, doubling up and spitting out yet another mouthful of blood.

 

"Oh, no, Harry Potter," Voldemort replied. "I only obey my own commands. You will die at my leisure. Crucio," he said in an almost off-handed tone.

 

And Potter began to scream again, each tortured wail ringing in Severus' ears. The boy could not hold out much longer. He needed treatment immediately. The Cruciatus madness was probably not far off.

 

Voldemort broke off the curse as he heard a hoarse shout down the corridor. "What?" he snapped irritably.

 

Avery came panting into the room. Severus tensed--this was it. He needed to move closer to Potter. "An intruder..." Avery panted. "Some girl, trying to break the wards."

 

"A girl?" Voldemort asked thoughtfully. "Bring her before me."

 

Lestrange stuck his head in the door, grinning madly. "Can we play with her first?" he asked with enough glee that Severus shuddered. He was fully aware of Lestrange's idea of playing.

 

"You may have her afterward," Voldemort said in a bored tone. "But I am curious--she can't be a Muggle, after all."

 

"She is just a child, my Lord," Avery said.

 

"My, my...curiouser and curiouser," Voldemort said with a wheeze that fifty years ago might have been a chuckle. "Bring the child to me."

 

There was a pause and a loud scuffle and Severus' eyes widened nearly as much as Potter's as a struggling and bound Miss Granger was dragged into the room. Nott pushed her roughly to her knees, but she did not bow down.

 

Her hair, of course, was even more wild than usual and she had a nasty bruise forming on her left cheekbone and a freely bleeding cut on her forehead. Severus was certain her wrists would be bloody as well--if she'd been bound by Nott and Avery, they were brutal at best. Her eyes flashed daggers at everyone in the room.

 

"Well, well," Voldemort said with that same little chuckling wheeze in his voice, "what have we here?"

 

Nott pulled the gag away from her mouth, but Miss Granger remained defiantly silent.

 

Voldemort moved closer to her--she blanched, but to her credit, Miss Granger knelt with perhaps even more dignity--and touched the Gryffindor crest on her tattered robe with one long finger. "A brave little lioness child," he said softly. "What brings you to me on this night?"

 

"Go to hell!" Miss Granger snarled. Severus did not know whether to applaud her bravery or bemoan her stupidity.

 

Fortunately, Voldemort just smiled thinly. "It is a good thing that I find you amusing, little girl," he said. "But I warn you not to test my patience. What are you doing here?" This was said in a sharper voice.

 

"My business here is my own, Lord Voldemort," she spat boldly. Severus took the opportunity to move about three feet closer to Potter. The boy was more alert now, staring at Miss Granger's back--he could tell that Potter hadn't quite realized that she was Miss Granger yet and he hoped that the boy had the sense not to reveal who she was once he figured it out.

 

"Brave words for such a young thing," Voldemort hissed. He ran a finger through the trail of blood trickling from her forehead and touched the finger to his own lips, tongue flickering out serpent-like to taste her blood. "I wonder how brave you really are...Crucio."

 

Miss Granger's hands clenched into fists at her sides, but she did not fall. Small whimpers escaped her lips, but she managed not to scream. Severus wondered idly if it was bravery or simple stubbornness. From what he knew of the girl, it was probably more of the latter.

 

----------

 

Hermione was determined not to allow Voldemort his pleasure. She would not scream if she could help it. She felt the pain crunching through her bones, echoing down every limb of her body, but she could be strong. She would not scream.

 

And then it was over. Voldemort smirked down at her. "Ah," he said, "you are a young lioness, indeed."

 

Hermione remained silent. She saw no need to reveal her purpose to him. As she waited for him to speak, she wondered vaguely where Professor Snape was. Perhaps he was standing in this very room.

 

"I think, my dear," Voldemort said, interrupting her thoughts, "that I may be able to guess your purpose for breaking my wards this night, although I do not know how you knew where to look."

 

"I'm a good guesser," Hermione replied sarcastically, willing herself not to think about Harry, laying prone behind her.

 

"Turn around, my little Gryffindor lioness, and tell me what you see."

 

Hermione did as he obeyed and shuddered when he laid a scaly hand on her shoulder, fingernails rasping against the cloth of her shredded robes. "I see a boy," she answered. Harry's eyes widened as he took in her face.

 

"Do you know this boy?" he whispered in her ear.

 

"Of course I do," Hermione replied impatiently. "Everyone knows this boy. He's your downfall." She quickly mouthed, No, to Harry, praying that he would not reveal who she was.

 

The hand tightened on her shoulder. "You would do well, my dear, to remember who is the prisoner and who is the jailer. So tell me--you are here to free this boy, are you not?"

 

Hermione cleared her expression as best she could and willed her hands not to tremble. "I did not know he was here," she said carefully, wishing she were a better liar.

 

"I find that hard to believe," Voldemort said. "I know of very few Hogwarts students who wander the lonely moors of England on school nights."

 

"I'm an adventurous sort." Hermione could not believe herself--here she was, being fresh with the Dark Lord himself.

 

Voldemort slapped her, of course. His fingernails pierced her bruised cheek and Hermione felt the blood trickle dispassionately. Harry winced at the sound of the impact, but fortunately, Voldemort did not notice. "I am tired of you, I think, my dear. I think I will leave you in the care of my good friend Lestrange, now. Die well, little Gryffindor lioness."

 

And he pushed her into the hands of a gleeful looking Lestrange. Hermione felt more than a little afraid at the madness glinting in Lestrange's eyes--the man had spent nearly fifteen years in Azkaban and his expression reflected that. Although, she had a sneaking suspicion that he did not go into Azkaban entirely sane.

 

Lestrange pulled Hermione out of the little room and her heart nearly broke as Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry once more. Oh please, oh please, let Professor Snape save him, Hermione prayed.

 

"Well, now...we've got us a little Gryffindor toy," a broad Death Eater hissed, tugging painfully on Hermione's hair. "What should we do with her?"

 

"Playtime," Lestrange said simply, mad eyes still shining. He pulled a Muggle knife out of his pocket, of all things, and advanced on her.

 

Still bound, there was little Hermione could do. She opened her mouth to scream, but another Death Eater--the huge one she recalled from the hallway in Hogwarts--quickly stuffed a gag in her mouth. "Now, now," he chuckled. "There'll be plenty of time for that later."

 

Lestrange grinned and closed in. A few expert flicks of his knife and the remnants of Hermione's clothing were on the ground. Clad only in her underclothes and the ropes binding her hands behind her, Hermione tried desperately not to shake. She was sure her fear shone in her eyes.

 

"Oh yes," Lestrange whispered as he pushed the knife between her breasts, "be afraid for me. Be afraid, little one."

 

And the knife pierced the skin and the knife hurt. Rolling her eyes back in her head, Hermione hissed with pain as he dragged it down her torso, watching the blood well up. It was not a deep cut, but she had a feeling that it was not meant to be.

 

His wrist flicked once, twice, and more blood was trickling down her upper arms, pooling under her shoulders. "Bleed for me," Lestrange muttered. "Beautiful, beautiful..."

 

"Don't let her bleed out, Lestrange," a fourth Death Eater called out--Hermione could not see his face. "They're no fun once they're dead!"

 

"Yeah!" the huge one cried. "Give us a go!"

 

And two more Death Eaters were upon her, with fists and boots and Hermione could no longer contain her cries. Muffled by the gag, she shrieked and tears ran down her cheeks. One Death Eater punched her in the face as she began to sniffle.

 

All of a sudden, an angry rush flowed through Hermione's veins. Well, was she Gryffindor or wasn't she? If she was going to die here today, she wasn't going to do it as a naked, bloody pile of pathetic bones tortured without protest.

 

Disregarding the fact that she was wandless and her hands were currently tied behind her back so tightly that her fingers were numb, Hermione began to struggle. She twisted away from the angry hands and feet, ignoring the fact that Lestrange's knife was slipping deeper and deeper under her skin. She kicked and fought as best she could.

 

"Oh, look," someone chuckled, "this one has a bit of a temper."

 

"I know how to calm her down," the huge one replied. And then large hands were shoving her to the rough ground--pulling on her underclothes, ripping.

 

Hermione lashed out with her feet, catching a surprised Death Eater in the face. He fell to the ground and she smiled grimly through her gag. Lestrange hesitated for a moment, drawing his knife away from her.

 

And she took the opportunity to twist over on her side, propping herself up with her elbow so that her bound wrists were as close to the knife as she could get them. As Lestrange swept thoughtlessly back down, then, the knife caught in the ropes and her hands were free.

 

Adrenaline and fury pumping through her system, Hermione immediately flung herself at Lestrange, knowing instinctively that he was the most dangerous one in the room.

 

Spitting her gag in his face, she came at him with fists and feet and teeth, scrabbling to get the knife out of his fingers. As she came crashing down on him, he fell back into the wall, surprised, and cracked his head loudly on the stones behind him.

 

With a growl, he fell unconscious just as his hand wrapped around her neck, blood trickling a bit from his nose.

 

Hermione snatched up his knife as soon as it fell from his grip, hardly knowing what she was about. Eyeing the other two Death Eaters closing in around her apprehensively, Hermione steeled herself to die, holding the knife in a white-knuckled grip.

 

But all heads swiveled to look down the hallway as an angry cry that could only belong to Voldemort echoed through the corridor. Exchanging a glance, the Death Eaters dashed down the hall, wands at the ready.

 

Clutching her knife and wincing as movement irritated her numerous wounds, Hermione followed them quietly.

 

----------

 

Severus watched with mixed anger and fear as Miss Granger was dragged out of the room by Lestrange. He didn't know what to do.

 

Hovering anxiously--he was only about three feet from Potter--Severus' mind raced. He just couldn't bring himself to abandon Miss Granger. No matter what he thought of her personally (although that was improving by the minute, really), he could not leave a student--anyone, really--in the clutches of the Death Eaters.

 

He had no idea how long he stood there, trying desperately to think of a plan. Voldemort continued to taunt Potter and throw the occasional curse the boy's way.

 

And then Severus' Concealment Charm sputtered, flickered, and gave out completely.

 

Severus froze as the Dark Lord's focus came upon his figure.

 

"Severus Snape..." Voldemort said in a casual tone. "How...surprising that you've dropped in. Goodbye. Avada Kedavra!"

 

But Severus was prepared for that. He dropped flat to the floor, wincing as the curse flew over his head.

 

Voldemort swore and threw another Killing Curse at him.

 

Rolling quickly, Severus leapt to his feet and jumped behind a large chair on the far side of the room. The curse shattered against the floor, missing Potter by only eighteen inches. The boy didn't even move.

 

Severus cursed--he'd managed to lose his wand in the confusion. Peeking out from behind the chair, he saw it, right beside Potter's hand, half hidden in the ruins of the boy's clothes. Too far away to be of any use to him.

 

Avery and Goyle came bursting into the room scant seconds after the last Killing Curse, wands raised for battle. "Stupefy!" they cried in unison.

 

But they didn't know exactly where Severus was, so the curses bounced harmlessly off to his right.

 

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort shouted again, leveling his wand at the chair. The impact blew off the back of the chair and Severus went skittering through the room, out of places to hide, dodging the smaller curses Avery and Goyle were sending his way.

 

Voldemort lifted his wand again. "Avada Kedav--"

 

But a loud, definitely female cry echoed through the room and Voldemort's curse was broken off in mid-word as Hermione Granger threw herself at him.

 

Severus blinked, ducking the Stunner Avery aimed at his head. Mostly naked and covered in blood and bruises, Miss Granger looked as terrible as an Amazon queen as she tackled the Dark Lord. Something shiny glinted in her right hand.

 

But his attention was torn away as he started dodging spells once more. He cried out several times as unidentified hexes hit home but did his best to keep on his feet. Avery and Goyle were closing in, wands nearly at his throat. He couldn't see Miss Granger any more.

 

"You will die a traitor's death," Avery spat in his face.

 

Severus closed his eyes and waited.

 

"Stupefy," a soft voice called from a long way away. "Petrificus Totalus!"

 

And nothing. Severus opened his eyes to see Avery passed out on the floor and Goyle petrified with a look of surprise on his face.

 

A barely conscious Harry Potter was clutching Severus' wand tightly and smiling a bit. "There," he whispered, spitting out yet more blood, "now I don't feel guilty about knocking you out all those years ago."

 

Suddenly, someone screamed. Starting, Severus turned around--he'd nearly forgotten about Miss Granger and Voldemort in the rush of things.

 

Voldemort had his hands around Miss Granger's throat, but he was the one screaming. Miss Granger's hand flashed once again and Severus realized dimly that she must be holding a weapon of some sort. Her hand was covered in blood as well now--drenched in bright red blood that dripped down her wrist. All of a sudden, Voldemort's hands seemed to weaken and slip from her neck.

 

Wrenching herself free, Miss Granger limped over to Potter. "Harry," she whispered, dropping to her knees. "Harry, we've got to get out of here. And neither Professor Snape nor I can Apparate you--we're not strong enough right now."

 

Severus put a hand to his side--it felt as if someone was burning his gut from the inside out. He breathed in sharply and Miss Granger looked up at him. "What's wrong?"

 

"Nothing you can fix," Severus retorted shortly.

 

"Portkey," Potter whispered. "The--Death Eaters had a Portkey. Somewhere around here..." He broke off, coughing violently and retching.

 

"What did it look like?" Miss Granger asked, rolling Potter over on his side so he did not choke.

 

"Book," Potter gasped between coughs. "Blue leather. Take us to Hogwarts."

 

Severus looked around the room frantically. They all needed pretty much immediate medical attention.

 

Miss Granger wiped the blood out of her eyes and patted Potter's shoulder. "Just lay still, Harry. We'll find the book." She stood painfully and some of the wounds on her body broke open again. "Do you see it?" she asked him.

 

Severus shook his head. "I don't think...wait! Look there, over on that table!" A small book, bound in blue, laid on a dusty table in a dark corner. "Don't touch it!" he snapped as Miss Granger drew closer to it.

 

She glared at him. "I'm not a fool," she said.

 

"Says the girl who attacked You-Know-Who single-handedly without a wand," Severus retorted dryly.

 

Miss Granger rolled her eyes. "As much as I would like to stand here in a Death Eater lair and trade insults, Professor, I think we should leave before one or all of us bleeds to death. Help me with Harry? I don't think he can walk over to the book."

 

Walking back over to Potter, Severus frowned. "He's unconscious." Severus bent down and retrieved his wand.

 

Miss Granger put her arms under Potter's shoulders and carefully pushed him to a sitting position. With Severus' help, they soon had the unconscious boy more or less standing between them, arms draped limply over their shoulders. Miss Granger winced as Potter's arm scraped over some of her deeper wounds. Together, they dragged him over to the table with the book. Miss Granger took one of Potter's hands in her own and guided it toward the book, looking toward Severus to make sure he was also going to touch it.

 

"On my signal," Severus said. "Now!"

 

And they laid their fingers on the book, Miss Granger careful that Potter's fingers touched the Portkey the same instant hers did.

 

Severus felt a familiar and very welcome tug behind his navel and everything went blissfully dark for a moment.

 

But he was thrown onto a cold stone floor. Opening his eyes grudgingly, he saw that they were sprawled in the middle of the Great Hall. "Ah, good," he said faintly, looking at Miss Granger. "We're back."

 

And then he passed out.

 

----------

 

Hermione welcomed the cool stones under her back, soothing the burning cuts. Idly, she noticed that she was still clutching her bloody knife in her right hand.

 

And now Snape was unconscious as well as Harry. She felt the dark tugging at her--the pull of sleep--but steeled herself against it.

 

"Help!" Hermione shouted weakly. "We're in the Great Hall! Someone? Help us!"

 

She realized that she could not move as soon as she tried to stand. With a gasp of intense pain, Hermione laid back on the floor as a dizzy wave swept through her head. Blood loss, she thought deliriously.

 

"Help!" she cried again.

 

She fancied, right before she passed out, that she felt a set of warm hands on her face and heard a worried voice in her ear, but she was probably just dreaming about that.

 

 

Chapter Four

            Broken heroes are rarely useful---

 

 

Hermione's first thought was that she felt deliciously warm. Her second was that she was suspiciously without pain. "Am I dead?" she asked quietly, not opening her eyes.

 

"Ah, Miss Granger," a voice replied. "You're awake. I can assure you, my dear, that you are still amongst the living."

 

And Hermione did open her eyes at that. Albus Dumbledore looked gravely down at her. "What happened?" she asked. "I remember the Portkey and the floor and then..."

 

"Professor McGonagall found you three," Dumbledore told her. "In the Great Hall. Any later and you probably would have died. She, of course, brought Madam Pomfrey immediately and between them, they saved your life."

 

"Harry?" Hermione inquired fearfully. "Professor Snape?"

 

"Both alive," Dumbledore replied with a small smile. "Although neither of them have woken up yet. Miss Granger, I am afraid that I have a great number of questions for you."

 

She sat up a bit and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Staring down at her lap, Hermione wondered what the Headmaster must be thinking. "Yes," she said carefully. "I suppose that you should."

 

"Imagine my surprise," he said, "to be called away from the rather abandoned looking Riddle manor to be told that the child I was searching for had been returned in a rather bad state with two individuals who had been bedridden the evening before, according to Poppy."

 

Hermione coughed a bit. "Professor Snape remembered another place that Harry might have been taken. But don't blame him, sir, I made him take me along. He was going to go alone!" she said quickly.

 

"And it never occurred to you, Miss Granger, to tell another professor?" Dumbledore asked gently.

 

"There was no time," Hermione very nearly wailed. "And when we got there, Voldemort was torturing Harry so badly! We had to do something."

 

Dumbledore's face hardened even further. "What did you do, Miss Granger?"

 

She shrugged. "I created a diversion, Professor Snape slipped under the wards with a Concealment Charm, and we brought Harry back, sir."

 

"Miss Granger, there is a small matter of a knife that was discovered on your person. I would please like you to explain that. In addition to the fact that Severus was hit with a very bad Burning Charm that very nearly killed him."

 

Hermione sighed. "Well, I had to let the Death Eaters catch me, didn't I? If they weren't to notice Professor Snape. And Voldemort handed me over to Lestrange, so I--"

 

Her stammering explanation was cut off as a loud groan came from the bed to her right. "Urgh," someone said.

 

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said pleasantly, turning away from Hermione. "Good to see you awake."

 

"I feel like I've recently been roasted," Snape mumbled.

 

"You very nearly were, my boy," Dumbledore replied. "Someone hit you with a powerful curse."

 

"Damned Avery," Snape said in a hoarse voice. "I wish Potter had more than Stunned the bastard."

 

"Potter?" Dumbledore asked with raised eyebrows. "This is a complicated story, indeed."

 

"Is Potter all right?" Snape continued in what would have been a bored voice if it hadn't been so weak. "I'd hate to think we went to all that trouble..."

 

"Mr. Potter is stable," Dumbledore told him. "Although he hasn't woken up yet. But that's not too surprising--he took a series of hard blows. Although Poppy said that his was the least exotic case. Cruciatus, mostly. But it took her a while to figure you out, Severus. And she never did quite ascertain what happened to Miss Granger, here."

 

"They prefer Muggle torture methods, I think," Hermione said softly. "No spells. Just a good old-fashioned beating. And stabbing. And...other things, maybe. I'm glad I kicked that big bastard in the face. I hope I broke his nose. And I know I knocked Lestrange out when we crashed into that wall--otherwise I would have never gotten his knife away from him."

 

"So that's what you were doing," Snape said from his bed. "I wondered what you were holding when you came howling into the room like a banshee."

 

Hermione shrugged. "I was hoping maybe Voldemort had enough human left in him to be hurt by non-magical methods. It worked, I suppose."

 

Dumbledore's eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead. "Are you telling me, Miss Granger, that you attacked Voldemort with a knife?"

 

"I was particularly amused when she told him to go to hell," Snape said dryly, recovering some of his typical sneer. "And I admit, it was very startling when she came running into the room, half-undressed and dripping blood, and tackled him."

 

"Severus, Miss Granger," Dumbledore began, "this narrative would be much easier to follow if it were presented at all in a linear fashion."

 

Hermione had to bite back a giggle as she heard Professor Snape murmur something along the lines of, "Now you know what it feels like..."

 

"I believe, Miss Granger, that you were telling me about a diversion of some sort right before Severus decided to grace us with his cheerful presence." Dumbledore looked at her expectantly.

 

Hermione cleared her throat. "I just made a lot of noise outside of the house. All we needed was for them to open the door so that Professor Snape could slip through."

 

"My Concealment Charm allowed me to go inside and find the room where You-Know-Who was holding Potter," Snape said, picking up the tale. "I was intending to grab Potter and Disapparate with him."

 

"And I was just going to Disapparate out of there myself, once I was sure Professor Snape was in," Hermione said. "But there were too many Death Eaters. Four came at me. They caught me, tied me up, snapped my wand, and took me to Voldemort so he could decide what to do with me. I rather think we had a good little talk. I swore at him, he hexed me."

 

"Don't forget about your new pet name, little Gryffindor lioness," Snape inserted dryly.

 

Hermione shivered. "Please don't ever call me that again, Professor. Anyway, Headmaster, sir, Voldemort gave me to Lestrange to ‘play with,’ as he so eloquently put it, so that he could go back to working on Harry."

 

"I was in the shadows, still under my Charm, waiting for the right moment to lay hands on Potter and Miss Granger to escape," Snape continued. "But Lestrange took her from the room too quickly."

 

"He's stark raving mad, that one is." Hermione said sharply. "He pulled out a knife and just started slicing me up a bit at a time. I would almost prefer the Cruciatus."

 

"Lestrange was unstable even before he and his wife were sent to Azkaban. I shudder to think of what he is capable of now," Snape muttered.

 

"Three others came in. One of them I recognized from the hallway here when they were taking Harry. That big one."

 

"Nott," Snape supplied. "And Avery and Goyle, I suppose."

 

"I don't know," Hermione said with a shrug. "But they wanted to join in as well. And when that big one--when Nott started ripping..." She trailed off for a moment, face shuttered. "Anyway, I kicked him in the face. Lucky blow, really. And in all the confusion and struggle, I managed to get close enough to Lestrange's knife for him to accidentally cut my ropes. I don't know what the other two were doing, but I knocked Lestrange into a wall, knocked him unconscious. That's when Voldemort started yelling down the hall."

 

"My Charm wore off," Snape continued. "I was just standing in the middle of the room, trying to figure out what to do, and it just died. Stupid--I dropped my wand when I ducked his first Killing Curse. And that's when Avery and Goyle came skidding in the room, throwing hexes. My wand managed to land inches from Potter, who I actually thought was out cold."

 

"I followed the other two Death Eaters down the hall when the row started--I didn't want to be there when Lestrange woke up," Hermione told the solemn looking Headmaster. "And when I stuck my head around the corner and saw Professor Snape there, ducking curses from all three of them, and poor Harry passed out on the hearth...well...I guess I got mad."

 

"Mad?" Snape asked her incredulously, chuckling a bit. "Is that how you would describe it? Albus, she came running into this room, dripping blood and bellowing like a blinded bull. I don't even think the girl hesitated when she threw herself at Voldemort."

 

"I wasn't really thinking. All I knew was I had a weapon and that Voldemort has to bleed, right? Although, I don't think he's dead, quite. I don't know all that much about killing people, sir."

 

"I don't think that particular approach has ever been attempted before, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said tactfully.

 

"And somewhere in the middle of all this, Potter woke up, grabbed my wand, and Stunned Avery and Goyle. They hit me with a few curses first, of course, but nothing immediately fatal. Potter managed to tell us about the Portkey Malfoy used to abduct him in the first place before he passed out again, and Voldemort graciously stopped attempting to strangle Miss Granger long enough for us to escape," Snape finished, obviously trying to be flip in an effort to cover the gravity of the situation.

 

"That is certainly a most...interesting...tale, Severus, Miss Granger. And, of course, it must stay between us," Dumbledore told them sternly.

 

"Of course, sir," Hermione said. "Yes, Albus, certainly," Snape said at the same time.

 

"I ought to have you expelled," he said to Hermione, "and you fired," he told Snape. It slowly dawned on Hermione that Dumbledore was furious with them underneath his fading exterior of calm. "This is the most reckless, mindless stunt I have ever witnessed. You both could have died. And Mr. Potter, as well."

 

Hermione's eyes went round. "Oh, please, sir, we just wanted to help Harry!"

 

"Consider yourselves both on probation. Miss Granger, I think two weeks' of detention should suffice. I won't take any points from Gryffindor, but nor will I award them. Admittedly, wanting to save a friend is a good and noble thing, Miss Granger, but rushing headlong into danger is quite another. Severus, I cannot believe that you would put a student in such a position," Dumbledore said, as angry as Hermione had ever seen him. "You will administer Miss Granger's detentions and you will also serve double patrols for the next two weeks as well. I am grounding you, boy!" he snapped.

 

Snape bowed his head. "Yes, Headmaster," he said gravely.

 

"This is a difficult enough time without people actively trying to get killed. Do I make myself clear?" Dumbledore asked, eyes flashing.

 

Hermione felt tears at the corners of her eyes--she'd never been particularly close to the Headmaster, but she had the feeling that she'd somehow disappointed him gravely. "Yes, sir," she whispered, swiping quickly at her cheeks.

 

All of a sudden, Dumbledore softened, placing a warm hand on her shoulder and another on her cheek. "Oh, child, don't cry," he said quietly. "It is not as bad as all that. You did save young Mr. Potter's life today. And you probably caused a great deal of damage to Voldemort. If circumstances were different, I might be proud of you."

 

Hermione sniffled. That tenderness was all she needed to be pushed over the edge. In the past forty-eight hours, she'd been subjected to more pain than in the rest of her life put together. She managed to look up at Dumbledore and give him a soft little smile as he swept out of the room, but then she put her head on her knees and positively howled, the fear and the anger and the hurt all pouring out at once.

 

So when a pair of arms wrapped hesitantly around her shoulders, Hermione twisted so that she could embrace whoever it was and sobbed into an unidentified chest. A hand touched her hair.

 

"Come, now, Miss Granger," Snape muttered, "it can't all be that bad." Even his attempts at comfort were biting and sarcastic.

 

Hermione recoiled a bit--she was blubbering all over her hated Potions Master? "I--I'm sorry, sir," she said, rubbing at her eyes, "it's just..."

 

"It's been a very long day, Miss Granger. For both of us. But for you in particular, I think. I have heard that stress affects people strangely." Snape gave her arm one last pat and moved to a sitting position more on the edge of her bed.

 

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Hermione asked suddenly, unable to contain her wonder at the fact that Snape had been fairly polite to her for nearly an entire day.

 

He studied his hands, placed firmly on his knees. "Miss Granger, you saved my life. I believe that entitles you to some civility. Besides, we will be serving our detentions together for the next two weeks." Was that a smile on his face?

 

"I was under the impression that you would be supervising my detentions," Hermione said with a lifted eyebrow.

 

Yes, definitely a smile. It widened to a noticeable expression. "Make no mistake, Miss Granger. The Headmaster has given me detention as well. Just more tactfully. I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up to deliver some odious task into our hands next week."

 

"As long as there are no toothbrushes and toilets involved," Hermione grumbled, remembering a particularly nasty detention she'd had to serve with Filch during her sixth year.

 

Snape actually snorted. She couldn't believe it. First a smile, then laughter? What was the world coming to?

 

Hermione and Snape both started at a loud groan coming from the bed across from hers. "Harry?" she asked cautiously. "Are you awake?"

 

"My headache has a headache," Harry complained crossly as he stirred. "Where are my glasses?"

 

"Haven't the foggiest," Hermione replied, elated that he was awake. "Madam Pomfrey probably has them stashed somewhere so you won't try to sneak out again."

 

Harry sighed and tried to sit up, wincing. "Boy, you sneak out of the infirmary once nearly two years ago, and suddenly you're not to be trusted."

 

"You're sounding awfully exuberant for someone who wasn't too far off from dead a few hours ago," she told him.

 

Yawning a bit, Harry shoved his hair out of his eyes and squinted at her and Snape. "What happened?" he asked faintly. "I remember...well, I remember Malfoy and you...and Snape! And then, then..."

 

"Malfoy took you to the Dark Lord," Snape said flatly. "Miss Granger and I took it upon ourselves to, ahem, liberate you."

 

Harry frowned a bit, trying to remember. "It's all fuzzy. I remember lots of blood. And screams. But not mine...and something, something with a wand? And you again, Professor Snape."

 

"Very good, Potter," he replied. "You retrieved my wand and hexed two Death Eaters with it. The screams you recall were probably Voldemort's--Miss Granger decided to play Amazon princess with a knife."

 

Harry's jaw dropped and Hermione glared fiercely at Snape. "I did not," she retorted. "And you, Professor, seem far too fascinated with my part of the evening."

 

"It's not every day, Miss Granger, that one sees a wandless young woman wound the most evil wizard of our Age badly enough to render him unconscious. I confess, I was rather surprised to see him bleed red." Snape offered her a smirk.

 

With a groan, Harry let his head drop back on his pillow. "I think I'm going back to sleep," he moaned.

 

"Good idea," Hermione said in a nearly cheerful tone. "The sooner you're back up to scratch, the sooner we can start plotting our escape."

 

"Might I remind you, Miss Granger," Snape said acidly, "that the Headmaster personally threatened you with expulsion this very evening? Now might not be the best time to stir up unnecessary trouble."

 

Harry's eyes shot open again and he pulled himself upright in bed, blankets falling to his waist. "What?" he cried. "Expelled? What on Earth for?"

 

Hermione suddenly found the quilt covering her bed to be intensely fascinating. "I...um...Professor Snape and I went off to fetch you without letting anyone know. But I'm not expelled, Harry. Just on probation and I've got a fair amount of detention. He didn't even take points off."

 

Flopping back, Harry sighed. "Thank God," he said.

 

"What, about the expulsion or the points?" she asked, teasing him.

 

Harry flushed. "I didn't mean--"

 

"I know, Harry. Go back to sleep," she told him fondly. "Probably I ought to be napping a bit myself," she said, looking at Professor Snape. "The more sleep we have, the more quickly Madam Pomfrey will let us out of the infirmary."

 

Nodding, Snape stood and made his way slowly back to his own bed. He appeared to fall asleep almost before his head touched the pillow.

 

----------

 

Forty-eight painful hours later, Hermione, Harry, and Professor Snape were all given a clean bill of health and turned smartly out of the infirmary. Hermione would be happy if she never had to taste chocolate ever again.

 

Of course, Madam Pomfrey hadn’t completely mended Hermione’s wounds--she claimed that the body did a much better job if left alone with things like scratches and bruises. So Hermione had to walk around the castle looking as if she’d been on the receiving end of a fistfight. Perversely, she was rather proud of the black eye and bruise marks around her neck left from Voldemort’s assault. And Pomfrey had healed the wounds from Lestrange’s knife so that Hermione could move around comfortably while her body knitted itself back together. The scabs itched.

 

Resisting the urge to scratch at her arm, Hermione turned to the other two and smiled a bit. “So, Professor, detention tonight?”

 

He nodded. “Eight, in my office, I suppose.”

 

Harry shuffled his feet a bit, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Before we have to go back and everything, I suppose I should thank you both again for saving my life.”

 

“Likewise, Potter,” Snape said in a level voice. “Although I will ask you to attempt not to wind up in Malfoy’s clutches again.”

 

Grinning, Harry grabbed at Hermione’s hand. “’Course, Professor. Come on, ‘Mione! We can still get breakfast.”

 

Hermione allowed Harry to tug her down to the Great Hall. Snape gave her one last bemused glance and swept off in the opposite direction, toward his office. “Good Lord, Harry,” Hermione cried, “we don’t have to run.”

 

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, but he let go of her hand.

 

“I just...can’t run very well, all right?” she replied, exasperated. “Madam Pomfrey didn’t heal my cuts fully, remember? She was afraid the scarring would be worse if she did.”

 

Harry’s face dropped. “Oh. I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’t realize how badly you’d been cut.”

 

Sighing, she pulled back the collar of her jumper to reveal a long gash across her right shoulder. “Lestrange got me from head to foot basically. One really bad one on my side and another one running all the way down my front. I don’t want them to pull open.”

 

Eyes widening, Harry withdrew his hands immediately. “Good Lord,” he breathed. “I’d no idea...”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. I’ll heal,” she replied. “Although I bet I look a fright right now.”

 

Harry chuckled. “Like someone beat the living hell out of you.”

 

She fingered one of the finger-bruises on her neck gently and with something akin to pride. “I’ll just have to say that I look better in the pair of us. Shame I can’t tell anyone where I got these.”

 

Returning her grin, he tapped her nose playfully. “You’d be the talk of the castle for the next twenty years, you know. The girl who attacked You-Know-Who with a kitchen knife and lived to tell the tale!”

 

“We ought to get to breakfast,” Hermione replied, dropping the subject. “Class starts soon and I bet we’re supposed to attend since Pomfrey let us go.”

 

Harry sighed but he began walking toward the Great Hall again. “What is today, anyway?”

 

“Thursday, I think. Transfiguration first, then Charms, and double Divination for you in the afternoon. I’ve got Arithmancy, of course, instead.” She followed him and if she was walking more slowly than usual, he did not comment.

 

The Great Hall was still fairly crowded by the time Harry and Hermione arrived. They sat quickly at one end of the Gryffindor table--Hermione had reminded Harry on the way that they still had to go back up to the tower and grab their textbooks. Harry immediately began piling his plate with eggs and bacon while Hermione just grabbed an apple and bit into it thoughtfully.

 

“Oi, Harry! Hermione!” Ron Weasley shouted from the middle of the table. “You’re back!”

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied. Hermione just nodded, her mouth full of apple.

 

Jumping up from his original place, Ron slid into the seat beside Harry and gave his two friends a wide smile. “Boy, it was weird with you two being gone. Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t let anyone in to see either of you and when we asked McGonagall about it, she told us to leave you alone. What was wrong? Are you better?”

 

Hermione smiled at Ron’s chatter. She’d almost missed it. Almost. “We’re better,” she replied, taking another huge bite of apple. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have been let out.”

 

Ron swiveled in his chair to get a clear look at her. “Great Merlin, Hermione, what happened to you? You look like you’ve been thrashed.”

 

Exchanging a highly amused look with Harry, she gave Ron an indulgent grin. “Oh, I was,” she said by way of response. “But don’t worry, Ron, I came off better than the person I was fighting.”

 

“Who was it?” Ron asked excitedly. “It couldn’t have been Malfoy--I saw him in Care of Magical Creatures yesterday.”

 

Again, she smiled at his exuberance. “No one you know, Ron. Don’t worry about it.”

 

He harrumphed a bit. “Don’t see why you wouldn’t say.”

 

“Dumbledore said I couldn’t,” she replied, struck with a sudden idea. “He even gave me two weeks of detention with Snape.”

 

As she’d thought, Ron’s eyes widened to the size of small dinner plates. “Hot damn, Hermione! You must have slugged a prefect or something!”

 

She permitted herself a final smile but said nothing, choosing instead to finish her apple.

 

Harry finished the last of his eggs with a noisy gulp and swigged the dregs of his pumpkin juice. “Hey, Hermione, how about I go back to the tower and grab your books for you. You can just go ahead to Transfiguration.” His eyes flickered nearly imperceptibly to her shoulder, to the scabbing gash she’d shown him.

 

Hermione told herself to stop picking at the scab itching her belly as she caught Harry’s meaning. “Thanks, Harry,” she said gratefully.

 

 

 

Chapter Five

            Not quite back to normal, after all---

 

 

Hermione could not tell whether or not the entire staff had been enlightened as to the events of three nights past. McGonagall’s already thin mouth tightened upon seeing her ragged appearance and Flitwick had sent her a concerned look but said nothing. All in all, this was not indicative of anything. Either they had been told and were behaving accordingly or they had not and had drawn the worst conclusions possible.

 

All she knew was that it was becoming increasingly difficult not to scratch at her healing wounds. Nearly every scab on her body itched fiercely and Hermione had already caught herself countless times digging at various places. Once in the safety of her dormitory after classes, she threw off her robes and blouse with a grateful sigh, the itching lessening as the cool air hit her skin. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten that she had two very curious roommates.

 

It was Lavender who stumbled across her first. Forgoing supper, Hermione was laying across her bed, absorbed in a physics textbook, scribbling on a bit of stray parchment. She didn’t even notice Lavender until she heard a low whistle echo through the room.

 

“What did you do to yourself, Hermione?” Lavender asked once she’d caught the girl’s attention.

 

Hermione recalled her shirtless torso with a slight blush. She generally did not make a habit of walking around only half clothed. “Uh...” she managed.

 

Crossing the room, Lavender laid a surprisingly gentle finger on the scab running down Hermione’s left forearm. “What happened to you?”

 

Mind working as quickly as it could, she spat out the first thing that came to mind. “It was an accident,” she grunted.

 

Lavender’s eyebrows rose. “What sort of accident?” she asked sarcastically.

 

“Broken glass,” Hermione managed to stammer. “Fell.”

 

Cocking her head, Lavender studied Hermione for a long moment with a shrewdness that she normally hid under Divination gushing and boy babble. “Right,” she eventually said.

 

Hermione could play this game. She waited Lavender out.

 

With a final little sigh, Lavender dropped her hand to her side and walked back through the doorway. “Fine,” she tossed back, but there was no anger behind it.

 

Sighing in kind, Hermione returned to her textbook, flicking her eyes to the clock over the door on occasion. She had to be in Snape’s office by eight o’clock and it would not do to be late. In fact, she only had thirty minutes left. Perhaps she ought to go ahead and walk down to the dungeons now, just in case.

 

It had been a good idea, she later reflected, leaving early for her detention. Somewhere in the second floor corridor, she had been caught up for nearly ten minutes--Peeves had thought it would be amusing to flood the bathrooms and it took a good deal of time to wade through the waist-deep water. As it was, she knocked smartly on Snape’s door with barely four minutes to spare.

 

“Enter,” Snape called from within.

 

She pushed open the door and walked in. “Good evening, Professor,” she said, giving him a slight smile. Snape was sitting at his desk, scratching on a piece of parchment nearly absently.

 

He did not exactly return her smile, but he didn’t glare at her either, so she figured the evening had started as well as it was going to. “Good evening, Miss Granger,” he replied in a neutral tone. “I hesitate to assign you some sort of task, as I highly suspect that Albus will turn up in the next five minutes. You may have a seat, if you’d like.”

 

Somewhat surprised, Hermione sat down in one of the sparse wooden chairs in front of his desk. “Thank you, sir,” she said, once seated.

 

He nodded silently and went back to his parchment, brow furrowed with concentration and hair hanging in his eyes. She absently noted that he’d smeared ink on his right cheek and wondered how on Earth she would mention it to him. In the end, she decided that if he didn’t notice it, she could ignore it.

 

Snape was apparently working on something complicated--he frowned at the parchment and scratched something out. After staring at his work for a moment, he shoved the parchment to his side and picked up a fresh sheet.

 

She couldn’t help it--her curiosity was almost killing her. Hermione let her eyes slowly wander across his desk and over the discarded piece of parchment.

 

He was working equations! The same equations, in fact, that she’d been fiddling with lately. Well...mostly.

 

“I think that should be psi-star,” she said absently, reflectively, completely forgetting who she was talking to. “Complex conjugate, since you’re using the dagger operator.”

 

Snape’s head snapped up and she couldn’t tell whether he was staring at her with shock or disdain (she was, after all, unfamiliar with his array of emotions beyond rage and frustration). “What?” he asked.

 

Tapping the symbol in question, Hermione plucked the quill out of his fingers with her other hand and began writing. “Psi-star. Here. See--that’s why you were hitting a wall. Of course that wouldn’t commute. But it wouldn’t make sense if it didn’t cancel out.” Her hand flew across the parchment but came to an abrupt stop as her mind suddenly screamed, You’re correcting Snape here!

 

Hermione dropped the quill with a start and stared up at him fearfully. “Uh...I mean...that is...”

 

“Pray, continue, Miss Granger,” Snape said, looking slightly cross, but not nearly as furious as she’d anticipated. “I’m beginning to see what you mean. That might actually have a closed-form solution.”

 

Too dumbfounded to ponder what was occurring too deeply, Hermione resumed her scribblings. “Well...” she said skeptically. “I don’t think so. It looks simple and everything, but it’s highly nonlinear. And I can’t see anything of a harmonic or radial solution in any of this. I wouldn’t bet on a closed form existing. Although if you change the gauge...Professor?” she asked suddenly. “Why are you working on this? I mean...” Hermione blushed as she realized how her question must have sounded.

 

Snape looked unperturbed. “I might as well ask you why you know so much about it, Miss Granger,” he replied without rancor. “I’m just fiddling with a few theories I’ve read about. I think the author might have been missing some important point but I keep getting tangled up in the math.”

 

She paused long enough to wonder why he was admitting all of this to her but then realized that it was her theories he was criticizing. “Why do you think there’s something I--uh, the author has missed?” Her tone was slightly injured.

 

If he caught her slip, he did not comment. “Just a feeling,” he said. “Although I don’t think it would alter the overall thesis.”

 

Hermione relaxed imperceptibly. And then it tumbled out. “Why are you telling me all this?” She clapped both of her hands over her mouth, eyes widening in horror at her words.

 

Snape just snorted a bit--the same laugh she dimly remembered from that awful night in the Infirmary. “Miss Granger, three nights ago we more or less saved each other’s lives. I would think that that makes us comrades of a sort. Not to mention the fact that, as I have mentioned before, we’ve been punished by the headmaster to serve our detentions together.”

 

“I’m glad you’re so perceptive, Severus,” an unmistakable voice said from the doorway.

 

Both Snape and Hermione turned toward the source of the sound, Hermione dropping the quill and Snape’s cheeks reddening slightly. “Albus,” he said. To his credit, his voice did not waver.

 

Dumbledore chuckled. “Come, Severus. If I did not get angry at you when you referred to me as a ‘sanctimonious old bastard’ to Minerva two weeks ago, I’m not going to be angry at you for telling the truth. In fact, I’m somewhat pleased that you’ve discerned that you have detention as well.”

 

Snape muttered something under his breath that Hermione did not catch. And then, “Well, what do you have for us to do, then?” he asked impatiently.

 

“Funny you should mention,” Dumbledore replied with an innocent tone in his voice. “I do recall Hagrid mentioning at supper this evening that his stables were in great need of mucking out and I also recall volunteering the two of you for the job.”

 

Hermione sighed a little and Snape groaned out right. “Really, Albus,” he said, all wounded dignity.

 

“I’ve even remembered to bring more appropriate clothing with me,” Dumbledore said, depositing a sack Hermione hadn’t noticed he was carrying on the floor of Snape’s office. “Well, have fun, then.” With a jaunty smile that led her to believe that he was very much enjoying their discomfort, Dumbledore closed the office door.

 

As soon as the lock snicked, Snape gave the door a heavy glare and growled. “That old codger,” he spat, giving the bag of clothing a vicious nudge.

 

Picking up the bag gingerly, Hermione opened it and surveyed the contents dismally. “I suppose we ought to get started,” she said.

 

He continued to glare at the door but nodded a bit.

 

She shuffled through the bag, pulling out the smaller pair of dungarees, the somewhat smaller, ripped t-shirt proclaiming “Beware of the Leopard” and the smaller pair of work boots. “Uh...” she began, holding the clothes helplessly in her hands.

 

Not even looking in her direction, Snape flapped his hand at another door on the other side of his office. “You can change in my supply closet. I trust you won’t disturb anything?”

 

She didn’t feel like that needed a response and she made sure to close the closet door quite firmly.

 

The clothes were too big, of course. The hem of the t-shirt very nearly reached her knees. Tucking it into the jeans, Hermione grimaced as she saw the jeans hems hanging about four inches off her socked feet. She rolled them up with a little sigh and shoved her feet into the boots. At least they fit. Now her only problem was that the dungarees were at least two sizes too big and threatening to slide off her hips completely. Maybe Snape had something she could hold them up with. Knowing she looked ridiculous but realizing her night would only get worse, Hermione tapped gingerly on the closet door. “Professor?” she called through the wood. “Can I come out now?”

 

“If you want,” came the dull reply.

 

She opened the door with her right hand, holding her robes in her left. “Do you...gracious,” she unthinkingly exclaimed as she caught a glimpse of the clothing Dumbledore had brought Snape.

 

He was also wearing dungarees, although his fit slightly better (not much, though, she reflected), and his boots were identical to hers. It was his shirt that made her stop and goggle soundlessly at him. The sight of stern, evil Professor Snape engulfed in a huge red t-shirt informing her that he’d “Gone crazy. Be back shortly.” with a large tear right across his stomach was very nearly enough to make her faint.

 

“Not a word,” he snapped, plucking at the shirt. “I’m going to kill him.”

 

“Would...would you, um, like to switch shirts?” she asked in a near-whisper.

 

“Not particularly, Miss Granger. Somehow ‘Beware of the Leopard’ isn’t much better,” he said dryly. “Here!”

 

She caught the object he threw at her mostly by reflex. Upon further examination it turned out to be a hat.

 

“You’ll want to cover your hair,” he said in reply to her confused look. Snape picked up a similar hat and swiftly tucked his hair into it. She copied his motions sloppily. “Ready to go?” he asked with absolutely no expression in his voice.

 

“Would it matter if I said no?”

 

“No.” He walked over to the door, raised eyebrow clearly indicating for her to follow.

 

----------

 

Mucking out stalls was possibly the worst detention she’d ever had. Hermione doubted that she’d ever get truly clean. “I’d kill for a toothbrush and a toilet right about now,” she said through gritted teeth, swiping at something unspeakable smeared across her forehead.

 

“Albus always did come up with the worst detentions,” Snape said from the stall across the way, carrying a load of something awful on his shovel.

 

“At least with bathrooms you know exactly what sort of filth you’re wiping up. This stuff is a bit more...ubiquitous,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t know what Hagrid’s been keeping out here.”

 

“Or what he’s been feeding it,” he replied, coming back through the door with a relatively clean shovel.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione retorted sarcastically, scraping the last bit of muck out from her stall. “There! Only two more to go, right?”

 

He let out a deep breath, squatting and holding his shovel between his knees. “Yes,” he said, hissing. “After which I will go try to find a potion that causes someone to shed their skin. Twice.”

 

Hermione hitched her trousers up yet again--she’d found a length of rope in the stable to tie them up with, but they still crept down her hips an uncountable number of times during the night. “What time is it?” she asked, using Snape’s lethargy to take a break herself.

 

“Haven’t a clue. Late, I’m sure. Maybe tomorrow night Albus won’t make us stay out so late,” Snape replied. “I wonder how angry he would get if I burned these clothes.” He plucked at his shirt for the umpteenth time.

 

“Where on Earth did he find these things?” she asked, swinging her shovel over her shoulder in preparation of tackling her last stall.

 

Snape stood with a sigh and walked over to his. “I think he goes to the lost and found booths in the London Underground sometimes. Oh, God,” he sighed upon seeing the contents of the stall. “I don’t think this place has been cleaned for a decade at least.”

 

They’d discovered within their first five minutes that someone--Dumbledore, probably--had placed a charm that prohibited them from using Cleaning Charms anywhere in the vicinity of the stables. Snape spent at least an hour moaning over that, but he'd paced Hermione in cleaning out stalls. They’d worked even faster once he’d fallen silent.

 

Silence reigned again as they went back to work. The only sounds were soft grunts as someone hefted a particularly heavy load and the scraping noises of the shovels. An indeterminate eternity later, they were done and stumbling out of the stables covered in unidentifiable stains.

 

“I don’t care how filthy I am,” Hermione said. “I’m going to sit down and cool off before I go back in the castle.”

 

He gave her a sideways glare. “You can’t go off alone, Miss Granger,” he said testily. “It’s long after curfew. Besides, your robes are still locked in my office.”

 

“Again, Professor, I don’t care. I’m hot and my scabs itch. And I know at least one of them broke open.” Not wanting to argue any more, Hermione simply plopped herself down on the ground and stretched out beneath a tree, closing her eyes as a cool breeze kissed her cheeks.

 

His next words sounded concerned, but that was highly unlikely as she was talking with Professor Snape. “Broke open?”

 

She flapped a hand. “It doesn’t hurt and I checked, it’s not bleeding much.”

 

“Miss Granger,” Snape said sternly, “you’ve just exposed an open wound to an extreme level of bacteria.”

 

Ignoring the warning in his tone, Hermione kept her eyes shut. “Ten minutes and then I’ll go straight to the Infirmary.”

 

“Ten points from Gryffindor for lack of personal concern,” he replied.

 

She resisted the urge to poke her tongue out at him. “As I told you three days ago, Professor, you can take a thousand points for all I care. Ten minutes.”

 

“I’ll drag you there myself,” he threatened. “I’ll catch ten shades of hell from Albus and Poppy if I let you catch an infection.”

 

“It’s none of your concern, sir.” She did not budge.

 

And then Hermione let out a shriek that was part surprise and part anger as she found herself slung in a fireman’s carry over Snape’s shoulder.

 

“Put me down!” she cried.

 

“I warned you,” he retorted mildly. “I’m taking you to the Infirmary and I advise you not to struggle--it will only open your wounds further.”

 

Realizing firstly that he was not going to let her go and secondly that he was right, Hermione stopped struggling and settled for the occasional dig in his ribs with her feet. “I said I would go to the Infirmary,” she said, irritated at his presumption.

 

He did not put her down.

 

“I can walk, you know,” she continued.

 

Snape pushed open the door and walked into the castle. Hermione realized how badly they smelled as the warm, good air filled her nostrils. “Good Lord, we stink,” she said conversationally.

 

“I’m not going to put you down, Miss Granger,” Snape retorted. “I don’t trust you.”

 

“I hate you,” she said contemptuously.

 

“Good,” he said. “I would hate to think that all my efforts have been wasted.”

 

They remained silent as he strode down the hall until after one particularly vicious jab in his ribs with her right boot, Snape gave her kneecaps a warning squeeze. “I’m not interested in matching bruises, Miss Granger.”

 

“You could put me down.”

 

“No,” he said and quickened his pace.

 

Madam Pomfrey was amazingly awake when Snape strode into the Infirmary with Hermione slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “What on Earth...?” she asked, taking in their filthy clothing and the mutual irritation.

 

“Miss Granger’s wounds need to be reexamined and cleaned,” Snape said, depositing Hermione on her feet finally. “I’ll bring her robes by. I expect you’ll want to keep her for the night.”

 

“Yes...of course,” Pomfrey said absently, eyeing Hermione. “May I ask what you’ve been doing?”

 

Hermione yanked off her hat and threw it on the floor. “Mucking out Hagrid’s stalls,” she replied. “For detention.”

 

Much to Hermione’s glee, Pomfrey gave Snape a sly sort of smile. “Both of you, eh?” she said, appraising Snape’s similarly soiled clothing.

 

“Not a word, Poppy,” Snape said icily. “I will return shortly with Miss Granger’s clothing.” He spun on a booted heel and strode purposefully from the Infirmary.

 

Pomfrey clucked a bit as she looked her patient over. “I suppose the first thing we ought to do is get you out of those clothes and cleaned up. Where did you find those things, anyway?”

 

“The headmaster,” she replied with a grimace, shedding the shirt and kicking off her boots. “Professor Snape is of the opinion that they ought to be burned.”

 

Frowning, the mediwitch gazed at Hermione’s newly oozing scabs. “I’ll have to disinfect those, dear, if you’ve been mucking out stalls. And give you an antibiotic as well. Just in case. And I’ll make sure to have a word with Albus about the nature of your detentions from now on. I highly doubt, Miss Granger, that it was Severus’ choice to clean out stalls for the evening,” she said to Hermione’s surprised look. “Sounds more like the detentions Albus used to give out when he was still teaching.”

 

With a conspiratorial look, Pomfrey guided her back into the Infirmary and all but pushed her into a very medicinal smelling shower.

 

An hour later and feeling infinitely cleaner, Hermione was snuggled in between crisp sheets, lightly dozing. Her wounds were newly bandaged and stinging from the cleansing Pomfrey had given them. She was in that place between sleep and wakefulness when she heard another voice in the room.

 

“How is she?” a man asked.

 

“Fine,” Pomfrey answered, hushed. “She’s asleep now. But it’s a good thing you brought her in as quickly as you did, Severus. Who knows what she was exposed to out in that stable. Shame on Albus for asking that of her.”

 

“I don’t think the headmaster knew that she was still healing,” the man--Snape--replied. “At least, I hope not. I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t have assigned that detention if he’d known. I brought her robes, by the way.”

 

“I assumed,” Pomfrey said. “At least, I didn’t think you’ve taken to suddenly bringing me clothes for no reason.”

 

Hermione heard a few rustling noises that her drowsy mind refused to identify and felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. A pleasant scent tickled her nostrils and she sank closer to sleep, sighing a little. The hand moved to her hair and then withdrew.

 

There were a few more words exchanged across the dark room, but Hermione was falling into sleep and did not understand them.

 

----------

 

The next day at breakfast, Hermione was very tired. Pomfrey had roused her at seven and informed her that she was able to attend classes and sent her off with another warning about her scabs that she mostly ignored. She’d put on the same clothes she was wearing the day before, uncaring, and stumbled back to Gryffindor tower, grabbing her books for her classes idly, longing only for a cup of tea.

 

“Great Merlin, Hermione, didja go for ten more rounds with your mysterious attacker?” Ron asked as Hermione seated herself at the table and began buttering a piece of toast.

 

“Detention was...unnecessarily rigorous,” she said, stuffing the entire slice in her mouth and chewing mightily.

 

Ron nodded knowingly. “Well, Snape’s a prat. What more could you expect from someone like him? I bet he enjoyed watching you suffer. That’s how he gets his jollies, you know, torturing us. He probably sits around after a particularly nasty class and just laughs and laughs. If he’s even capable of laughter.”

 

As soon as she swallowed the toast, she immediately buried her nose in her teacup, unwilling to discuss the matter with him. He didn’t know the entire situation and she was not in a position to enlighten him--it was better for everyone if she just let Ron chatter until he forgot the matter. She was startled from such musings, however, by a large hand wrapping itself around her shoulder. Jumping in her chair a little, Hermione turned around to look up into Dumbledore’s mildly concerned eyes.

 

“I received a tongue lashing from Poppy Pomfrey this morning, Miss Granger, and I must apologize about last night. If I’d known the full extent of your injuries I would never have given you such a task.”

 

Hermione shrugged a little, taking another sip of tea. “Madam Pomfrey didn’t want to heal my cuts fully with magic--she said that it would make the scarring worse with such deep injuries. Don’t worry about it, sir.”

 

He gave her another look of compassion. “If it’s not too much trouble, may I...?”

 

She sat her teacup down hastily. “Sure.” Pulling back her collar to show him the same gash she’d shown Harry the day before, she tried to smile self-deprecatingly. “Madam Pomfrey said they should be completely closed up in the next three weeks or so and she said that if I come back to her bleeding again she’d make sure to use the antiseptic without the cooling gels.”

 

Dumbledore winced a bit. “Again, I’m sorry, Miss Granger.”

 

She let go of her robes and picked up her cup again, draining it and giving him a little shrug.

 

“Tonight, I think it might be better if we found something less...physical for you to do. Perhaps you and Severus could offer your services to Madam Pince for the night? I know she has a lot of re-shelving and cleaning that she could use a hand with.”

 

Apologies and gentleness aside, Hermione knew a command when she heard one. “Yes, headmaster,” she replied, head bowed.

 

With one final pat on her shoulder, Dumbledore ambled away toward the professors’ table.

 

Ron gave her a goggle-eyed look. “What was that all about?”

 

Inwardly she sighed--she just wasn’t up to evasiveness this early in the morning. “Dumbledore's handing out the tasks for my detentions. And he’s more devious than Filch--last night I had to muck out the stalls in Hagrid’s stables. Without magic. But some of my cuts re-opened and Professor Snape dragged me to the Infirmary--Madam Pomfrey was furious.” Hermione grinned a little at the recollection.

 

“Just how badly did you get hurt, Hermione?” he asked, giving her that same shrewd look Lavender gave her wounds yesterday.

 

Again, she shrugged a little. “He had a knife. I got cut badly a few times and Madam Pomfrey was worried about the scars so she’s letting my body heal itself.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “There’s something incredibly important you’re not telling me.”

 

She flicked her hair behind her shoulders. “Obviously. Now...I’ve got to get to Potions. Don’t want more detentions.” And Hermione left Ron still staring behind her.

 

----------

 

Severus wanted nothing more than to drag his sorry body back to bed and spend the next day there, motionless. He hadn’t gone to sleep until nearly four in the morning and some sadistic bastard (read, Albus Dumbledore) decreed that the first classes started at eight. That gave him about three hours of sleep and an hour of drinking coffee and attempting to focus on his lesson plans. The ink kept blurring together in front of his tired eyes.

 

He was now thoroughly convinced that Dumbledore had been a Slytherin in school--no one else could have come up with such a horrific detention. Of course, no one really knew what House Dumbledore had been in. Not for sure. Most suspected that he was a Gryffindor, Minerva McGonagall included, but during his stint as Transfigurations professor, Dumbledore was not a Head of House and if any of the students ever asked about his old House, he just smiled vacantly and offered them whatever sweet of the week he was exploring. Severus knew, of course, that his doddering old man impression was just that--an impression--but he often questioned his employer’s sanity.

 

The only thing he was absolutely currently sure about was that Dumbledore truly hadn’t known how badly Miss Granger had been injured. Dumbledore was many things, but he would never try to deliberately hurt a student. Physically, that was, Severus mentally added with a bit of a smirk.

 

The clock chimed quarter until eight--nearly time for his awful seventh year Gryffindor-Slytherin class. Maybe Longbottom would refrain from setting a fire this morning. Probably too much to hope for, but Severus had long since abandoned hope of that particular group of students ever getting along. It would be a good day if no one hexed anyone and he only had to subtract a hundred points from each House. The only bright spot was that since Lucius (and Voldemort, his rebellious mind whispered) told him that they knew of his duplicity, he didn’t have to treat that little prick Draco as the Heir Apparent any more. Severus tried to take pleasure from the small things.

 

He strode into the classroom early, somewhat surprised to see a relatively healthy looking Miss Granger regarding him neutrally. “Professor Snape,” she said with a slight nod.

 

Returning the nod, Severus turned to his class notes and began scanning them. “Miss Granger. I trust you are better?”

 

“Enough,” she said in that same even tone. “I spoke with the headmaster at breakfast.”

 

He raised his eyebrow and stared at her. Was she attempting small talk?

 

“He wanted to inform me that we are to spend our evening with Madam Pince,” she continued.

 

Ah...apparently Miss Granger was intelligent enough to know not to try to chat with him. This was shop talk after all. “The library, then,” he said by way of clarification.

 

“Re-shelving and cleaning,” she elaborated with a small grimace. “I think Madam Pomfrey had a word with him this morning about my...uh...re-injuring myself.”

 

He put his notes down and began copying ingredients on the board behind him. “Very well, Miss Granger. Eight o’clock in the library, then?”

 

She did not reply and Severus heard the small noises marking students shuffling in and finding their seats. A few little conversations sprung up that he ignored with great effort. Miss Granger began her usual banter with Longbottom and Parkinson tried unsuccessfully to flirt with a very bored sounding Malfoy. He let the chatter continue longer than he might have otherwise if he weren’t dozing on his feet.

 

“Enough,” Severus finally said sharply. “The ingredients are on the board. You must brew this potion successfully and properly identify it at the end of the period. Begin!” he barked, relishing the clatter of vials and cauldrons.

 

Longbottom looked a little more relaxed than he usually did. Severus was not an idiot--he knew the boy was properly terrified of him and tried neither to encourage nor discourage that fear. Although he dimly wondered why the boy had decided to continue in Potions after his OWLs. His scores had proven barely sufficient for Severus to extend an invitation and he clearly hated the subject. The only reason Severus could come up with was that Longbottom was planning to enter the Aurory like Potter and Weasley. In fact, those three boys and Miss Granger were the only Gryffindors left in the classroom of seventh years. Of course the most volatile Gryffindors would stay, he reflected miserably.

 

Severus caught his eyelids drooping and berated himself for it. He’d just handed his students the list of ingredients for a simple Healing potion they’d brewed during their fourth year, but there were a few places where a miscalculation could be disastrous--he needed to be alert.

 

Longbottom was progressing very slowly but, for once, carefully as well, and Severus allowed his eye to slide past the boy without comment. Miss Granger, of course, was working adroitly and quickly. She had almost a surly look on her face, as if Severus was somehow insulting her by asking her to brew such a simple potion. He made a mental note to take points off her some time this period, even though she swore up and down it didn’t bother her. Potter and Weasley were both brewing with characteristic sloppiness--he could predict that Weasley’s cauldron would over boil within the next half-hour and Potter’s final product would be entirely too orange. He would enjoy taking those points off.

 

And then on to the Slytherins. Malfoy’s potion was very nearly as correct as Miss Granger’s, but Severus knew that the boy wouldn’t know what he was brewing. He could follow directions competently but had no eye for inspiration. If Malfoy pursued a career in Potions, he would wind up in a factory somewhere, happily mass-producing potions without an original thought in his brain. That was the difference between competence and brilliance.

 

Parkinson’s potion would wind up too orange, like Potter’s. She was too busy complimenting her ‘dear Draco’ to produce anything noteworthy herself. And Blaise Zabini was well posed for an explosion in the next little bit--if he’d added too much...

 

BOOM!

 

Zabini’s cauldron went up as soon as Severus bent over it, as if on cue. The boy blanched as Severus gave him a drippy-faced glare.

 

“Why thank you, Mr. Zabini,” Severus said dryly. “I note that in addition to your brew’s...explosive capabilities, it is also a bright shade of yellow. There is not a single stage in the brewing of this solution that is yellow, if done correctly. I suggest you begin again. And that will be thirty points from Slytherin. Yes, Mr. Zabini, from my own House.” Mopping off his face, Severus moved on to Millicent Bulstrode’s passable potion.

 

On his way, he happened to see one Draco Malfoy smirking mightily at a red-faced Zabini. Inwardly, Severus grinned and shouted with glee. “Mr. Malfoy,” he said in the silkiest set of tones he possessed. “Pray, what do you find so amusing?”

 

The boy was caught--his face blanked. “Sir?” Malfoy asked insolently.

 

And Severus pounced, grateful for the chance. “Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. The idea of having Houses is for you to support your peers, not ridicule them.”

 

Malfoy’s mouth dropped. In the brat’s six and a half years at Hogwarts, Severus had not ever taken a single point from the boy. Far from it--he’d shown such disgusting favoritism that Malfoy had come to consider himself above the system. “But...but...” the boy stammered, grasping for a reply.

 

“Another word, Mr. Malfoy, and it will be twenty. Shut your mouth,” Severus replied, biting back a wide grin. After six years, Malfoy was finally getting a bit of what he deserved. Miserable whelp.

 

The entire classroom was silent--even the inestimable Miss Granger was giving her Potions professor a quizzical look and Weasley had the stupidest look on his face Severus had ever seen.

 

“Get back to work!” he barked. “All of you!”

 

Miss Granger raised an eyebrow at him, but returned to her potion along with the other students.

 

----------

 

Severus wanted to die and that’s all there was to it. The second year Hufflepuff and Slytherin class that afternoon had been one disaster after another winding up with at least a dozen students in the Infirmary and the loss of about a hundred and fifty points from each House. Not even the unadulterated joy of subtracting points from young brat Malfoy could compensate for that. He’d had to work through the evening meal, cleaning up the classroom. Somehow one of the exploded cauldrons contained a rubbery substance that defied all magical cleaners and required deep, elbow-wrenching scrubbing. Of course this substance covered about two-thirds of the floor and fifteen workbenches.

 

Swearing under his breath and muttering about ‘idiot children,’ Severus dropped the brush resolutely into the bucket filled with filthy water and glared at the clean classroom. No supper in sight and now he had to go to the library with Miss Granger and help Madam Pince with whatever new devilry she had been dreaming up with Albus. Maybe he had time to slip down to the kitchens and get some food from the house-elves. His pocket watch read seven--just enough time to go to the kitchens, eat, and then make it to the library, if he ran most of the way.

 

The house-elves were delighted to see him and provided him with a huge ham sandwich. Severus tore into it gleefully, sticking an apple into his pocket for good measure as he ambled toward the library, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t run into any students on the way.

 

He’d long since finished the sandwich and was making short work of the sweet apple when he very nearly knocked over Miss Granger about five hundred feet from the library door. “Sorry,” he garbled through a mouthful of food, not realizing who he’d run into.

 

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he heard a distinctly female voice reply.

 

“Oh, Miss Granger,” Severus said, swallowing quickly. “Good evening.” He coughed a bit as she stared at the apple in his hand. “I missed supper,” he continued, wondering why he felt the need to continually justify his behavior around her. He didn’t feel that urge around anyone else for certain.

 

The girl simply nodded. “I do that a lot myself,” she said. “It’s nearly eight, anyway. Madam Pince will be expecting us. And I bet ten Galleons that the headmaster comes in to make sure we both showed up.”

 

Severus gave her an amazed look. Whether he was surprised that she could discern so much about Dumbledore or that she would choose to share her insight with him, he was unsure. “As long as he doesn’t come in with awful clothing to foist upon us...” he mumbled.

 

Miss Granger let out a surprised laugh. “I keep forgetting that you have a sense of humor,” she said, blushing a bit at her forwardness.

 

“Don’t worry, Miss Granger. So do I.” Severus finished his apple thoughtfully and regarded the core as if it held the secrets of the universe. “Shall we go in?”

 

Shrugging, the girl reached for the doorknob. “Best to get it over with.”

 

Madam Pince was practically waiting at the doorway for their entrance, a faintly smiling Dumbledore at her side. She frowned at Severus’ apple core but let him deposit it in a nearby trashcan without comment. “The headmaster told me to expect you two,” she said with a nod in Dumbledore's direction. “And I must confess, I’m grateful for the help."

 

"Severus, Miss Granger," the headmaster said, smile widening. "I'm glad to see you both present."

 

“What do you need?” Severus replied curtly--he wasn't in the mood to deal with a smug Dumbledore.

 

Her frown deepened, but then again, to his knowledge, Severus had never actually seen the stern librarian smile. “You can start with today’s re-shelving, Miss Granger. And you, Professor Snape, I have something in the Restricted Section that requires your attention.” She waved Miss Granger toward an enormous stack of books and took Severus by the arm, dragging him into the bowels of the Restricted Section. Dumbledore made his exit with a polite nod in Severus' direction.

 

He felt unduly nervous. “What’s the matter, Madam Pince?” he asked formally.

 

“One of the chained books broke free last night and I haven’t been able to catch it,” she said by way of explanation. “It won’t respond to a Summoning Charm and it’s one of the Darker texts we have.”

 

Severus inwardly sighed. Last night, covered in unspeakable filth, tonight, chasing evil books. Dumbledore had a devious streak a mile wide. He was beginning to worry about what the headmaster would decide they would do tomorrow.

 

Hours passed. Long seconds ticking into eternal minutes ticking into infinite hours. Severus had managed to catch about three glimpses of the rogue text and each time had made a total fool of himself throwing himself eagerly at it.

 

After the last time, Severus simply sat down in the middle of the Restricted Section on the floor, glaring at the empty space the book had left.

 

“What on Earth are you doing?” an incredulous voice asked behind him.

 

“So you’re finished shelving books, then,” Severus replied tiredly, not even turning around.

 

Miss Granger sat down beside him. “Yes...Madam Pince said that you might need my help, but I confess, you seem to be managing to sit without any aid on my part.”

 

He looked down at her. “She didn’t tell you, then?”

 

“Tell me what?” Miss Granger was all innocence. “She didn’t have to. I saw that last attempt, Professor. I assume a book got loose.”

 

Severus sighed. So she’d seen him topple over a stack of biting books and then wrestle himself free. “If you tell anyone what you saw, Miss Granger, I promise to take away a thousand points from Gryffindor. And yes, a book got loose. Last night, according to Madam Pince.”

 

“I also assume that a Summoning Charm doesn’t work.”

 

He gave her the fiercest glare he could manage. “No, a Summoning Charm doesn’t work,” he said mockingly. “And it’s a Dark text, besides. I don’t think Madam Pince knows exactly which one it is--she doesn’t keep as thorough catalog of those books since we don’t let students near them. Even you.” But that last was not as biting as it could have been.

 

“Could we lure it?” she asked, brow furrowed.

 

“With what? Perhaps you know what books like to eat, Miss Granger, but I don’t.”

 

She gave him a long-suffering look that under other circumstances would have earned her a detention and twenty points from her House. “If it’s a Dark text, Professor, wouldn’t it be drawn to other Dark Arts?” He chose not to comment on the unspoken you idiot at the end of her question.

 

“Are you suggesting that I lure an evil textbook with an Unforgivable Curse, Miss Granger?” Severus found himself asking with a sarcastic grin.

 

She grinned back at him. “Well, maybe not quite an Unforgivable,” she said in what Severus highly suspected was a teasing tone (but that wasn’t possible, his mind told him). “Maybe one of us could use...oh, I don’t know...a Willful Summoning Hex on a quill or something.”

 

He regarded her suspiciously. “You know an awful lot about this, Miss Granger.”

 

Her grin widened. “Didn’t Professor McGonagall ever tell you about my fifth year? When we held our own Defense Against the Dark Arts classes?”

 

“Oh, yes,” he said distastefully. “You had young Potter as your instructor.”

 

“Well,” Miss Granger continued, “as soon as she found out, she gave me a year-long pass to the Restricted Section for ‘research purposes.’”

 

Severus felt something in his jaw loosen. “So you’ve read the entire Restricted Section as well.” It was not a question.

 

“The parts open to students,” she said. “Obviously not all of it. There are books in here that I don’t think Dumbledore himself would dare to read.”

 

Sighing, Severus raised his wand. “Very well,” he said. “Come to me,” he whispered, feeling the shadows lace his voice as he pictured the quill on Madam Pince’s desk and urged it to approach him.

 

Miss Granger’s eyes were dinner plates.

 

He dropped his wand. “What?” he asked irritably.

 

“It’s just...I’ve never seen anyone actually use that hex,” she muttered. “It’s...strange.”

 

Severus gave her a careful look. “You can say it, Miss Granger. It’s creepy. Ah, here we go.” He plucked the quill out of the air and tucked it carefully in his pocket. “Let’s see if our damned book responds.”

 

They waited in silence for nearly ten minutes. Suddenly, Miss Granger tapped his forearm lightly. “There,” she whispered.

 

“Where?” he replied equally quietly.

 

“By that stack of Potions texts. It’s fluttering like. Don’t move.”

 

Severus immediately wanted to shift his position but resisted upon seeing the book hovering in mid-air. “What now, Miss Granger? It is your plan after all.”

 

She glared at him and again he let it pass. “On three?”

 

“How about on ‘now?’” he retorted. “I hesitate to give it three.”

 

Miss Granger nodded and tensed to spring. “Ready...now!”

 

Her cry was quiet, designed to reach Severus’ ears only, and together they threw themselves at the book.

 

For one glorious moment, Severus felt his fingers brush the front cover of the floating text. But then the precariously balanced potions books came tumbling about their ears. Fortunately, these books were relatively inanimate and Severus and Miss Granger untangled themselves with ease. “Chase it!” Severus heard himself cry. “Don’t let it get away!”

 

The book had not vanished as it had before. Instead, it was fluttering out of the Restricted Section. It wanted to play, Severus realized with a flash of insight.

 

He and Miss Granger both dashed after the text, every now and again one of them making a calculated leap as they got close enough to try.

 

“This isn’t working,” Miss Granger said, picking herself up off the floor for a fifth time. “And I think I’m going to rip something open again if I keep at it.”

 

“Heaven forbid,” he replied tartly. “Maybe if we get on either side of it. Corner it.”

 

Miss Granger nodded and slipped down one wall, trying to get on the other side of the textbook. They were in a relatively open part of the library, thankfully empty, and soon, Severus and Miss Granger stood on either side of the book, looking at each other steadily. He met her eyes, saw the question in them, and nodded slightly.

 

In an odd sort of synch that Severus would not have believed them capable of, they rushed the book, leaping in the air simultaneously and falling over the book, crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.

 

“Ouch,” he heard Miss Granger say from beneath him. “Come here, you horrible little bugger.” He heard her hands scrabbling around on the floor and recovered enough of his senses to roll away and join her in the fray.

 

The book was threatening to escape her hands but once Severus wrapped his fingers around the book as well, they were able to more or less force it to the floor. “Madam Pince,” Severus immediately shouted, realizing with a start that he didn’t know the woman’s first name. “We’ve got it!”

 

There was a slight rustle among the stacks and Madam Pince came bursting into the clear area with the closest thing to a smile on her face Severus had ever seen. “Excellent,” she said. “Just hold it while I go find some more chain.”

 

Swearing a bit, Severus tightened his grip on the struggling text. Miss Granger bit her lip and he saw her knuckles whiten.

 

After what seemed like three eternities at least, Madam Pince returned with a long length of chain. Miss Granger helped the librarian bind the book tightly. “Well,” Madam Pince said, holding the book on its new leash. “I think you two have done enough for this evening. You may go. Thank you, again.”

 

Once clear of the library, Severus let his shoulders slump. “Evil books and dragon dung,” he muttered. “What’s that horrible old codger going to do next?”

 

 

 

Chapter Six

            The unlikelihood of change--

 

 

Only one more night of detention. One more night of bending to Albus’ bizarre whims and then he and Miss Granger were free. At least, until she did something stupid and wound up in his detention again. Quite frankly, Severus had lost count through the years of the number of detentions he’d given Miss Granger. Although he’d noticed a certain exponential growth trend through the years. She went from a student terrified of a simple reprimand from a professor to one who barely batted an eyelid at being threatened with the removal of an obscene number of House points. If it hadn’t been such a gradual transition, he would have tested her for Polyjuice.

 

Severus recalled that first night of detention, when they’d spent five minutes arguing over some physics equations and wondered dimly if he would ever be able to have such a conversation with her again. She’d actually given him quite an insight into his work in those few moments--he realized how sloppily he’d been treating the math. A missed star symbol made the difference between the improbable and the all-out impossible. Damned Muggles and their obsessive notation, he thought sourly, doodling in the margins of the parchment he was contemplating.

 

A quiet knock at the door signaled Miss Granger’s arrival. “Come in, Miss Granger,” he called, not taking his eyes off the parchment.

 

She stuck her head through the doorway. Two weeks spent in each other’s company and she still treated him as if she went in mortal terror of him. Except for the rare moments where she actually forgot he was her professor and treated him as the comrade he sort of thought they’d become. After all, she’d saved his life and he’d comforted her (if awkwardly) in the aftermath. Together they’d scrubbed out stables, stalked evil textbooks, helped the house-elves do the laundry, restored an entire hallway worth of portraits under Filch’s glaring eye, polished all of Sinistra’s filthy and rusty telescopes, and waxed Trelawney’s crystal balls (Severus still hadn’t gotten the reek of incense out of his hair), among the other devious tasks Albus had devised. And tonight would indubitably be among the worst of them.

 

He waved his hand at an empty chair. “He’s farmed us out to Minerva this evening,” he said without preamble.

 

Miss Granger’s features brightened a bit. Of course she would like a night of McGonagall, Severus reflected dismally. The Transfigurations teacher all but sang Miss Granger’s praises at every turn. She’d tried to make the girl a prefect back during her fifth year, but Dumbledore had actually put his foot down. “Maybe that won’t be so bad,” she said gingerly.

 

“Oh, it will be,” Severus replied. “We’ll be helping her fix the Transfiguration equipment. A whole night of reversing whatever awful botched effects you brats have caused. It makes my head ache just to consider it.” He forced himself to put his quill down with considerable effort. “She expects us in the Transfiguration classroom at half past the hour. We have about ten minutes, Miss Granger.”

 

The girl’s brow furrowed in thought. “Okay,” she said. “I guess I have a bit of work I can do.”

 

Severus mentally sighed. It was now or never. “Actually, Miss Granger, I was hoping you could take a look at something I’ve been working on. More of those infernal equations.”

 

She actually smiled at him--Severus was taken back; she’d never given him a genuine, full smile before. “Really?” she asked hopefully. “May I?”

 

“Oh, by all means,” he replied, shoving the parchment at her. “I find I’ve reached another block in my calculations. That final result is quite frankly nonsensical and I simply cannot find my mistake.”

 

Miss Granger frowned at the parchment, considering. “Actually, Professor, I’ve reached the same wall in my own work. It just doesn’t seem possible to describe magical energy as a field. The mathematics have not been devised yet--Muggle math seems incapable of capturing it. It’s easy to theorize that there must exist a smallest magical unit and in some sense to talk about it in a wave function sense, but it just doesn’t conform to any quantum mechanical standard.” She sounded even more frustrated about this fact than he was.

 

“Maybe it’s the organic component?” Severus offered, mind working furiously.

 

She shook her head a bit. “If our bodies can be described, at least theoretically, with this formalism, then it can encompass all organic structures. Although, I confess, magic seems to only thrive properly in living beings, above and beyond an organic matrix. Maybe that’s got something to do with...holy buggered apeshit!” Miss Granger suddenly yelped, crumpling the parchment in her hands.

 

Severus was startled--he’d never heard her use quite that level of profanity before. Not even in dealing with Malfoy. “Miss Granger?” he asked cautiously.

 

“Living beings...” Miss Granger said thoughtfully. “And most particularly animals! Plants and inorganic matter aren’t magical unless infused with it by another living being. Don’t you see?” She gave Severus a pleading look. “It’s in our blood, Professor! It’s all biochemical! Magic isn’t a field in the air, it’s in us!” Eagerly, she snatched up a clean sheet of parchment and began scrawling on it.

 

Severus felt his mouth fall open. “Like...cellular material?” he asked in a tone halfway between curiosity and excitement.

 

The girl was nearly shaking with the impact of her insight. “And that’s why blood is so powerful. It’s the closest thing to raw magic we have! Unicorn’s blood, dragon’s blood, even the blood of your enemy. That’s where the magic is. And that’s why Harry Potter didn’t die when You-Know-Who hexed him. All that blather about his mother’s love is nonsense--it was her blood that saved him. A blood sacrifice.” Her hand continued to fly across the parchment, covering it mostly with words but a few biochemical scrawlings as well. “I bet our cellular structure is slightly altered. Random fluctuations. Oh, Professor, don’t you understand? We can find out where magic originated!”

 

Severus began to catch on. “Magic came about through perfectly normal fluctuations in human structure during evolution. And that we can trace. If we can tack down the actual magical component in our blood, we can track it back to the source. Like mitochondrial evolution!” He found himself becoming excited as well.

 

She was shaking her head over the paper. “It’s so much more complicated than I’d ever envisioned.”

 

He leaned across the desk and put both his hands on her shoulders. “Miss Granger, you must publish this as soon as you can get a paper together. This might be the most important discovery in magical theory to date!”

 

She nodded. “I’ll owl Edoras immediately and ask him what issue he’s got room in.”

 

Severus froze in place, gripping her shoulders more tightly. “How on Earth can you be on a first-name basis with Edoras Griffiths?” He was baffled as to how Miss Granger knew the all-important first editor of MRL.

 

Something hardened in Miss Granger’s face. “Uh...Professor...you see...well, think about it.”

 

And think about it he did. How could Hermione Granger have come in contact with...oh...he had it now. Severus felt incredibly stupid--he'd been staring the solution in the face all along. “Hermione Granger,” he said out loud. “H.G. Not a particularly original pseudonym...You’re the new mystery theorist?” he asked her incredulously. “That means...”

 

Miss Granger nodded. “I published my first article when I was sixteen years old. I submitted under a pseudonym because I knew no one would take a sixth year student seriously. But I didn’t think much about my pseudonym because I didn’t think I would be accepted.”

 

Severus regarded the girl with a renewed sense of awe. “Hogwarts stopped teaching you anything somewhere during your second year, didn’t it?”

 

She grinned self-deprecatingly. “Well...I didn’t finish the library until fifth year,” she said. “And I have the characteristic social issues to work through, of course.”

 

Still staring at her, Severus willed himself to shut his mouth. And then he happened to let his eyes flick up to read the clock. “Oh, Merlin’s beard,” he said. “We were supposed to be in Minerva’s classroom fifteen minutes ago. Have your cuts healed enough to run for it?”

 

Miss Granger shrugged a bit. “We’ll find out, now won’t we?” And with that, she leapt out of her chair and took off for the Transfiguration classroom at a dead run, Severus dogging her heels, not even caring whether or not any students saw him. If they were too late, Dumbledore would likely give them another night’s worth of work.

 

Minerva McGonagall was sitting primly in the middle of her classroom surrounded by boxes of disfigured beetles, broken buttons, and other half-Transfigured debris. She simply looked down her nose at Severus and Miss Granger, both staggering in her doorway, gasping for air.

 

“I was wondering when you two would show up,” she said. “Miss Granger, I’ve got a handful of poor half-slippered rabbits you can try your hand at. Severus, how are you at music box parrots these days?”

 

“We’ll see,” he panted, flinging himself gracelessly into a nearby chair and pulling out his wand. Miss Granger followed suit, prodding a hapless rabbit thoughtfully.

 

“Professor Snape?” the girl asked into the silence of the classroom as the strange trio worked.

 

He grunted, mind struggling to remember what the exact words used to turn a parrot into a music box were.

 

“Does Hogwarts have any microscopes laying around?” she asked, that excitement still making her cheeks flush.

 

“Micro-whats?” McGonagall asked, startled from her box of buttons.

 

“Does that answer your question, Miss Granger?” Severus replied with a smirk. “Strictly a Muggle instrument, a microscope is.”

 

She sighed. “It would be nice to get a hold of a uni quality one. For, you know, experiments.” Miss Granger gave him a knowing look and he immediately understood what she was talking about.

 

“You’re certainly in a strange mood this evening, Miss Granger,” McGonagall commented, putting down a box of newly restored beetles and turning to the box filled with beetles caught halfway to buttons.

 

“I just, um, had an interesting idea, Professor,” Miss Granger replied evasively, eyes flicking back to Severus for a moment.

 

He gazed back at her reflectively. They shared a secret now and it felt good. Severus hadn’t felt this sort of camaraderie in years...decades, really. And when she was in the middle of a thought, when she was practically sparkling with a new idea, she very nearly looked beautiful.

 

Startled, Severus dropped the parrot he’d been poking on the floor where the bird landed with a pitiful squawk. Beautiful? Where did that come from? She was a student. A snarly Gryffindor with an overblown sense of honor and the most unruly hair he’d ever laid eyes on.

 

But her eyes were warm and her smile was somehow intriguing. She would never be a true beauty. Actually, not many would even consider her very pretty. But there was something about her that snagged his attention. More and more, lately.

 

Severus suppressed a mental snort and picked up his poor bird, finally completing its awkward transformation back into complete parrot and setting it in a prepared cage. As if he had any room to talk. He was entirely too thin for his frame and his nose more than outsized the rest of his face. He knew he wasn’t exactly ugly, per se, but there was a reason he’d never actually been in a meaningful relationship.

 

As if he was standing in front of a mirror, Severus conjured up a mental image of himself in his mind’s eye, giving it a critical once-over. He needed to gain about twenty pounds of muscle and he could stand to go out in the sun once in a while. His teeth were an absolute wreck--he cleaned them dutifully these days (after hearing one of the Weasley twins refer to him as a ‘yellow-toothed bat’ some four years ago), but they were still as crooked as ever. The nose was better unmentioned--Lucius Malfoy had broken it some twenty years ago and it hadn’t been a particularly attractive feature even before that. And his hair. If he didn’t spend the day in a dungeon full of potion fumes, it was tolerable, although a bit too fine for his tastes, but that was a rare day indeed. Most of the time it was a horrible, greasy, lanky mop. Severus had actually debated shaving his head on more than one occasion but in the end refrained, deciding he looked bad enough already. There was no need to add a milk-white, blue-veined scalp into the equation.

 

He turned the next music box/parrot back into its original form with little effort--the Transfiguration had gone mostly correctly and there were few mistakes to unravel. The next one, however, proved to be quite a puzzler--it outwardly looked like a parrot, save a suspiciously wind-key shaped set of tail feathers, but instead of emitting an avian squawk, it sang the first bar of “The Blue Danube” whenever it opened its mouth.

 

“You may just want to leave that one, Severus,” McGonagall said, glancing up from her beetles. “I think the only thing that will reverse that is time.”

 

“Bloody students,” Severus grumbled, shoving the parrot into a cage, where it gazed forlornly back at him, blinking every now and then.

 

“Come, Severus, it wasn’t as if you were any better,” McGonagall chided.

 

He sent her a glare of pure venom and noted out of the corner of his eye that Miss Granger was smirking at him.

 

“In fact,” McGonagall continued, ignoring him entirely, “I recall one particularly disastrous day in your sixth year when you managed to produce a living mouse that coughed up salt from your salt cellar. I kept him, you know. Could never figure out what you did. And I suppose I ought to let you know that he lived to a healthy old age and learned to enjoy salted cheese.”

 

Severus felt the blush spread across his cheeks. He hadn’t been a particularly good Transfigurations student--he couldn’t focus enough for it. Potions and Charm work required a mind good at multi-tasking; Transfigurations asked for the complete opposite. As a student, Severus had blown a great number of transformations by simply being distracted from his task by something trivial. That was why Gryffindors were usually quite good at it, he considered with an evil sort of internal grin, they were generally unhealthily single-minded.

 

Miss Granger was regarding him with near devilish glee. “Foolish wand-waving, eh?” she asked teasingly.

 

“A thousand points, Miss Granger,” he shot back, grabbing his next music box so tightly it squawked in protest.

 

She just rolled her eyes at him and sat her newly restored rabbit on the floor, giving its ears a gentle pat.

 

McGonagall’s jaw dropped. “A thousand...Severus, really,” she cried.

 

It was his turn to roll his eyes at the indignant Gryffindor. “I wasn’t serious, Minerva,” he drawled. “Contrary to popular belief, I do happen to possess a sense of humor. It’s just not puerile enough for you bloody single-minded Gryffindors to appreciate.”

 

Miss Granger snorted through her nose and attempted to hide it with a smothered cough. McGonagall appeared not to hear her, but Severus gave the girl a rather sly look.

 

“I suppose, Miss Granger,” he said in a dulcet voice that usually signaled he was about to be particularly verbally abusive, “that you excel at Transfigurations.”

 

“I find the subject a useful exercise in maintaining concentration,” she replied with a sugary sweet smile. “Although it does not come to me as naturally as, say Charms, I enjoy the rather meditative qualities that Transfiguration encourages. Perhaps you would benefit from such study, Professor.”

 

He winced. Touché, Miss Granger.

 

McGonagall looked back and forth between the pair. “I believe, Miss Granger, that you have been spending entirely too much time around Severus. And Severus, what's gotten into you? I would think Miss Granger would have lost at least seventy points by now and been given a handful of detentions besides.”

 

Shrugging, Severus turned away from Miss Granger. “I’ve tried. It doesn’t bother that one at all and I absolutely refuse to hand her any more detentions after the past two weeks.”

 

“The past two weeks?” McGonagall echoed, confusion apparent in her features.

 

Severus was incredulous. Probably Miss Granger was as well, although she masked it well. “You mean, Albus didn’t tell anyone what happened? Not even you?”

 

“The headmaster doesn’t tell the staff everything, Severus. Surely you’ve realized that by now.” She gave him a sideways look.

 

“Two weeks ago, Miss Granger and I...um...disappointed Albus severely and he assigned us detention for the duration. Tonight is the last night.” He picked up the last parrot in the box and began turning it over in his hands.

 

“What in Merlin’s name did you two do? Albus hasn’t personally assigned detention to my knowledge since he was still teaching. Oh, wait,” she said shrewdly, “this has to do with the reason that the both of you disappeared for two days. If I’m not mistaken, young Harry Potter was gone as well. Why isn’t he here?”

 

Miss Granger coughed a bit, fidgeting in her seat. Severus decided he could tell her the truth. Well, bits of it at any rate. “Potter was taken, Minerva,” he said. “And Miss Granger and I took it upon ourselves to liberate him.”

 

Surprise and confusion were the predominate emotions in McGonagall’s eyes. “Why?” she asked blankly. “Why didn’t Albus go?”

 

“Oh, he did,” Miss Granger said, surprising both professors. “But there was another place that Professor Snape didn’t remember until it was too late to alert anyone. Don’t worry, though, Professor. Everything’s all right now.”

 

Realization dawned in McGonagall’s eyes and she put the box of completely restored beetles to her side. “That’s how you were injured,” she breathed, looking at the girl with new respect.

 

“Madam Pomfrey says that in another two weeks I’ll be completely healed,” Miss Granger replied with some satisfaction in her voice. “And most of the scars will disappear. Except for the worst ones.”

 

“Scars?”

 

Severus gave Miss Granger a vicious look--of course McGonagall didn’t know about the girl’s real injuries.

 

Widened eyes told him that she’d just realized this as well. “Someone had a knife,” Miss Granger replied, unwilling to elaborate further.

 

“Oh, my dear girl!” McGonagall cried, wringing her hands.

 

“Like I said, Professor,” she said, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m nearly healed. And I’m done with the rabbits. Is there anything else?” she asked in a clear attempt to abandon the subject.

 

McGonagall glanced around the room and saw two dozen content rabbits, a cluster of parrots dozing happily in their cages (one was still humming “The Blue Danube,” but there was nothing Severus could do about that), and her seething box of beetles. Still looking slightly dazed, she shook her head. “No, dear, I think you two can go for this evening. Thank you--you’ve saved me about five hours worth of work.”

 

Severus and Miss Granger escaped the room as quickly as they could, tucking wands back into robes. He put a hand up to his aching forehead ruefully--Transfiguration always did give him a headache. Perhaps he had something in his office to take care of it.

 

“Professor, sir?” Miss Granger was asking hesitantly.

 

He grunted.

 

“Can I please retrieve my papers from your office? I’d like to continue to work on the theory.” She was looking down at her feet as she said this.

 

“Of course, Miss Granger,” he replied impatiently. Another thought struck him. “You may, if you wish, continue to work in my office. I’m certain it’s more quiet than your dormitory,” he said, deliberately inserting an off-handed tone into the offer.

 

She looked up at him sharply, narrowing her eyes as she regarded him. “Really?” she asked. “Although,” the girl continued, practically talking to herself, “I suppose we ought to work on it together. If you like, of course, sir,” she said, looking startled as she realized he was still there.

 

He was flabbergasted--she was willing to share the credit for her discovery with him? And more to the point, she wanted to continue to work with him? Severus smothered his grin with considerable effort, trying to hide it under his best scowl. “That would be...acceptable, Miss Granger. Although I confess that it has been many years since I have accomplished any noteworthy research.” Severus began walking toward his office, eyebrow indicating that she should follow him.

 

She began chattering again, her speech rapid and fluttery as she thought aloud. “I just wish we could get our hands on a microscope. And maybe a centrifuge. It would be so much easier to do proper research with...I guess the theory should be fleshed out first, though. Wouldn’t do to begin experimentation without a proper thesis...it’s just...”

 

“You do realize, of course, Miss Granger, that any sort of Muggle equipment you use would have to be modified to handle the magical environment?” Severus asked, doing a fair amount of thinking out loud himself.

 

She flapped her hand absently at him and picked up her pace as they walked down the corridor. “That shouldn't be a big deal,” she said. “A lot of the equipment we’d need wouldn’t be electric anyway. And the centrifuge could be charmed, I think...they can’t be that complex and once we take it apart...”

 

“Yes,” Severus continued her train of thought, "we might be able to construct a magical device that simulated the motor, as long as it was not a complicated one. We’d have to obtain some tools, as well, though.”

 

They were standing in front of his locked office. Severus dropped the wards with a wand flick and opened the door, letting Miss Granger walk in under his arm without a thought. “I wonder, though,” Miss Granger continued, “if it is a separate component in the blood or actually infused into the cellular structure.” She sat down in the same chair she’d previously occupied.

 

Severus sat behind his desk and leaned over it, reading the parchment she’d been working on. “Separate component, I’d think. How would it be infused into the cells, Miss Granger?”

 

She was shaking her head, pulling out a quill. “That seems unnecessarily complex, Professor. Besides, we don’t know its manifestation. Just because it defies a proper quantum mechanical description doesn’t mean we aren’t discussing structures of atomic size.”

 

“Like, what, ten Angstroms? A hundred nanometers?” He tapped his fingers on the wood impatiently. “Although if we’re to consider all the possibilities, we might as well posit another natural element, present only in hemoglobic systems.”

 

“Only if we can isolate it,” she retorted. “And I’d hesitate to call it an element yet. It may not be structured that way. Maybe more of a protein. Or something to do with junk DNA.”

 

“You sound like a Muggle science fiction novel, Miss Granger,” he said with a smirk. “Although that’s as good as anything I’ve got. But look here...” He plucked the quill out of her ink-stained fingers and scrawled out a line full of symbols.

 

She snatched the quill back and crossed out one of the symbols. “No...that goes somewhere else. Maybe...”

 

----------

 

They’d gone back and forth for the entire night, working through an entire stack of parchment. At one point, Hermione actually crawled up on Snape’s desk and she’d stayed there, cross-legged and bent over their growing list of equations. “It doesn’t balance!” she cried, nearly snapping her quill with frustration.

 

“Everything’s mostly water and empty space anyway,” Snape retorted placidly. “Good Lord, Miss Granger, do you realize it’s six in the morning?”

 

Hermione swore under her breath. “Class in less than two hours,” she muttered, scratching her head and shoving curls out of her eyes. “But look, Professor, all of this is a moot point if the unit is present in a pre-existing structure,” she continued, tapping a set of equations he’d been working on.

 

“But it doesn’t make sense any other way,” he protested

 

“Why not?” she argued. “We share ninety eight percent of our DNA structure with the rest of the animal kingdom. That much in common means that you don’t have to have an independent unit to share between magical beings. It might as well be in an already developed matrix. Simple rules, complex behavior, sir.”

 

“How would identical units evolve simultaneously in that many creatures, Miss Granger? The odds are not that great--you’re talking about a statistical probability so close to zero it doesn’t bear consideration. And besides, Miss Granger, I have to sit through three hours of yapping Ravenclaw and Slytherin third years, beginning in the next two hours, and I’d rather do it with at least a cup of coffee in my system. No more of this nonsense--you can persist in being incorrect later.” He gave her a pointed look that was part condescension and part humor.

 

She glared in reply. “I hate you,” she spat as she stalked out of his office.

 

“Good,” he retorted as she vigorously slammed the door.

 

“Arrogant bastard,” she hissed at the closed door.

 

“Careful, Miss Granger,” Snape warned through the same door, making her jump with fright. She hadn’t known he could hear her.

 

Hermione proceeded through her shower and her breakfast as mechanically as she could, mind still busily working over the possibilities of their new theory. She was so distracted, in fact, that Harry had to actually shake her shoulder before she noticed him. “I’m sorry, Harry, were you saying something?” she asked breathlessly.

 

He gave her an odd look. “I’ve only called you about a dozen times, Hermione.”

 

“So...what do you need?” She absently shunted her cold eggs from one edge of her plate to the other.

 

“I was going to ask you how your detention went last night. It was your last one, wasn’t it? Must have gone late--didn’t notice you in the Common Room.” Shoving his glasses up his nose, Harry smiled sympathetically at her.

 

“McGonagall was in charge,” she said with a shrug. “We helped her straighten out the mis-transformed equipment. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.” And then she drifted off again, immersed in her thoughts.

 

Her classes passed in the same fashion--she barely noticed that anyone was speaking. Hagrid had actually taken off five points when she failed to respond to his question the third time he put it to her.

 

“Good Lord, Hermione, you’re acting like Ron when he’s got a new crush,” Harry whispered in Defense Against the Dark Arts. “Who are you mooning over?”

 

She blinked once or twice. In love? Yes...Hermione was certainly in love. Just not with a person.

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

            Adventures in experimenting---

 

 

Three weeks, Hermione thought to herself. Three weeks of bickering and outright hostilities amidst the collaboration. She was actually working with Severus Snape, of all people, on what was shaping up to be a paper that would rock the world of magical theory on its ear. And they’d somehow managed to make progress. Surprising progress, really.

 

They had an outline of a theory. And it was a good one. It was fortunate that such was H.G.’s reputation in the research community that Edoras Griffiths had responded to her owl quickly and enthusiastically, promising to personally review whatever article she was preparing to send him for the next issue of MRL.

 

The first paper was mostly complete. She was in Snape’s office that night, in fact, to finish hashing out the few remaining details. That would certainly explain why they were both on their feet, glaring at each other and hurling insults.

 

“I will certainly not make a brazen statement like that,” Hermione cried. “It’s completely unsubstantiated!”

 

“But the theory clearly points to independent transport, you stupid little girl!” Snape all but shouted.

 

“Don’t call me that, you sanctimonious bastard,” she retorted. “Whether the theory points to it or not, it has not been experimentally verified and I won’t put my name on a paper that’s simply unproven conjecture.”

 

“What do you think theory is?” he asked contemptuously.

 

“Then state that it’s a possibility, you great idiot,” she replied heavily. “Not that it’s the only conclusion. It doesn’t matter what it winds up to be later on.”

 

“Twenty points from Gryffindor for insulting a professor,” Snape said, apparently resenting the fact that she’d just called him an idiot above her past insults.

 

“I hate you!” Hermione cried, frustrated with the entire process and feeling as if she would literally explode with fury. She slammed herself down in a chair and glared at the tips of her shoes, steadfastly refusing to look at him.

 

“You don’t mean that, Miss Granger,” he said smoothly, anger dissipating from his voice.

 

“Yes. I . Do,” she enunciated, still regarding her black oxfords as if they were about to reveal the mysteries of creation. “You call me an ignorant child and a little fool and you completely ignore the fact that it’s my reputation we’re staking this on. It’s my word that guaranteed us a slot in the next journal.” I was the one to injure the most evil wizard of our time, she very nearly said, catching herself just in time. “I’m just tired, Professor.” Hermione finally looked up at him, surprised to see something like remorse in his eyes.

 

“I...uh...I don’t know how to respond, Miss Granger.” His hands twitched by his sides, as if searching for something to do, something to touch.

 

She smirked. “You could try apologizing, sir.”

 

Snape’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

 

“It’s not that difficult. Come on...’I’m sorry, Miss Granger,’” she prompted.

 

He glared at her.

 

She gave him a sober look, lips twitching slightly at his obvious discomfort. She was already feeling better.

 

Snape sighed. “Very well, then. I am sorry, Miss Granger. Truly. I had no idea you were taking all of this...to heart. I have nothing but the utmost respect for you.”

 

“Then act like it, Professor,” she said impatiently. “Try treating me as your equal instead of a young child. It’s been many years since I was two.”

 

“I’m sure you made a deplorable two year old, Miss Granger,” he said ruefully. “But I will try to fulfill your request.”

 

“Good, Severus,” Hermione said, saying his first name with a great deal of effort.

 

Snape looked startled.

 

“Equals, remember?” she chided.

 

“Very well, Her--Hermione,” he replied, stumbling over her name as well. “Although if you attempt to address me as such during a class, I will ensure that your grandchildren have detention through graduation.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, Professor. I will only treat you with utmost respect in public. I reserve the right to insult you behind closed doors, though. Agreed?”

 

He regarded her curiously for a moment and then stuck out his hand in a gesture that surprised her. “Agreed,” he said.

 

They shook hands firmly and in that moment, Hermione realized that something had just changed between them.

 

----------

 

Breakfast found Hermione pouring over an interesting old alchemy text Severus had lent her. It did not have any particular bearing on their research, but it was a book she’d been seeing referenced for years and had never managed to dig up a copy herself. When she’d seen it laying casually on his desk yesterday, she’d commented on that fact and at the end of their session, he’d nonchalantly thrust it into her hands.

 

Harry and Ron were busy discussing topics that mostly alternated between the upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw the following weekend and Ron’s new Hufflepuff girlfriend. She was a seventh year that Hermione could only dimly recall--the poor girl’s name proved to be entirely beyond her memory and Hermione hoped she would never have occasion to need to use it. She probably wouldn’t, though, as Ron went through girlfriends like Lavender Brown went through cotton balls.

 

Mail call went largely unnoticed--she’d stopped subscribing to the Daily Prophet years ago and her parents rarely sent her a letter (her father claimed that the owl post ‘freaked him out’) and the replies to her papers had died down in the last six weeks or so. She barely glanced up from her book.

 

As it was, she missed the owl swooping over her plate and consequentially got hit in the head with her letter. “What the...?” she muttered, scooping the scroll off the floor where it had eventually fallen.

 

Meet me by the lake tonight instead of the office. I have further apologies to make. --SS, the note read once she’d unrolled it.

 

Huh. Curious.

 

Hermione resolved to think no more on it and returned her attentions to the book. It annoyed her when her mind kept flicking back to the letter, puzzling over it. What could he mean by wanting her to go to the lake? What was at the lake? For that matter, what did he mean by ‘further apologies?’ They’d settled everything last night. Hadn’t they?

 

With a frustrated growl, Hermione shut the book and stuffed it in her bag. She stalked away from the breakfast table, leaving Ron and Harry to stare after her.

 

“What’s gotten into Hermione lately?” Ron asked.

 

Harry shrugged. “Maybe all that studying she’s been doing lately has finally gotten to her. You know, I haven’t seen her in the Common Room in more than three weeks.”

 

“She can’t be studying for the NEWTs already,” Ron said, horror in his voice.

 

Again, that shrug. “You know ‘Mione,” Harry replied. “When is she not studying for something?”

 

“True,” Ron agreed, taking a long draught from his goblet. “Sure am glad Patty doesn’t study like that, though.”

 

And the conversation shifted easily to other topics, Hermione quickly forgotten.

 

----------

 

She shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. It was cold out here--the beginning of December in Scotland was no time for a nighttime picnic beside a lake. Hermione pulled her cloak around herself more tightly and stared at the castle, willing Severus to appear in front of her. Right now.

 

“Good evening, Miss Granger,” he said from behind her, as if on cue.

 

Hermione jumped, but only a little. “Good evening, Professor,” she replied. “I assume you have a good reason for wanting me to stand outside in the cold?”

 

“A little surprise,” he said easily enough. “Although it requires a trip to the forest. To the Apparition point, more specifically.”

 

“Where are we going?” she asked, getting excited.

 

“Ah, ah, Hermione. Surprise, remember?” Severus said, wagging a finger at her.

 

She gaped at him. He was acting playful? This was surprise enough for her. “Uh...sir, are you all right?” she asked slowly, tactfully.

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked in reply, mystified.

 

“Well, it’s just that you’re usually not as, um, well, that is to say...” She stumbled over the phrase, unwilling to just blurt out what she was thinking. “You’re uncharacteristically exuberant this evening, sir,” she finally settled on saying.

 

He stared at her for a moment, letting the words sink in. And then he actually laughed at her. A genuine laugh. Not a snort. “You must think I’ve been sent in disguise to kidnap you,” he said once he’d stopped laughing.

 

Hermione turned crimson. “Not exactly,” she mumbled. “I’m not entirely sure what to think,” she admitted.

 

“You don’t have to think anything, Miss Granger--Hermione,” he said. “Just follow me.”

 

Hesitantly, nervously, she complied, walking in his footsteps, into the Forbidden Forest, to the same Apparition point they’d used more than a month before. “Now what, Severus?” she asked once they were standing in the proper clearing.

 

“Just like before,” he replied, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his side. “Apparate without a clear destination in mind and I’ll guide you. And I promise that we won’t wind up in some ramshackle shack battling Death Eaters this time.”

 

A joke and a laugh in the same evening? What had happened to him? But Hermione remained silent and nearly automatically put her arm around his waist in preparation to Apparate. She gave him a tentative smile as she steeled her concentration for Apparition.

 

It was less nauseating than the first time she’d done it, although Hermione rather suspected that was because she knew what to expect this time around. Quite possibly it helped that lives didn’t hang in the balance tonight.

 

They landed in a darkened room that smelled oddly of camphor. Hermione wrinkled her nose against the strong odor and took her arm away from her professor. “Where are we?” she asked.

 

“If I studied the brochure photograph carefully enough, we’re in Oxford, in one of their biological laboratories,” he replied. “I thought maybe we could...uh...borrow some equipment. Student equipment, of course, so it won’t be missed.”

 

Hermione lit up and she gave Severus the biggest smile she possessed. He probably didn’t notice it in the near-darkness. “Really?” she breathed. “Oh, thank you, Severus!” Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a fierce, brief hug.

 

He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, but it didn’t matter; she soon drew away from him, still grinning. “You’re welcome, Hermione,” he replied. “But we shouldn’t linger, you know. Someone could walk in at any time.”

 

“Of course,” she agreed gleefully.

 

He pulled a palm-sized object out of his pocket and flicked his wand at it, immediately increasing its size tenfold. “I thought we could load this case full and then shrink it back down, so that everything will be protected when we Apparate.”

 

“You gave this a lot of thought, Severus,” Hermione commented, gazing at a countertop holding at least a dozen standard microscopes.

 

An hour later, the case was as full as it could be. They’d managed to find a centrifuge three doors down the hall, and two different sorts of microscopes with varying magnifications. Hermione eyed a machine lovingly. “They’d miss that PCR, wouldn’t they?”

 

Severus regarded first the machine, then her expression. “Judging from the look in your eyes, I’d say so.” He placed a dozen sterile test tubes in the case, as well as a handful of shrink-wrapped Petri dishes. “Although I think in the long run, we’d be more in the market for something that does DNA analysis. Anything else?”

 

She gave the PCR one last longing gaze. “I guess not,” she said. “We can make our own dyes and such, can’t we?”

 

“I am a Potions Master, you know,” he said, dripping sarcasm.

 

“Then I think we’ve got everything we need,” she replied, mostly ignoring him. She shut the case and shrank it with a wand flick. “Ready?”

 

His answer was to pull her to his side again in preparation to Apparate. Although, she realized as they were Disapparating, they didn’t have to be touching. He wasn’t guiding her--she knew the way back to Hogwarts.

 

Hermione carefully pushed that thought to the back of her mind as they made the trek back to the castle. “When do you want to start work?” she asked in an effort to find something else to think about.

 

“We’ve got to set up the equipment properly,” Severus replied. “Maybe we could take a look at it tomorrow and take the rest of the night off?”

 

Smiling down at her shoes, she nodded her assent and then realized that it was too dark for him to see her very well. “That sounds all right,” she said belatedly. “It has been rather difficult to stay awake in my classes lately. By the by, I owled our paper to Edoras this afternoon.”

 

“Excellent,” Severus said. “We should hear from the journal in the next three weeks, then. I doubt there will be revisions, though.”

 

The conversation ceased as they reached the castle doors and walked inside. Severus silently escorted Hermione up to Gryffindor tower. “Well...” she said, feeling suddenly awkward as they reached their destination. “Good night, then.”

 

“Good night, Hermione,” an equally awkward Severus replied.

 

Barely questioning her impulse, she put a hand softly on his forearm and gave him another bright smile. “Thanks again, Severus, for tonight.”

 

He returned her smile with a rare grin. “I confess, Miss Granger, that I was partially acting out of self-interest. I am eager to begin our experiments as well.”

 

“Mutual self-interest can be useful at times, though, sir,” she replied, dropping her hand and turning to the Fat Lady. “Higgle-piggle...tomorrow evening, then, Professor,” she said, climbing through the open portrait hole.

 

----------

 

Severus manfully resisted the urge to chuck that awful centrifuge contraption out of the window. Initially, he’d been nervous to disassemble the thing, worried about damaging its vital components, but it was proving more difficult to get into than that Chinese puzzle-box his uncle had given him on his ninth birthday (he’d eventually managed to solve the puzzle halfway through his sixth year at Hogwarts). He was beginning to regret his offer to work on the centrifuge as opposed to the other equipment.

 

He and Hermione had realized almost immediately that evening that his office was not an acceptable place to set up their experiments. And due to the danger of sample contamination by potion fumes, his private lab was also out of the question. It had taken them more than an hour to find an appropriate classroom in which to set everything up--it had to be one that no one used, for starters. It also needed to be warded and password-coded and not all Hogwarts rooms permitted such actions.

 

But they’d finally stumbled across a dusty room on the fifth floor of the castle, far removed from everything else. Severus had set about placing proper wards while Hermione cleaned the room with a few wand flicks. A couple of transfigured lab benches later and they were ready to go. Never mind the fact that the clocks had already chimed ten o’clock.

 

Only one of the microscopes was equipped with an electric light as opposed to a mirror, and Hermione currently had it completely taken apart and spread across the tabletop. “It would probably be easier to just fix a mirror to the base,” she said, more to herself than Severus, “but this can’t be that complicated. Although it’s proven to be much more difficult than I’d originally thought.” She glumly poked a wire with her wand, grimacing at the spark it produced.

 

“I’ll trade,” Severus replied dryly. “I can’t even figure out how the casing comes off this damned thing. No screws, no nails, nothing!” Idly, he wondered if it would open if he hit it with a club.

 

“Bet there are slots,” she said, bringing him back to reality. “You know, anchoring it internally.”

 

With that in mind, Severus abandoned his futile search for an opening and began twisting and pulling at the sleek metal cover. Sure enough, not three minutes later, the casing came loose with an audible snap. “Bloody Muggles and their infernal desire to complicate everything,” Severus sighed, attempting to untangle the power cord from the case. He finally just used a Severing Charm to remove the cord entirely. It would, after all, be absolutely useless.

 

Frowning at the tangle of wires at the center of the machine, he started gingerly poking around inside, trying to get a feel for the mechanics of it. Eventually he was able to work the entire motor free and he laid it on the counter, glaring at the mass as if it were responsible for all evils in the world.

 

“How fast does this thing spin, anyway?” he asked Hermione suspiciously.

 

She glanced up from her own electrical mess and shrugged a bit. “At least four G’s of centripetal acceleration. You can do the arithmetic as well as I can. Keep in mind, though, it has to be sustainable motion--not just a blast.”

 

“Great,” he replied, dripping sarcasm. So he would have to actually get the motor to run. The device couldn’t just be charmed. Besides, the velocity couldn’t be controlled very well with a charm anyway. There was no way around it.

 

There was a smallish plastic board that Severus started out by mostly ignoring. Based on his fragmentary knowledge of Muggle electronics, the circuitboard probably didn’t have anything to do with the motor itself. It seemed to be attached to the darkened display panel. The actual motor was a closed metal casing that Severus had no desire to open. A metal rod extended upward from the motor, suspended in a sort of rotating socket. Severus twirled the rod around thoughtfully. So the motor made the rod spin, which in turn propelled the rest of the device in its precession.

 

He could see two options--first, he could fabricate some sort of ‘magical battery’ to propel the motor, or rather, he could discard the motor completely and work on a charm for sustainable, controllable motion of the rod. Neither prospect was particularly appealing at the moment, so he turned away from the mess of parts spread across the table as if he could make the problem disappear by ignoring it.

 

“Uh, sir?” Hermione asked into the silence as he looked away from his work.

 

“Yes, Hermione?”

 

“It’s getting awfully late,” she said.

 

He glanced at his watch. Two AM. Late indeed. “This can wait until tomorrow, I think,” he replied.

 

“I’m off to bed, then,” she said, smiling. “Although I think I’m going to wind up dreaming about little red and black wires.”

 

“Better you than me,” Severus replied. “Good night, Hermione.”

 

“Night, Severus,” she called back to him, heading out the door and closing it gently.

 

And he was alone. Well, not counting the infernal contraption sitting in front of him. If it were animate it would be laughing at him, Severus was sure.

 

With a sigh, he focused on the centrifuge, chin propped on his left hand, looking at it thoughtfully. His eye happened to land on the severed power cord.

 

Electricity, eh?

 

An idea tickling at the back of his mind, he picked up the cord and tapped the prongs against the table, considering the possibilities. Another minute or so and Severus set back to work. Only this time, he was whistling.

 

----------

 

Hermione walked down the corridor, tagging along after a cheerfully bickering Ron and Harry. Morning classes complete, she was looking forward to a long lunch. Maybe she would even let the boys drag her down to Hagrid’s hut for afternoon tea. It had been a long time since the three of them had done anything together.

 

She was yanked from her musings abruptly, however, as a hand clamped down firmly on her shoulder. Looking up, Hermione saw who was trying to get her attention. Severus. “Professor?” she asked, confused. He never spoke to her during the day outside of class.

 

“Miss Granger, a word,” he said sternly, although she glimpsed the corners of his mouth twitching.

 

“Of course, Professor,” she replied in the meekest “Please don’t take points off me” tone she possessed.

 

In reply, he simply turned around and strode briskly down the hallway, toward the stairwell leading to the fourth floor. Hermione followed him, hiking her bookbag up her shoulder. “What is it?” she asked, once clear of any potential eavesdroppers.

 

“A promising development,” he said, clearly refusing to elaborate.

 

Hermione huffed a bit--she hated it when he was deliberately vague. But it was usually in her best interests to play along when he was in such a mood.

 

As it was, then, she was floored when she unwarded the door to their ‘laboratory’ and opened it to reveal a happily humming centrifuge. “But...how...?”

 

“Speechless, Hermione?” Severus asked her, smirking at her shock. “My, how uncharacteristic.”

 

“You insufferable bat, how did you get it working?” she cried, dropping her bag to the floor and dashing over to the equipment. “Merlin, the microscope as well?” Right beside the spinning centrifuge sat the microscope she’d disassembled the night before, light burning brightly.

 

“You sound a little more surprised than my dignity is comfortable with,” he said, coming to stand beside her. “Yes, I got everything working.”

 

Hermione looked back up at her professor. “Severus, did you work through the night?”

 

“And the morning,” he said cheerfully. “Seventh year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. I just gave them a list of ingredients and told them to leave the vials on my desk. The Hufflepuffs are too afraid of me and the Ravenclaws are too self-righteous for anything to go amiss.”

 

“You skipped your class?” she asked, stunned.

 

Severus waved his hand at the working equipment. “I didn’t want my train of thought interrupted.”

 

Taking a closer look at everything, Hermione saw power cords poking out of the machines’ bases. Curious--hadn’t they Severed them the night before? She followed the cords with her eyes and saw them actually plugged into a contraption she’d never seen before. “A battery?” she asked, confused.

 

“I’d like to think it is more of a generator,” he replied with an elegant shrug. “After all, most of the reason that wizards’ experiments with electricity have failed spectacularly is that they’re entirely too sophisticated. They try to replicate Muggle technology without considering why Muggle technology works.” His tone was disdainful as he said this. “Electricity is just moving electrons around closed circles with very exotic hand cranks, after all. So I built an exotic hand crank. The difficult part was getting it to emit the exact voltage that Muggles conventionally use.”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened as she followed his logic. She never would have thought of that possibility. Not in a million years.

 

“Well?” Severus asked. “Do you like it?” She was absolutely shocked to hear a note of insecurity in his voice and floored to see the hopeful look in his eyes.

 

“Do I like it?” she echoed incredulously. “Severus, it’s brilliant! It took you less than twelve hours to construct something that wizards haven’t been able to come up with for the past hundred years.” She refrained from touching him at the very last minute, unsure what his reaction would be.

 

“It would never work on a large scale,” he replied gruffly. “And this sort of thing has always been a game for wizards, anyway--electricity is absolutely non-essential. The only people ever working with it have always been more of the Albus Dumbledore or Arthur Weasley ilk--impractical tinkerers.” Hermione grinned outright at the distaste in his voice as he spoke. “The point is, however,” he continued, changing the subject awkwardly, “you can start on the experiments you’ve been babbling about.” But the pleased look on his face belied the scornful tone.

 

“We’re going to need blood samples,” she said, ignoring his last sentence. “Lots of them. We need to get some syringes and tubing.”

 

“Oh, I’ll just trot on over to the magical chemist, then, shall I?” he asked, more sarcastic than usual. “How many boxes will you be needing, Miss Granger?”

 

She glared at him fiercely. “You’re a genius and all, Severus, but shut up!”

 

“Ten points,” he countered with a smirk.

 

“Bastard.”

 

----------

 

In the end, Hermione obtained a brochure from a blood drive organization and they Apparated into one of the photographed facilities in the wee hours of the morning.

 

“I find myself disturbingly content with the degree of our petty theft,” she told Severus thoughtfully as she shrank a box marked ‘Sterile’ and put it in her pocket.

 

“Good cause and all,” he replied. “Are these the bags you were talking about?”

 

She glanced at the contents of the box he’d just opened. “Yes--I’d say we’ll only need one box of these. Severus, are you trying to justify what we’re doing?”

 

“Not justify as such,” he said mildly, shrinking his box. “Just point out that the only reason we’re resorting to theft is because these aren’t items we can walk into Diagon Alley and buy. Besides, it’s not as if we’re taking things that they don’t already have more than enough of.” He opened another box with a tap of his wand.

 

“Oh, okay. That would be justifying what we’re doing, Severus.” She shrank a second box of syringes. “No...we don’t need gauze--I’m sure Madam Pomfrey keeps that in the Infirmary.”

 

He glared at her and resealed the box. “Didn’t you used to be a nice, polite sort of girl?”

 

“I did, didn’t I?” she said with a smirk, opening a box full of medical tubing. “You used to be able to make me cry.”

 

Severus looked a little uncomfortable at her admission and Hermione wondered where it had come from in the first place. She didn’t used to be the sort of girl who routinely confessed her innermost thoughts to passersby. Especially not ones who’d spent most of their acquaintance insulting and belittling her. But Severus had changed.

 

No, she mentally amended, he’d probably not changed one whit. But she had. And besides, she was now acquainted with parts of him beyond “menacing, scary Professor Snape.” She’d seen him taken down a peg by Albus Dumbledore, she’d seen him covered in dung and bested by biting textbooks, she’d seen him puzzling over differential equations. In fewer words, she’d finally managed to see her professor as simply a man. Simply another person and not the one-dimensional cardboard persona she generally ascribed to her teachers.

 

He wasn’t just Snape the Potions Master in her head now.

 

Of course, he still wasn’t nice to her. He still insulted her and berated her every chance she gave him. But those insults were now coupled with a strange sort of kindness that confused her as much as it pleased her.

 

He’d taken her to Oxford, he’d rigged up the research equipment, and he’d done those things for her. A memory flashed across her vision suddenly--Severus standing there with that compelling look in his eyes. Do you like it?

 

Hermione shook her head resolutely, as if to shake the sight out of her mind. It wouldn’t do to consider such things.

 

“Miss Granger? Hermione?” Severus asked, looking very nearly concerned.

 

Startled, she tried to give him a comforting look. “I’m fine, sir.”

 

He didn’t look particularly convinced, but he was obviously trying to ignore it. “I was thinking, perhaps we ought to take a Muggle blood sample with us. For a control?”

 

She wanted to slap her forehead. Of course! “I’d...yes,” she said. “One of those bags from the freezer.”

 

“Freezer?” Severus asked.

 

“That room we saw three doors down the hall,” she explained. “Pull one of the silver handles and you should see a bunch of bags filled with blood. We only need one or two. I can finish up here on my own.”

 

He departed with a nod. Gathering up the last couple of boxes she thought they’d need and shrinking them, Hermione followed him about five minutes later.

 

“Severus?” she called into the dark, deserted hallway. “Did you find it?”

 

“That’s one of the strangest things I think I’ve ever seen,” he said, emerging from one of the doorways carrying two bags gingerly. “A room full of blood in little labeled bags. But I’ve got them. I don’t know how we’re going to keep them frozen, though. We shouldn’t enchant the blood.”

 

“Do you think the magic would leak if we put them in a box with a Freezing Charm on it?” she asked, taking one of the bags and examining it.

 

“I wouldn’t risk it.”

 

She sighed. “Then we’re going to need lots and lots of ice. And a cooler.”

 

“A cooler?”

 

“Hang on.” Hermione ducked back into the storage room and rummaged around. After a while, she emerged triumphant. “It’s an insulated box,” she said to Severus by way of explanation. “We can keep it full of ice when we get back to Hogwarts and it should stay cold enough.” She laid her bag of blood in the cooler and motioned for him to do the same.

 

Once the cooler was shut, Severus casually wrapped his arm around her and they Disapparated, Hermione carefully choosing to ignore once again the fact that he didn’t need to be touching her.

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

            Vampirism and French sadists make strange bedfellows---

 

 

“We look like Muggle drug addicts,” Severus complained as Hermione tied the rubber tube around his upper arm.

 

She poked his inner elbow, looking for a vein. “If you’d let me take a whole pint at a time, your arm wouldn’t look nearly as bad, you know.” Finding one, she smiled and jabbed the syringe neatly into his arm, smile widening as the attached test tube began filling with blood.

 

“I think you enjoy doing that,” he said as she pulled the needle out and slapped a piece of gauze over the tiny wound. “You missed your true calling in life, Hermione.”

 

“Mediwitch?” She stuck a stopper in the tube and put it in a nearby tray.

 

“Vampire.”

 

Hermione had made only one attempt to teach Severus how to draw her blood after she’d figured out the process herself. After he’d left no fewer than five bruised puncture marks on her arm and had yet to hit a vein, she’d told him off and proceeded to continue to do it herself. He hadn’t ever offered to do it again and now he left all the ‘blood duties’ to her.

 

That was a month ago. Since then, they’d spent nearly every night in their makeshift laboratory, squinting at blood cells and platelets, trying to find something that remotely resembled one of their theories. Blood sample after blood sample taken from their arms and hands. Severus was right. They did rather look like junkies with particularly wicked track marks. Worst of all, they had almost nothing to show for four weeks worth of efforts.

 

Christmas had come and gone. She’d spent her vacation having snowball fights with Harry and Ron and the few other lingering students in the daylight and pouring over lab notebooks and microscope slides at night. Her parents had dutifully owled her a Christmas present (a rather nice jumper that Hermione doubted she’d ever wear) but otherwise had not made a single noise about the fact that she’d not gone home for two years running. Sometimes she wondered what her parents told her other relatives about Hermione’s absence from their Christmas tree. Usually, though, she didn’t care. Either that or Severus would unknowingly distract her from her maudlin thoughts with a potentially interesting sample or passage from a book.

 

They’d begun researching the older forms of blood magic intensely. Recent spells involving human blood were difficult to find--most of them were very Dark, after all--so they’d turned to the older texts. Which meant old medieval Latin and Middle English and High German and many, many headaches. She and Severus spent at least as many nights curled up in front of a fire trying to piece together eight-hundred year old spells out of crumbling books as hunched over their microscopes.

 

“When do you think you’re going to have to do this again?” Severus asked testily as she taped the gauze expertly to his arm.

 

“Not for another week, I don’t think,” she replied absently. “Although if you’re feeling squeamish, I can just take my own.”

 

He frowned at her and poked at the gauze. “And tell me again why we’re the only two donors in your mad little scheme?”

 

She rolled her eyes--he always asked her this after she’d had to stick him with a needle. “Would you like to explain to the headmaster why we’re taking blood from people? Or perhaps you’re prepared to ask Harry Potter for a sample of blood and promise it won’t fall into the wrong hands?”

 

“But you’ve stuck me with that thing four times this week!” he protested, toying with the edges of the surgical tape.

 

“Are you whining, Severus?” she asked in return with a little laugh. “I would have thought you considered yourself above whining.”

 

“I would have thought you considered yourself above such petty remarks, you little brat,” he said in a rather petulant tone.

 

“No, Severus,” she said complacently. “Draco Malfoy is a little brat. I’m merely the pain in your ass.” She gave him a bright smile and patted his arm.

 

“Crudity is ignorance’s self-defense,” he said, standing up and turning back to his microscope.

 

“Don’t be so self-righteous, Professor. Only yesterday I heard you call the headmaster, what was it, a shit-licking son of a whore? I didn’t quite hear you clearly and I know his back was turned.” Hermione picked up her latest sample and placed it in a cooler. They’d gotten another one when they’d begun accumulating magical samples.

 

“That...that...Albus,” Severus said with grit teeth. “He’s given me the midnight patrols for the next two weeks. I’m afraid I’ll have to cut my evenings rather short. No one was willing to switch with me.” He’d been able to make sure he was assigned either the early evening or obscenely early morning patrol shifts for the past two months so he and Hermione could research uninterrupted, but apparently that little luxury was to be taken away.

 

She sighed, loading up the centrifuge with a few thawed samples. “Don’t worry. I can always go back to Delacroix’s treatise and see if I can make any headway.”

 

“I always thought it rather ironic that his name translates to ‘of the Cross,’” Severus said with a smirk, looking up from his notes. “After all, he was one of the more ruthless Dark wizards of his time.”

 

“The personal anecdotes he relates in his work are of a particularly gruesome nature,” she replied. “Especially the ones in which he uses entrapment spells to capture and coerce young women into having sex with him.” She shivered a bit. “Do you know I was actually glad when I found out that he was tortured and slaughtered by Philip II?”

 

“An apt ending,” he agreed mirthlessly.

 

Their conversation ended as they both returned to their individual projects. Hermione adjusted her eyepiece slightly and peered down the scope, looking first at one blood cell, then another, pausing here and there only to make a note of something interesting.

 

It had taken them a week at least to learn how to properly operate their instruments. And then another week analyzing the Muggle blood so they knew what not to look for. Detailed parchment drawings had been tacked on the walls and the previously dusty blackboard was now covered with scrawled equations and chemical formulas. They were looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack and they both knew it.

 

Severus, she knew, was still hoping to find some sort of alien cell floating around in their bloodstreams. She, however, was looking at the blood cells themselves, hoping to find an anomaly of some sort--something inherent to the structure of her and Severus’ cells not present in the dozens of Muggle diagrams now framing her workbench. Their disagreement added perspective to their research, though--looking at the same picture from slightly different angles was bound to be useful. Eventually.

 

Three hours later, Hermione leaned away from her scope, wincing as her neck popped and rubbing the small of her back ruefully.

 

“It’s late,” Severus said, tilting back in kind and sighing deeply.

 

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, yawning.

 

Severus raised his hands to his eyes, scrubbing them fiercely. “I’ll say good evening, then, Hermione. Unless you’ve found something of interest--little magical fairies dancing on white blood cells, perhaps?” he asked snidely.

 

“I’ll let you know,” she retorted. “How’s the quest for your mythic magical amino acid, then?”

 

“Ten Galleons, girl,” he snapped. “Ten Galleons says my theory works out and yours is utterly and completely wrong.”

 

Hermione stood up and thrust out her right hand. “Deal!” They shook on it. “Good night, then, professor. I’ll see you tomorrow evening?”

 

He shrugged. “My rounds start tomorrow. How about we just spend tomorrow translating and I’ll see you the next day?”

 

“Right.” Hermione picked up her bag and left the lab with a jaunty little wave.

 

----------

 

Hermione stretched out in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room as close as she dared, eyeing it suspiciously for stray sparks and pops. The house-elves were, in deference to the colder-than-usual January weather, building all the fires to epic proportions. But she was grateful for both the warmth and the light the dancing flames provided as she tried to make heads or tails of the portion of Delacroix’s manuscript she was considering.

 

Most of his text was worthless. Severus had been right--Delacroix was a wizard of spectacularly Dark proportions, but Hermione was getting better at reading in between the lines of his script and was actually learning a fair amount about the scope of blood magic. The Darker edge of the spectrum to be sure, but learning nevertheless.

 

For instance, she’d managed to puzzle out that many of Delacroix’s entrapment charms were blood-based. Not all of them. Some of them, in fact, bore an uncomfortably striking resemblance to the Imperius Curse. But he’d mentioned at least one that involved the blood of the maiden in question.

 

The current passage she was struggling through was recounting his triumphant victory over one of his enemies by using his blood to place a curse on his name. Most of it was bragging blathering nonsense, but he was describing enough of the actual spell that it was worth translating.

 

Impatiently, Hermione flicked her fuzzy hair over her shoulders, wishing for the millionth time that it didn’t escape every hairstyle she attempted to put it in, and bent over the pages more deeply. Swinging her legs up in the air and crossing her ankles demurely, she grinned, sure her figure painted a perfect picture of a studious schoolgirl. Reading the diary of a long-dead sadist.

 

“Whatcha studyin’, Hermione?” Neville asked as he passed through the room.

 

“Just some extracurricular stuff,” she replied evasively, hoping he wouldn’t persist. “What about you? Off on a date?”

 

He grinned and swept his hands through his hair. “Is it that obvious?”

 

“Only to those of us that know you spend every minute daydreaming about lovely Miss Weasley,” Hermione said, returning his grin.

 

“Ginny and I are headed out to the lake this evening--the moon sparkling on the ice is spectacular. And I got some stuff from the kitchens earlier,” he confided, holding up a basket she hadn’t previously noticed. “It’ll be fun.”

 

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Uh, Neville, you do know it’s about fifteen degrees below zero, don’t you?”

 

“And you’re supposed to be so brilliant--ever heard of a Warming Charm?” he asked teasingly.

 

“Have fun, then, and don’t do anything that would make her older brother mad,” she responded. “Well, not too mad, that is.”

 

“What’s going to make me mad?” Ron asked as he wandered back into the room, broomstick slung over his shoulders and dripping sweat. Quidditch practice must be over, she reflected.

 

“Neville’s got a date,” Hermione teased with a big grin.

 

“Whoo,” Ron said. “Big news. Hey, Neville, when are you going to make my sister an honest woman and marry her, anyway?”

 

Immediately, the handsome boy’s face flushed. “Well...I hadn’t...uh...”

 

Ron laughed and whacked his shoulder. “Aww, I was just teasing you, Neville. She’s only in her sixth year, anyway. Mum would absolutely shit if she came home with an engagement ring.”

 

Neville let out a whooshing breath of relief. “Well, I didn’t want you to think that--“

 

Interrupting him with a wave of his hand, Ron hit his shoulder again, although this time it was much more of a pat than a whack. “Neville. You’re better to Ginny than all of her brothers put together. You love her and she loves you and more to the point, we all know that. Don’t sweat it, my friend. And now,” he said in the guise of a radio announcer, “I should go away and shower, to the benefit of all. Neville, go on your date; Hermione, resume cramming knowledge into that big head of yours.”

 

She tossed a balled up sheet of parchment at his head as he walked up the stairs of the boys’ dormitory. Neville picked up his picnic basket and headed out the portrait hole.

 

Harry was the next one to come through the Common Room, possibly sweatier than Ron. He must be tired, she thought, he hadn’t even bothered to carry his Firebolt on his shoulder, letting it just drag behind him instead.

 

“Rough practice?” she asked lightly, pulling herself away from the parchment again.

 

“You have no idea,” he said, dropping the broomstick entirely. “I’m going to go get cleaned up. Maybe I’ll drown in the shower,” he said, perking up a bit.

 

“Nah...Ron’s in there and he won’t let you kill yourself until after the Slytherin match,” she said cheerfully, looking back down on Delacroix’s treatise as Harry moved painfully toward his dormitory.

 

Maybe this would be easier if the evil bastard had better handwriting, Hermione thought to herself, trying to determine whether a particular letter was an ‘s’ or a ‘t.’ With a little sigh, she scribbled down what the word would translate to in either case and hoped that it would become clear from context later. And why did he decide to write in old French instead of Latin anyway? He was twelfth century--everyone halfway intelligent wrote in Latin back then. Not to mention that Hermione’s medieval Latin was a thousand times better than her medieval French. She considered with an odd feeling of irony that Delacroix’s sadism had extended, then, to modern times.

 

“’And then I cursed his pony...’” she read out loud. “No, that can’t be right. He wasn’t that crazy.”

 

“Whose pony did you curse, love?” Ron asked, coming down the stairs and shaking his wet hair at the same time.

 

She jumped, startled at his sudden appearance. “I’m translating something,” she explained. “And I don’t think I’m doing a good job of it.”

 

He walked over to the fireplace and leaned over her, squinting at the parchment. “What language is that?” he asked. A droplet of water fell from his hair and splashed on the text.

 

“Ron!” Hermione squeaked indignantly, blotting the page with her sleeve. “Get away from that! It’s a nine-hundred year old text!”

 

Eyebrows raised, he backed away obediently. “What are you doing with it, then? I don’t think old Pince goes handing out ancient bits of parchment to students. Even you.”

 

“I didn’t get it from the library,” she replied primly. “I’m working on it for...uh...I found it in an old used bookshop that didn’t know what it was.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Ron said, disbelieving. “Old bookshop. Right. Fine--you don’t want to tell me.” But he sounded more than a little hurt.

 

Hermione winced. “I’m sorry, Ron. It’s just, this isn’t really school reading, you know.”

 

“What’s it about, then?” He warmed a little at her apology.

 

She wondered for a moment whether or not to tell him. But this was Ron. He would never be suspicious of her motives. “Well...” she hedged. Now or never. “It’s the diary of a twelfth century wizard named Delacroix,” she said in a rush. “More or less.”

 

The eyebrow went up again. “Delacroix?” Ron asked evenly.

 

She nodded.

 

“Never heard of him. Is it interesting?”

 

Hermione let out a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. Good old Ron. For once she was grateful that he’d never actually opened any of their History of Magic textbooks. “Hard to translate,” she said truthfully. “His handwriting is terrible, and it’s written in medieval French, besides.”

 

Ron shrugged and sat down on one of the vacant chairs, propping his legs over the arm. “Sounds like a blast, love. Let me know how it turns out.”

 

“Is Hermione boring you with schoolwork again, Ron?” Harry asked, looking much better as he came down the stairs. His glasses were still slightly fogged from the heat of his shower.

 

“Not by half,” he replied blithely. “You’re looking human again.”

 

“Nearly,” Harry said, plopping down in a nearby chair. “But it won’t last long. This is going to be an early night for little Seekers named Harry.”

 

“You are still a bit short, aren’t you?” Ron asked, smirking. At five-foot-five, Harry was still the smallest boy in their year. By now, even formerly tiny Colin Creevey from the sixth form was at least three inches taller than scrawny Harry Potter. Even Hermione was taller, clocking in at an unspectacular five-foot-seven.

 

Harry glared back at him. “Shut up, Weasley,” he said good-naturedly, stifling a sudden yawn.

 

She lost track of their banter after that, absorbed in her work. But it only took her twenty minutes of translation to throw down her quill in disgust.

 

“What’s gone wrong now, ‘Mione?” Ron asked, breaking off their conversation. “Whose pony have you got now?”

 

“Pony?” Harry asked, mystified.

 

“Listen to this--‘His child, blood of his blood, came to me and offered himself of freewill to me. And I took his blood, blood of my enemy’s blood, and consecrated it and dashed it upon the rocks. My enemy is no more.’ It doesn’t make any sense. What the hell does ‘consecrated it’ mean? He’s even cryptic in his own journal. Sadistic old bastard,” Hermione grumbled, momentarily forgetting she was ranting to an audience.

 

“What, are you reading old Snape’s diary or something?” Harry asked with a gleeful grin.

 

“No, stupid,” Ron said cheerfully, “she’s reading some twelfth century whatsit. He sounds weird, Hermione. What’s all that with the blood?”

 

“I need to know what he did with it,” she said. “What he did with the child’s blood. It’s important.”

 

“Sounds like really Dark magic to me,” Harry said thoughtfully.

 

“Of course it is,” she replied, impatient with their ignorance. “That’s beside the point.”

 

Both Harry’s and Ron’s eyes opened wide. “What’s been going on with you lately, ‘Mione?” Ron asked.

 

She affected ignorance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“Don’t give me that,” he said, anger beginning to show on his face. “You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you in the Common Room for more than about thirty seconds since October. And you skipped out on the last Hogsmeade weekend. We barely even saw you at Christmas. And now you’re studying Dark magic?”

 

“I’m not studying Dark magic,” she said, frustrated. “I’m studying blood magic. It just happens that a fair amount of it is tied into Dark spells. What, do you think I’m going to become a Death Eater or something?”

 

Harry blew out a sigh. “Of course not,” he replied. “It’s just...”

 

“Just what?”

 

They exchanged a look. “You’re different lately, is all,” Harry said. “More...preoccupied.”

 

“Saints preserve us,” she said dryly. “Hermione’s got a secret. Whatever will we do?”

 

“We care about you, ‘Mione,” Ron said plaintively. “We’re just worried about you.”

 

“There’s no need to be,” she replied sharply.

 

“You’d tell us, though, right?” Harry asked, looking unnecessarily worried. “You’d tell us if there was something wrong?”

 

She looked back and forth between the pair. Surely they’d lost their minds. “Of course I’d tell you.”

 

“You didn’t tell us how you got hurt,” Ron said darkly. “Back in November, when you missed two days of class and came back all banged up.”

 

“For Merlin’s sake, Ron, I was forbidden to talk about it. Dumbledore threatened to expel me!”

 

He looked taken aback. “What?”

 

“She’s telling the truth,” Harry broke in. “He did.”

 

Ron stood suddenly, rounding on his best friend. “She told you?” he cried.

 

Harry was visibly uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair. “Well...she didn’t tell me. I was kind of, sort of there.”

 

Face contorting with fury, Ron threw his hands in the air. “I don’t believe this! My best bloody friends, lying to me!”

 

“Ron!” Hermione cried, shocked. “We aren’t lying to you! Didn’t you just hear me say we weren’t allowed to mention it?”

 

He calmed slightly. “I just thought you would tell me anything,” he said coldly.

 

Harry sat upright in the chair, surveying the Common Room, making sure it was empty. “Would it make you feel better if we told you now?” he asked.

 

“It might,” Ron said quietly, calming further.

 

“Well sit down and be quiet, you great stupid prat,” Harry hissed. “If anyone hears us talking about it, we’ll be dead for sure.”

 

With only a slight pause, Ron complied, sitting obediently back in his chair, giving his friends a steady look.

 

Hermione rolled the parchment back up. She would get no more accomplished tonight. Tonight was now about Ron. “Well, I had that detention with Snape, you remember,” she began.

 

“Sort of,” he said. “You’d pissed him off in class.”

 

“Yeah. Anyway, he was walking me back from detention and we ran into Harry, standing all alone in the hall,” she continued.

 

“Boy, Snape must’ve been furious,” Ron said. “Why were you there, Harry?”

 

“I can’t really remember,” Harry admitted. “My memory’s not very reliable from that day. Madam Pomfrey said the trauma caused short-term memory loss and it never really came back. I do remember Snape and ‘Mione standing there, though.”

 

“Trauma?”

 

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Hermione said with a bit of grin. “So Harry and Snape proceed to have this absolutely bizarre conversation in which I learn that Malfoy and two other Death Eaters are standing in the hallway holding Harry captive.” Ron’s eyes and mouth were as round as the letter ‘o.’ “Long story short, Malfoy put me and Snape under Cruciatus. I passed out and they Stunned Snape, making off with Harry. I woke up in the Infirmary a lot later.”

 

“They Stunned me, too,” Harry admitted. “Although I did catch a glimpse of the Portkey they used to remove me from the castle right before it happened.”

 

“Snape thought he knew where they had taken Harry,” she said, picking up the thread once again. “And I made him take me with him, sort of. So we Apparated to this abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere.”

 

“You have an Apparition license?” Ron asked, impressed.

 

“Well, not exactly...” she hedged. “But I do know how to. That’s not part of the story, Ron.”

 

“So where were you during all of this, Harry?”

 

“I was in said abandoned shack,” Harry said. “With You-Know-Who.”

 

Ron’s jaw dropped.

 

“Oh, come on,” Harry said, taking in Ron’s expression. “Where else would a bunch of Death Eaters taken me? Anyway, he was using Cruciatus mostly. I don’t know how long that went on--I was in and out. And then, all hell broke loose.”

 

Ron’s eyes flicked to Hermione. “You and Snape,” he said.

 

She nodded. “I was the diversion so that Snape could sneak into the house under a Concealment Charm. The wards were too strong to break, so we just got them to open the door for us. I guess Snape got into the room with Harry and You-Know-Who without much of a problem. I was taken in after they’d roughed me up a bit.”

 

“I do remember that bit,” Harry said, interrupting her. “I was shocked. There you were, all tied up, telling the Dark Lord to go to hell. It was brilliant!” He flashed her a quick grin.

 

“You insulted He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” Ron breathed.

 

“Well, only a few times,” she said with a proud smirk. “And then he handed me over to Lestrange, who I highly suspect is one of the crazier Death Eaters. He’s the one who had a knife and that’s where most of these came from.” Hermione pulled up her blouse to reveal the still angry-looking scar marring her belly.

 

“How did you get loose?” Harry asked her. “I could never figure that out.”

 

She laughed. “The best explanation I have is that I just got mad. So when Nott started taking off my...uh...well, you know,” she said with a blush. “I kicked him in the face and started thrashing around. Somewhere, Lestrange cut my ropes loose and I attacked him. It was more luck than anything else. And that’s when Voldemort started shouting.”

 

“Snape’s Concealment Charm must have faded, then,” Ron said, eyes sparkling with excitement.

 

“Right in one,” Hermione replied. “So all the Death Eaters went running to take care of him and I followed them with the knife I nicked off Lestrange when I knocked him out. It was awful. Harry was laying on the ground all bloody from the Cruciatus and Snape was hiding behind a chair, dodging three different curses at once. And in the middle of it all was You-Know-Who, tossing out the Killing Curse. So I figured, what the hey, I’ve got a knife, right? And You-Know-Who can’t be so invincible that knives don’t work against him, right? He wasn’t paying any attention to the little girl in the doorway, so I took him fairly by surprise when I tackled him.”

 

“You stabbed You-Know-Who?” Ron shouted, on his feet.

 

“Shut up!” Hermione said. “Do you want the whole castle to know?”

 

Abashed, Ron sat back down.

 

“I distracted him,” she continued. “That’s where most of my bruises came from--he was trying to throttle me. And then I think Harry woke up and hexed the two Death Eaters still cursing Snape. Voldemort passed out and we Portkeyed back to Hogwarts. End of story.”

 

“You stabbed You-Know-Who?” Ron repeated, still apparently in shock.

 

“Yes, Ron,” she replied gently. “And when we got back, Dumbledore was furious with me and Snape for playing vigilante heroes. That’s why I had to serve detention and that’s why he swore us to secrecy. Are you satisfied?”

 

“But you stabbed--“

 

“Ron, it was nearly three months ago,” she said, impatience beginning to stir.

 

“And here I thought you’d gotten in trouble for whopping Ernie MacMillan or something,” Ron said faintly. “Merlin, ‘Mione, when you decide to go for something, you don’t do it by halves.”

 

“Sorry to ruin the fairy tale, Ron,” she replied in the lightest tone she could muster. “So, how’s your latest girlfriend doing? What’s her name? Leticia or something?”

 

“Patricia,” he said absently. “But Hermione, I can’t just go from ‘Oh, Ron, I attacked the Dark Lord with a knife three months ago’ to ‘How’s your girlfriend’ like that. Give me a minute.”

 

She cocked her head, taking in his shocked expression. “Take your time, love,” she said. “I’ve got all night. Delacroix and his damned ‘blood of his blood’ can wait.”

 

“A landmark occasion,” Harry said sarcastically. “Hermione Granger puts her friend above her book.”

 

That earned him a friendly elbow jab as soon as she could get close enough to administer it.

 

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Ron said suddenly. Apparently it had sunk in. “I had no idea...”

 

“There was good reason for that, Ron,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But I must admit, I feel better for having told you.” On impulse, she wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a quick, friendly hug. “Friends?”

 

He returned her hug. “Always.”

 

----------

 

Breakfast was much less awkward today. She and Harry and Ron were a tightly-knit knot, comfortably ensconced at one end of the table. She and Ron were currently teasing Harry about the longing gazes he was sending toward a shy-looking sixth year of the Ravenclaw variety.

 

“Go on, Harry,” Ron urged. “Ask her out. She’d never turn down the famous Harry Potter!”

 

He blushed. “But I don’t--“

 

“It’ll be perfect, Harry,” Hermione cried, clapping her hands together. “She’s one of the shortest girls here that’s actually gone through puberty! A match made in heaven.”

 

The blush deepened. “Hey!” he said.

 

“Can’t blame a girl for telling the truth,” she retorted with a gleeful grin. “I just calls ‘em as I sees ‘em.”

 

“As if our Hermione here has room to talk,” Ron said, turning the tables on her without a beat. “When’s the last time you went on a date that didn’t involve a library trip?”

 

Her mouth dropped open. “I...you...” she stammered.

 

“No, dear,” he continued playfully. “We’ve never gone out. You’re entirely too good for me. Besides, I could never measure up to the inestimable Viktor Krum.”

 

“That was three years ago,” she hissed. “And we only went out once!”

 

“You need a man, Hermione Granger,” Ron said with a cheeky smile. “Or a woman, as the case may be.”

 

“Ooh...” she fumed.

 

Across the table, Harry was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “So that’s the source of the tension between you and Millicent Bulstrode!”

 

It was her turn to blush. “I can’t believe that you would insinuate--“

 

“There’s a match!” he cried. “I mean, you’ve already become intimately acquainted with her cat, so you two would have plenty to talk about.”

 

“So that’s why you’re hesitating with that Ravenclaw,” Hermione retorted viciously. “You’re still hung up on Goyle. I know our second year you found it fascinating to be in his shoes, as it were.”

 

Harry gaped soundlessly for several moments, unable to find a good reply.

 

“Brilliant, ‘Mione,” Ron said, clapping her shoulder. “I think today’s match might go to you.”

 

She grinned at them as she dug into her bowl of oatmeal.

 

“Oh, look,” Ron continued, glancing upward. “Post’s here.”

 

As usual, Hermione paid it little interest. But a relatively large envelope landed beside her bowl with an audible clunk.

 

“Whatcha got there?” Harry asked.

 

She picked it up and turned it over in her hands. It was awfully heavy for a letter. “Don’t know. It’s not marked,” she replied thoughtfully. Slitting it open, her eyes went wide. “Oh, shit!” she cried, dropping the envelope on the table and dashing out of the Great Hall, even forgetting her books.

 

Ron picked up the discarded envelope and goggled as ten gold pieces rolled onto the table. “Who’s sending her money?” he wondered out loud.

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

            Your lovely awkwardness--

 

 

She ran all the way up to the fourth floor, heart drumming frantically. Upon reaching the door she flung it open, seeing Severus calmly perched on his usual stool. “I see you received my note,” he said dryly, standing.

 

Beaming and trying to catch her breath at the same time, she thought for a moment she would pass out. “You found it!” she cried.

 

He nodded. “I found it. I think.”

 

“Oh, Severus!” Hermione cried, flinging herself at him and nearly bursting into tears of joy. “You found it!” she said into his shoulder.

 

To her surprise, his arms slid around her, hands warm on her back. “I found it,” he repeated. “Would you like to see?”

 

“That might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” she said with a little giggly sort of hiccup. Disentangling herself from his embrace and not feeling the slightest bit strange about that fact, she pointed at the microscope beside him. “I assume...”

 

He nodded again and tucked his hair carefully behind his ears in an affected gesture. She was still standing close enough that she could actually smell the scent of his soap. “Take a look.”

 

She peeked into the scope. It was focused clearly on a single red blood cell.

 

“Now up the magnification,” he prompted.

 

Curious, she complied. “This is an awfully big build up.”

 

“Humor me, Hermione. Now, you should be able to see something of interest.”

 

She concentrated. And goggled. “There are little gold structures embedded into the walls!” she nearly shouted, tearing her eyes away from the microscope to smile at him again.

 

“I hoped for a single moment that the obvious Gryffindor colors resulted from the fact that it was your blood,” he said distastefully--she wrinkled her nose at him. “But then I realized that, alas, this was one of my blood samples. Someone very important has a horrible sense of humor if the magical strain is a golden organism embedded on red blood cells. Unfortunately, I cannot blame Albus in this case.”

 

Hermione let out a delighted hoot of laughter. “Do you realize what we’ve found, Severus?” she asked, sobering for a moment.

 

“Of course I do,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. “We’ve found our proverbial needle. Now all we have to do is find more. It will be simpler, now that we know what we’re looking for.”

 

She felt as if her smile were permanently affixed to her face. “I just can’t...I think I might cry, I’m so happy!”

 

His eyes widened. “Don’t cry!” Severus pleaded. “I don’t think I could handle that.”

 

Laughing again, Hermione flung her arms wide. “I’ve got to do something, though. It’s just...too much. Raw magic, Severus! As elemental as it gets!”

 

Suddenly solemn, he gave her an earnest look. “You’re beautiful when you smile like that.”

 

And her smile froze.

 

----------

 

Severus Snape, what the hell just came out of your mouth? his brain screamed. Severus stopped breathing for nearly a full minute. Time stuttered.

 

“What did you say?” Hermione whispered into the dead silence.

 

“I said you’re beautiful when you smile,” Severus confessed, eyes closing and bile rising in the back of his throat.

 

Her eyes widened. “Did you hit your head or something?” Was that concern in her voice?

 

He gave her a quizzical look. “No...why?” There was something here he wasn’t picking up on.

 

“Professor--Severus, you just called me beautiful. I just wondered if you were okay.” It was concern in her voice. She was on the verge of checking his forehead for fever. He wanted to laugh and throw up at the same time.

 

“I...uh...I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to...it just slipped out.” Yep--Severus Snape, suave and smooth as silk. He almost smacked his forehead.

 

They regarded each other in silence for a few eternal moments--Hermione with confusion written on her brow and Severus as warily as a spooked cat. Neither one of them was willing to continue this discussion and it was becoming clear to them both as time ticked on.

 

Finally, she broke their gaze, eyes drifting toward the floor. "Uh...I've got to...class, you know," she stuttered.

 

"So do I," he said, letting out a grateful sigh.

 

"And about your...the cells...that's great, Severus. Thanks for letting me know," she said, still not meeting his eyes as she scuttled to the exit. As quickly as she could, Hermione was through the door and gone. Severus didn't even have time to blink before she disappeared from his line of sight.

 

He continued to stare at the door long after she'd departed, wondering what had possessed him. Not six months ago, he couldn't have told anyone what color her eyes were and now he was on the verge of making love declarations? He'd lost what few senses Dumbledore hadn't already driven from him--that was the only logical explanation.

 

Admiring Hermione Granger's more appealing qualities (and managing to more or less overlook her irritating ones) from afar was one thing--actually expressing such opinions was quite another.

 

For one, Severus had never done such a thing before and was justifiably anxious about it. The last (and, incidentally, first) romantic entanglement Severus ever found himself in was as a shy six-year-old confessing his tender feelings for one Miss Lydia Hamilton, also six. The fact that she'd promptly laughed and hit him in the head with a block afterward was not particularly helpful.

 

It also didn't bode well that Hermione turned tail and bolted right after his most recent untimely confession. Severus resisted the urge to bang his head against the nearby wall with great effort. It was only slightly comforting to know that Hermione had been telling the truth; she really did have class.

 

So did he, Severus realized with a start. Seventh year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws again. He sighed, walking out of the lab and resetting the wards absently. Life continued despite mangled love confessions. Students still expected their professors to show up for class, even if they didn't particularly want them to.

 

Shame, really. All things considered, Severus would have preferred to work himself into a respectable blue funk without an audience.

 

----------

 

Hermione's fight-or-flight instinct had kicked into overdrive. She walked through hallways, down stairs, and before she knew what she was about, she was actually running. Running down the corridors, feet beating out a familiar tattoo, comforting her. The only thought in her mind was to put as much distance between herself and the laboratory as she could. Her brain refused to figure Severus into the equation.

 

She finally slowed to catch her breath near the door leading out of the castle to the greenhouses. Her Charms class was still a stairwell away, but Hermione permitted herself a lengthy pause--she had more than five minutes, after all, and she was going to take full advantage of that fact.

 

As it was, she slid into an empty seat at the back of the room some thirty seconds before Flitwick actually began his lecture. Hermione drifted--she didn't even know what today's topic was and what's more, she didn't care. All she could hope for was that her professor left her to her own devices. It was not an idle wish; Flitwick was generally very indulgent with his more diligent students.

 

And Hermione had managed to find a seat away from Harry and Ron--Harry shot her a questioning look as she'd come into the classroom, but she'd deflected it with a small shrug. Today, Hermione would be hard-pressed to deal with either of them.

 

Severus had lost his mind and that's all there was to it. Either that or he'd gone temporarily blind.

 

Hermione blinked at the suddenness of that thought--she'd managed to catch herself off-guard.

 

But there it was, staring her in the face.

 

Hermione's first impulse was anger. Severus had thrown their entire dynamic off-kilter with a mere seven words. How dare he? They were finally on an even footing. Hermione had even come to think of him as somewhat of a friend. And then he had to become delusional and ruin it.

 

But, on second thought, that was probably overly unfair to Severus. If the look of horror on his face was anything to go by, he certainly hadn't actually intended to voice his thoughts.

 

He probably didn't even really mean it, she thought. Yes, and that was why he was so quick to apologize in the aftermath.

 

Her stomach gave an unpleasant little lurch at that idea.

 

And it slammed into her consciousness so forcefully that Hermione actually gasped out loud and somehow managed to knock her ink bottle to the floor. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice or care enough to comment even if they had.

 

So that was why she was terrified.

 

Somewhere between the sniping and the research and the fighting and the teasing, she'd come to care quite deeply for Severus Snape. More deeply than she'd ever thought herself capable of.

 

The word 'love' did not actually enter Hermione's mind. That was a vague notion that she still dimly associated with fluffy bunnies and puppies and lacy, pink hearts. Things that didn't even belong in the same universe as Severus.

 

She smirked down at her quill, carefully refraining from making eye-contact with Professor Flitwick. He was predictable enough to never call on students who didn't meet his gaze. Hermione had often wondered why, but she was not above taking advantage of it, should the need arise.

 

The fight-or-flight was back in full force. It was taking a great amount of her willpower to remain still.

 

What she really wanted to do was grab Ron or Harry by the collar (preferably Ron--he had more experience with relationships than the possibly-more-clueless-than-Hermione Harry), drag him into the hallway, and tell him, "I have the strong urge to seek out our Potions professor and give him a hug--please help me understand this." Of course, she doubted that would be a helpful action in the least.

 

Maybe if she went out into the Forbidden Forest, dug a hole, and hid in it, everything would resolve itself.

 

On second thought, that was probably slightly worse than her first impulse. Severus had a nasty habit of saving people--it was quite possible that he would track her down and rescue her. Actually, it was that trait that was one of the reasons she rather suspected that beneath the antisocial cynic lurked a decent fellow.

 

And his eyes, she considered absently. His eyes often betrayed whatever emotion he was trying to suppress with smirks and sarcasm. Do you like it? Vulnerable, dangerous eyes.

 

Hermione sighed. There was no way around it now. She was definitely...conflicted concerning Severus. Unwilling to settle on a single word to describe her emotions, she mentally flitted around the subject.

 

They had to discuss this. And soon; before she gave in to her instincts and holed herself up in the Hogsmeade bookshop, refusing to leave. This continual desire to disappear couldn't be a healthy emotional response to a simple compliment.

 

Just because Severus had gone insane didn't mean that she had to as well. Hermione resolved to set him straight that evening at their usual meeting time.

 

----------

 

Severus felt his left eyelid twitching. It was tempting to give into the blissful, mind-numbing rage and just go on a rampage, docking points and handing out detentions to any and everyone who crossed his path, but even he realized the flaws in that plan. Not even Severus could justify being that unfair.

 

His morning class hadn't even been that offensive. A female Ravenclaw had uncharacteristically concocted a brew that burned through the bottom of her cauldron and a large portion of the tabletop below, but otherwise the class had passed without incident. He had no real excuse for his fury.

 

Except for the obvious, of course. Misplaced frustration at rejection or some other such psycho-babble as he'd come across in the few Muggle psychology textbooks he'd read. And it was probably more confusion than frustration, besides.

 

There was nothing for it other than to just grit his teeth and wait for it to pass. And pass it would--Severus had become quite adept at dealing with his emotions through the years. He vigilantly avoided the fact that his idea of 'dealing with emotions' generally consisted of locking them in a mental box and tossing them down a mental well.

 

He couldn't bring himself to attend lunch. The possibility of seeing Hermione in the Great Hall and not being able to speak to her was unbearable and so it was best sidestepped. Instead, Severus settled for stalking up and down the hallways in the dungeons, mentally seething and trying not to set anything on fire for sheer spite.

 

A movement down the corridor caught his eye, however, distracting him from his musings. Curious, Severus crept down the hall as quietly as he could--the dungeons were generally deserted at this time of the day.

 

He was torn between further anger and a odd feeling of delight as the torchlight flashed off blond hair and an aristocratic shadow flickered on the stone floor.

 

Draco Malfoy.

 

In the dungeons when he should be sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.

 

The boy was holding something in his hand that Severus couldn't quite see. Too small and round to be a wand, but he wasn't close enough to further discern anything. Severus decided to interrupt Malfoy's plans. "Mr. Malfoy," he said in his best drawl, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder.

 

Malfoy jumped under Severus' hand. "Professor, sir," he said, spinning around. There was a slight smile on his face.

 

But Severus did not permit himself to be drawn. If Malfoy wasn't bright enough to realize after more than two months that he was no longer Slytherin's Golden Child, it was not Severus' problem. "What, may I ask, are you doing here, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked sharply.

 

His left hand slid deftly into his robe sleeve. "I was...looking for you, actually, sir," Malfoy said blandly. He barely even hesitated.

 

"Really?" Severus asked, beginning to perversely enjoy himself. "Well, then, I would say that you could consider your goal accomplished. Why did you require my presence?"

 

"I wanted to clarify a few points on the essay you assigned last week on Veritaserum, Professor," Malfoy said, his own drawl very nearly equalling Severus'.

 

Well, Malfoy could think quickly on his feet; Severus would give him that, at least. "I fail to see what could require clarification, Mr. Malfoy. Six feet on the topic of your choice involving Veritaserum."

 

"My apologies, sir. I had forgotten the length requirement," Malfoy said smoothly. His hand was still out of Severus' line of sight.

 

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Forty points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. I am not entirely certain what you're up to, but it can't be good or you wouldn't be standing before me lying through your teeth."

 

Malfoy's jaw dropped and Severus smiled grimly. "But, sir! You can't...I mean...I wasn't..."

 

"What, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked. "Do you want to explain to me exactly what you're doing in the dungeons when you should be at lunch? Or maybe you'd like to show me what you're holding in your left hand that you're so reluctant to show?" Swiftly, Severus went in for the kill. "Or perhaps, Mr. Malfoy, you would prefer the more prosaic approach and tell me how you could be so dense as to forget an essay length that I've required every single week since September."

 

"I--no, sir," Malfoy conceded. Slightly flushed, he all but ran up the nearby staircase.

 

Severus' smile widened. He was beginning to feel much better.

 

----------

 

Despite her earlier resolve, Hermione found her mind wandering yet again as she sat alone at the lunch table. She'd managed to successfully escape notice in both of her morning classes. Aside from a few curious glances from Harry, she went unquestioned.

 

Hermione toyed with the idea of pulling out the current manuscript she was translating (an eighth century monk with an unhealthy alchemy fixation--at least it was mostly Latin) but eventually discarded it. If she couldn't even concentrate hard enough to pay attention for more than thirty seconds in classes, there was no hope for serious academic work. Not today, at any rate. It was difficult enough just to maintain control over her boiling emotions, currently varying between terror and confusion. She was certain she'd work herself into hysterics before she saw the end of it.

 

“Hey, love,” Ron said, interrupting her reverie as he slid into the empty seat beside her at the lunch table. “Is there anything good today?”

 

“Huh?” she grunted, completely disconcerted.

 

“Food,” he said. “You know, the whole reason for lunch?”

 

“Don’t know,” she replied absently. “Haven’t eaten lunch.”

 

“Then what are you doing with a plate half full of food, Hermione?” he asked pointedly.

 

Feeling quite stupid, Hermione glanced down at her plate. Apparently she’d been so distracted she hadn’t actually noticed what she was eating. Or that she was eating, in fact. “Oh,” she said, shamefaced. “Sorry about that. Been busy lately.”

 

Ron studied her more closely and suddenly grinned widely. “Why, Hermione Granger, I do believe that you’ve finally taken my advice!” he cried.

 

Startled, she stared at him with confusion. “What?” My, she was eloquent today.

 

“You’ve found yourself a man!” Ron said happily. “Or is it a woman?”

 

“Ron!” she nearly shouted, shocked.

 

“Must be a man, then,” he said matter-of-factly, piling some sort of nondescript meat on his plate. “You’re not nearly indignant enough for it to be a woman.”

 

“How do you know?” she retorted, ire rising.

 

Ron’s grin widened. “I know you very well, Hermione. And I know you think I’m just dim old Ron, here for a good laugh, but I pay more attention to things than you think. First point: Miss Granger has spent more than two-thirds of her evenings away from the Common Room this year and not even she can study quite that much. Second point: Miss Granger has also spent a fair number of classes staring vacantly either at her desk or out the window, mostly ignoring her professors--an action more usually attributed to our fair Miss Brown, when she's on again with Finch-Fletchley, of course. Third point--“

 

“Okay, okay,” Hermione interrupted hastily. “I get the idea. Ron’s not as unobservant as we’ve thought.”

 

“So who is he?” Ron asked after a short pause, stuffing half of a dinner roll in his mouth.

 

She stiffened. She would tell Ron anything in the world. Except that. “None of your business,” she said.

 

“Ooh...” he replied. “Must not be some nice, smart little boy you ran into in the library, then.”

 

“Ro-on,” she cried, exasperated.

 

“Fine, fine,” he said, finishing off the roll. “You don’t want to tell me. I suppose that means you don't want to tell me who's been sending you money either.”

 

Hermione was momentarily confused. "What?"

 

"This morning? Breakfast? You hared out and ran off at the sight of ten Galleons in an envelope? Is any of this ringing a bell, love?" Ron shook his head and refilled his goblet.

 

"Oh, yes," she replied, recollecting the events in question. "I won a very important bet, is all. That's nothing to do with...him. Well, not exactly," she clarified.

 

He grinned and began digging around in his pockets. "Well, you're lucky that I'm such a nice fellow. I considered keeping your Galleons, but as you won it fair and square, that would be rather cruel of me. Aha!" he cried, pulling the crumpled envelope out of his pocket and dropping it beside her plate. "Although, you've got to promise me you won't go batty at the sight of it again. It's only ten Galleons, after all."

 

"It wasn't the money, you twit," she said tiredly, stuffing the packet into her robe pocket. "As you very well know, I'm sure."

 

"Well, I'd hoped," he replied with a cheeky grin. "But you never know..."

 

Hermione sighed and pushed some food around on her plate idly with her fork. "Ron, sometimes I'd really like to hurt you."

 

“Oh, come off it, Hermione,” he said. "We both know that you can never stay angry at me."

 

"Though not from lack of trying."

 

Their banter continued, but Hermione's heart wasn't in it. She was already pondering what was to happen that evening. What would Severus say? For that matter, what would she say?

 

----------

 

Severus tried not to stare at the clock as he paced. Seven fifty-two. Hermione usually came to his office around eight. Either that or the laboratory, depending on what sorts of experiments they were running. He wondered if she would turn up tonight and if she did, what he would say to her. Desperately attempting not to fidget, Severus seated himself firmly in the armchair beside the merrily crackling fireplace.

 

His anger was completely spent. And it had been mostly self-directed, besides. Replacing it was a nervous, twisting sensation in his gut not unlike nausea. As the clock hands moved closer to eight PM, the feeling only intensified.

 

At seven fifty-eight exactly, there was a soft little knock on his office door and Severus felt whatever it was in his stomach explode into full-blown anxiety. His hands started to tremble with repressed emotion. He cleared his throat. "Come," he said as evenly as he could.

 

Sure enough, Hermione poked her head through the doorway. She looked nearly as nervous as he felt, but there was a sadness in her eyes that sent his heart even lower. “I’m not,” she said emphatically and without preamble.

 

He cocked his head, absolutely baffled at her cryptic comment. “What do you mean?”

 

Her hands dropped to her sides in tight fists and she looked practically miserable. Quite possibly, she hadn't intended to say that out loud. “I said I’m not beautiful. I’m not even pretty,” she said in a near-whisper.

 

So that's what she was talking about. Severus wanted to fling himself at her feet and take her hands in his, apologizing profusely for upsetting her so. As it was, he just fidgeted nervously where he stood. “You’re beautiful to me, then,” he insisted, hoping it was the right thing to say and that she wouldn’t hit him.

 

“But why?” she wailed. “My hair is frizzy and I’m not skinny and I’m just plain and mousy!”

 

“And you’re brilliant and you’re kind and your eyes dance when you smile and you light up when you work a problem correctly and you don’t mind the sight of blood,” and I’ve fallen in love with you, he almost said but managed to bite that off at the last second. “Hermione...”

 

Her eyes were luminous and wet-rimmed. “No one’s ever said anything like that to me before,” she confessed, a single tear falling down her cheek.

 

“Oh, don’t cry!” he said, finally standing and coming close enough to her to touch her. He put a hand on her arm as tenderly as he was capable of.

 

Apparently that was her undoing. She burst into loud, wracking tears.

 

Unthinkingly, unhesitatingly, Severus pulled her into his arms and made soothing noises in her ear, dimly recollecting a dark night when he comforted the same sobbing girl. For a completely different reason, of course.

 

She pulled away slightly to look at him. Severus barely even noticed her red-tipped nose and flushed cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “You must think I’m horrible.”

 

“Never,” Severus said, tucking some of her hair out of the way.

 

“You just said the most wonderful thing to me that anyone’s ever said and I go into hysterics,” she said, swiping at her nose and laughing a bit. “I just knew I wasn’t any good at this.”

 

“Any good at what?” he asked, baffled.

 

She waved a hand in the air. “You know. This. You and me...relationship kind of stuff.”

 

He finally released her. “Oh,” he said after a pause. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think I am either. Apparently I make women cry with my attentions. Lucius Malfoy did always say I was the worst-looking fellow he’d ever run across.” He tried to smile at her.

 

Severus’ attempt at a joke fell flat. Her eyes rounded again and for one awful moment he thought she was going to start crying once more. “Oh, Severus, don’t say things like that. It's not you. It's just...well, I've had the whole day to work myself into a fit,” she said with a self-deprecating smile.

 

He shrugged. “I am aware that I am not an attractive man,” Severus said in a low tone. “Although,” he continued thoughtfully, “I don’t think I am ugly exactly.”

 

“You have the most intense eyes I’ve ever seen,” she said absently, dream-like. Her cheeks were instantly spread in a deep blush as she realized what she’d said.

 

“So I’m not allowed to tell you how I see you, but you can?” he asked her with a smirk.

 

She laughed shortly. “I’m not the one living in a fantasy world, Severus.”

 

“I have no idea where you received the impression that you are plain, as you say,” he told her, “but I plan to correct it. And,” he added as an afterthought, “you may also feel free to tell me how wonderful my eyes are at every given opportunity.”

 

Hermione giggled again. “May I also pay you other compliments?” she asked sweetly.

 

“I find I am quite at leisure this evening,” he said with a slight smile, perching himself on a corner of his desk.

 

“You’re one of the best men I know, Severus,” she said earnestly.

 

Incredulous, Severus snorted. “Now who’s living in a fantasy world? Do not get the impression that I am a nice fellow, Hermione.”

 

She shook her head. “No, you’re not very nice. I will concede that. But you are a good fellow. Despite your protestations.” She continued to give him that same earnest look.

 

“Well,” Severus said after a moment, “at least we’re both delusional.”

 

Hermione cocked her head, gazing at him in silence, lovely in her awkwardness. “So this...this...” She waved her hand at him. “Between us...is...”

 

Severus nodded, feeling awkward himself. “I think so. I have little experience in such matters.”

 

“Really?” she asked artlessly.

 

“Hermione, really,” he said, exasperated. “I am a teacher of children who dislikes people so intensely that I actively avoid talking to my co-workers in the halls and at meals who also, incidentally, owes a life debt to the headmaster of this school for sheltering me after I betrayed the most evil wizard alive. Do you really think that somewhere in the interim I had torrid affairs with numerous women, or men, as the case were?”

 

There went the big, round eyes again. “I just...I didn’t know what to think,” she admitted.

 

“And how about you, then? You’re a nubile young woman surrounded day after day by hormonal teenaged apes. I would think you would be overflowing with offers.” He folded his hands behind his head and gazed at her steadfastly.

 

She looked down at her feet. “I’ve never actually...I mean, during my fourth year there was the, ahem, incident with Viktor, but...”

 

He smiled. “Ah, yes. Your Quidditch lug. You were gossip mill fodder for quite a while, weren’t you?”

 

Blushing again, she met his gaze. “I’ve never even been kissed,” she confessed, looking vaguely ill.

 

His stomach gave a sickening lurch. “Would it make you feel better if I told you that I hadn’t either?” he asked quietly.

 

Her eyes narrowed. “I’d call you a liar.”

 

Severus shook his head. “I’ll take Veritaserum. Cloistered academic Death Eater’s honor,” he said, holding up his right hand.

 

Hermione breathed in sharply, although whether at his confession or his final remark, he did not know. "We're still going to fight," she eventually said.

 

"Probably," he conceded. "And we'll have misunderstandings. And we'll probably continue to not be 'any good' at...this."

 

She nodded. “Severus, I think I’m going to kiss you now,” she said softly, an uneasy look on her face.

 

He swallowed once, going still. “Really?”

 

“Uh-huh.” Nodding, Hermione moved so close to him that he could smell the shampoo she used.

 

Hang the shampoo, Severus thought as she sweetly pressed her lips to his.

 

It was awkward, just as the entire encounter had been. Their noses bumped and he noted that her lips were slightly chapped.

 

It was perfect.

 

Severus wrapped his arms around her almost as if she would break if he held her more tightly and pulled her closer.

 

Perfect.

 

 

 

Chapter Ten

            Romancing the mundane---

 

 

Severus sat at the breakfast table as impassively as he was able. He'd had a perfect moment last night and not even Dumbledore himself was going to ruin that. He could survive indefinitely on that one memory. Although, if he was honest with himself, he would rather not have to.

 

Of course, right on the heels of their perfect moment came the realization that he and Hermione were either the most boring people in the universe or the most obsessive. They'd turned to work last night after all--Hermione pouring over her monk's thesis as Severus finished grading the third-years' essays. He hated to take an entire night away from their research but he'd been putting off those essays for more than a week.

 

Of course, Hermione had given him another sweet little kiss as she'd departed that night--that was certainly new and most definitely welcome.

 

Pouring himself another cup of tea, Severus stirred it thoughtfully, not noticing as Minerva McGonagall seated herself on his immediate right. "Good morning, Severus," she said drowsily, stifling a yawn.

 

"Good morning, Minerva," he dutifully replied, sipping at his scalding tea.

 

She regarded him with raised eyebrows. "Great Merlin, Severus, you sound very nearly chipper today. Did you poison a small child or something?"

 

Giving her a withering gaze, Severus took another sip of tea. "Hardly."

 

"Because I do believe Albus would dismiss you over that," she continued blithely.

 

"In fact, Minerva, I seem to recall Albus mentioning that as he offered me the job. It may even be in my contract somewhere," he said with a smirk, flipping a lock of hair out of his eyes.

 

Her eyes widened nearly imperceptibly.

 

Severus sighed. "Minerva, I believe that every single one of my pithy remarks are quite lost on you."

 

"Pithy, eh?"

 

"Gryffindors have absolutely no sense of irony," Severus said with another long-suffering sigh.

 

"You are in a good mood today, aren't you?" McGonagall said by way of reply, finally pouring her own tea.

 

Choosing not to respond, Severus buried his nose in his teacup once more. They remained blissfully silent for nearly ten minutes. But the peace was interrupted as someone seated himself at Severus' left elbow. "Ah, Good morning, Severus. Minerva," Albus Dumbledore said with a pleasant nod.

 

"Morning, Albus," McGonagall replied. Severus just grunted.

 

"And I see that Severus is his usual sociable self," Dumbledore continued mildly, helping himself to tea and toast.

 

Scowling, Severus regarded the dregs of his tea with intense interest. "Actually, Albus, I am simply unwilling to allow you to spoil my rather pleasant morning."

 

Dumbledore blinked, hand outstretched toward the butter dish. "Spoil?" he echoed.

 

"You know what I mean, you wretched old goat," Severus grumbled. "Prodding and poking your nose in where it's best left out. Meddling. The last time I actually permitted myself to 'chat' with you, I wound up being talked into dueling that ridiculous Lockheart in front of most of the student body. You're not going to saddle me with your dirty work today just because I happen to be currently content with my lot in life."

 

"That's hardly fair, Severus," he chided, spooning raspberry jam on his now buttered toast. "Although now that you mention it, we need to start doubling the patrol numbers and I need someone for this evening around ten." Somehow Dumbledore made the drippy piece of toast disappear into his mouth without getting a drop of the mess on his beard.

 

The scowl deepened. "Albus, you've illustrated my point perfectly. No."

 

"Just for five hours or so," he continued as if Severus hadn't spoken.

 

"No. I have alternate plans." To drive the point home, Severus crossed his arms over his chest and stared Dumbledore meaningfully.

 

McGonagall was amazed. "Alternate plans? Great Merlin, you must be absolutely swamped with marking if you're turning down the chance to put it off."

 

Severus remained silent. Let them think what they would.

 

"Although," McGonagall said thoughtfully, answering her own unspoken question, "as I've heard from my students, you've been assigning your seventh years weekly essays and your fifth years not too far off from that, so I shouldn't be surprised. You reap what you sow, Severus."

 

"If I recall my seventh year as a Transfigurations student correctly, you assigned biweekly fifteen foot essays, Minerva," he replied dryly. "Is that still the case? My, you must have a fair amount of marking yourself."

 

Frowning, McGonagall fell silent and Severus gave himself a mental point in his running tally. She couldn't reply to that without falling to petty insults. Good.

 

"Well, then," Dumbledore said into the resultant quiet, "if I can't find someone to patrol, I suppose I'll have to do it myself." He began preparing another piece of toast.

 

"Reverse psychology will get you nowhere, Albus," Severus snapped. His eyes widened as he watched Dumbledore continue his breakfast. "Are you putting bacon on that?" he asked incredulously.

 

"What?" Dumbledore looked down at his horrific sandwich innocently. Bacon, butter, clotted cream, and raspberry jam between two slices of toast. "I've found it to be an appealing combination."

 

Looking at the headmaster's breakfast plate, McGonagall's face was contorted with disgust. "Your cholesterol must be astronomical," Severus commented dryly.

 

"At a fairly robust one-hundred-forty-six, I prefer to simply enjoy my life and ignore its trappings," he replied mildly, taking a rather large bite of his sandwich and again somehow managing to keep his beard clean.

 

Her nose wrinkling as he continued to eat, McGonagall pushed her plate to one side. "I think I'm finished. Good day, gentlemen." With that parting note, she pushed her chair back and fled from the table with nary a backward glance.

 

"You'd serve rare steak to a vegetarian, wouldn't you?" Severus asked Dumbledore.

 

"I've always found Minerva and her dry toast rather amusing," Dumbledore admitted. "But really, this is quite tasty--you should try it some time."

 

He held up a single hand in protest. "No thank you, Albus. I believe I'll let you keep such delicacies to yourself. Is there any more tea?"

 

"Certainly." Dumbledore passed over the pot and watched intently as Severus poured himself another cup. "Severus, are you sure I can't convince you about tonight?"

 

With a sigh, Severus stirred his tea. "As I've said before, Albus, I have a previous commitment. And besides, isn't five hours a bit...excessive? Patrols are normally in two hour shifts."

 

"There are considerable concerns about Voldemort himself trying to enter Hogwarts," Dumbledore replied gravely. "It is, after all--"

 

"Yes, yes, Harry Potter's seventh year. The Day of Reckoning approaches and whatnot," Severus said in a bored tone. "But I seriously doubt Voldemort would try to breach Hogwarts himself. It is more likely that he would send people in to take Potter out."

 

Dumbledore finally shoved his plate away and Severus rolled his eyes a bit in relief. The headmaster folded his hands under his chin and regarded him carefully. "His earlier attempt this year was, if I recall, foiled and Voldemort may be many things, but stupid is not one of them. No...he will have something else up his sleeve."

 

"He's also prideful," Severus argued. "He has come to believe in his own invincibility."

 

"True," he agreed. "And that can only be to young Harry's advantage."

 

Severus frowned. "You're really placing all of your hopes on the shoulders of a child, aren't you? You haven't even tried to deal with You-Know-Who offensively." He almost felt sorry for Potter. Almost.

 

"It has been prophesied," Dumbledore said solemnly. "And besides, you know as well as I do that our offensive tactics during Voldemort's first uprising only left us with more casualties." He sipped serenely at his tea.

 

Shrugging, Severus decided to remain silent. This was not a debate he could win and, truth be told, it was not really a debate he wanted to win. It was cruel and it was manipulative, but in many ways, Dumbledore was right. The battle between Potter and Voldemort was a matter of prophecy. But it felt wrong to abandon a seventeen-year-old boy to such a fate, all personal feelings aside. "I think, Albus," he finally said, "that I'm going to take my leave on that lovely note. My students have, after all, proven to be incapable of teaching themselves. Good day."

 

"Heavens, an almost pleasant dismissal from Severus Snape," Dumbledore replied, uncharacteristically sarcastic. "I must note this in my diary."

 

"You're an evil old man who I hope burns in hell," he said with a smirk, chair scraping against the flagstones as he stood. "Does that make you feel better, Albus?"

 

"Oddly, yes."

 

----------

 

Hermione regarded herself critically in the mirror, trying to see if anything had changed drastically. Nope...the same average face that she'd been accustomed to her entire life stared back at her. Aside from the secretive smile, nothing was new. If anything, her hair was a bit more frizzy today and she spied a darkening mark on her chin that looked suspiciously like a developing pimple.

 

Poking a bit at said spot, Hermione hoped maybe it would fade away instead--she had been uncharacteristically lucky as of late. Although she still wondered what it was Severus saw in her that she didn't. Somehow it mattered less today than it did yesterday.

 

And she'd kissed him not once but twice, and he hadn't run off or laughed at her or anything. Who would have thought she could feel this way about Severus, of all people? Warm and cold at the same time and trembly on top of it.

 

If she gave it much thought, Hermione knew she was in a fair way of falling in love with Severus Snape and the more she considered it, the happier it made her. He was cynical and intelligent and hawkish.

 

And somehow he was her perfect match and she was already having a hard time picturing her existence without him in it. Hermione wondered vaguely how he felt about the situation, but she knew she would never be brave enough to actually ask him.

 

Hermione snorted a bit, turning away from her reflection and gathering her papers in preparation for her nightly meeting in Severus' office. One night, two kisses and she was already acting like a lovesick fool, like one of those soppy girls from the romance novels routinely making the rounds among the majority of the female population of Gryffindor Tower (and not a few boys, although they would rather have died than admit it).

 

Trying to picture her situation in that light, Hermione chuckled to herself at the thought. Not-Beauty and her Not-Beast. Hermione, Plain and Of Average Height.

 

Ordinary people made poor fairy tales. Well, poor titles at the very least.

 

But she didn’t mind. She didn’t need a fairy tale. Fairy tales were for ‘chosen’ people like Harry Potter and ‘pretty’ people like Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley. If pressed, she would confess that she didn’t even want a fairy tale. They were often messy and filled with an angst that the happy endings generally didn’t compensate for.

 

She walked down to the dungeons in a dreamy sort of state. Hermione caught herself with a start--she was mooning and that wouldn't do at all. An odd sort of thrill went through her as she saw the light shining from under Severus' office door; she quashed it brutally and gave the door three smart taps.

 

"Enter," came Severus' muffled call.

 

He was sitting behind his desk, writing on something that looked suspiciously like one of the seventh year essays he'd asked for two weeks ago. It took him a few moments to glance up at her.

 

"You're late," he said with a brief smile. "I ought to take points."

 

"Go right ahead," Hermione replied lightly, perching herself on one desk edge and letting her feet dangle. "I know I need at least a dozen new blood samples for this coming week, since we've had such a promising breakthrough. I even brought some syringes with me." She gave him a bright smile.

 

Laying down his quill and rolling the parchment he'd been writing on back up, Severus gave her a long-suffering look. "Take your own, then," he said. "I've made my contribution to the cause. Anyway, I thought you wanted to continue Josephus tonight."

 

"Oh, I finished him up at lunch today," she said, fishing through her stack of papers to come up with the appropriate pages. "He was mostly useless--more about his 'holy visions' than anything else. Although I now feel properly enlightened about the exact size of the archangel Michael's spear--he wrote at least two thousand words on that alone. Would you care to read it? Although, I confess my notes are rather poor."

 

"And make copious use of words such as 'rubbish' and 'moronic,' I see," Severus said dryly, flicking through her parchment. "It's nice to see such unbiased research."

 

She wrinkled her nose at him. "This from a man who openly refers to his students as 'dunderheads' and 'bunglers?'"

 

"I was thinking," Severus said, ignoring her and changing the subject completely. "I seem to recall a medieval transcript of old Claudius Iustus'⁽¹⁾ research notes in the Restricted Section. It might be of some use--he was rather interested in entrapment charms. A bit like your Delacroix, I would imagine."

 

Intrigued, Hermione leaned closer. "Claudius Iustus? That name is only vaguely familiar."

 

"Oh good," he replied dryly. "I do enjoy the opportunity to hold a bit of knowledge over your head." She looked at him for a few silent moments--finally, he relented. "Oh, all right. Iustus was an old Roman wizard--pre-Empire, if I recall. One of the worst Claudians, if the stories are to be believed. But he left a journal and it managed to survive through the years. I've never read it myself, but there are a few dozen copies still floating around and I dimly recollect Albus acquiring one some years ago. He likes to hoarde Dark manuscripts in Hogwarts so that they're fairly inaccessible; there are restricted parts of the Restricted Section, you know."

 

"Sounds promising," she said. "Although it doesn't sound like we could just walk up to the desk and ask Madam Pince for it."

 

Severus shook his head. "She wouldn't even hand it over to a professor without an excellent explanation, which I'm afraid we don't have."

 

"No, probably not," she agreed. "But I would like to have a look," she continued wistfully. "Perhaps we could...?"

 

Hermione almost believed the shock written on his face until she saw the twinkle in his eyes. "Why, Miss Granger, are you suggesting that we steal the manuscript?" he asked playfully.

 

"I would prefer the word 'borrow,'" she replied with a grin. "But in essence, yes. We've 'borrowed' practically everything else we're using in our research--what's a scroll or two of parchment, all things considered?"

 

"You're becoming a regular little larcenist," Severus said fondly, chuckling. "Shall we?"

 

On impulse, Hermione placed her hand in his outstretched fingers instead of merely following him. Severus said nothing about it, but his hand closed firmly around hers and he placed a quick Concealment Charm over them both.

 

"I don't happen to own an Invisibility Cloak," he answered to her questioning look. "And it would have been a tight fit between us in any case. This is easier."

 

And he did not let go of her hand.

 

Curfew had passed--it was barely nine o'clock--and the corridors were eerily deserted. Soon enough, they were standing in front of the closed library doors, having encountered no one on their path. Slowly, quietly, Severus pushed one of the doors open, slipping hastily through it and pulling Hermione behind him. As soon as the door clicked shut once more, Hermione let out a deep breath and Severus dropped their Concealment Charms with a single word.

 

"Where would it be?" she asked.

 

"Most of those documents are kept in a warded room behind the Restricted Section. Most students don't even know it's back there," he replied. "Fortunately, Albus gave out the newest passwords at our last faculty meeting. It won't be difficult to get in. It will, however, probably be difficult to find the actual manuscript--Madam Pince doesn't handle the cataloging back there."

 

They crept through the library as if someone was watching their every move, despite the fact that both Hermione and Severus knew very well they were completely alone. Severus stopped in front of a blank part of wall in the Restricted Section. Apparently, this was it.

 

"I love fluffy, fuzzy bunnies," he said reluctantly. "What?" he asked a shocked Hermione, feigning innocence. "It's not something someone would idly say as they were walking through this part of the library. Besides, Albus sets the password."

 

"That might have been the most disturbing thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth," she told him seriously. "But I don't think it was the passcode."

 

He regarded her with curiosity. "The door's open, isn't it?"

 

Looking closely at the wall, Hermione frowned. "It's just a blank wall, Severus."

 

To her surprise, he laughed, letting go of her hand. "I forget sometimes that I generally don't give Albus nearly the credit he deserves," he explained. "Only professors can see the entrance. I assure you, it's wide open. Walk through it if you don't believe me."

 

With a raised eyebrow, Hermione took a cautious step forward. "I don't like this," she said. Another step and she was near enough to reach a hand out and poke at the firm stones. They were cool beneath her fingers. "Severus," she exclaimed, exasperated. "What are you playing at? This is just a wall."

 

Severus looked surprised at her statement. "Hermione, I promise...look..." He approached the wall himself, stretching a hand toward the stones and then casually through them--her mouth fell open. "Perhaps the wards are permanent for students," he said thoughtfully. "I guess I've got to go in alone."

 

"Maybe," she agreed faintly, disconcerted by the sight of Severus' hand halfway into the solid wall.

 

With an apologetic look, Severus slipped through the wall entirely--Hermione shuddered but didn't think he noticed. "Can you hear me, Hermione?" he asked, muffled.

 

"More or less," she replied, pressing her ear against the rock.

 

"It looks strange to see you with your ear against open air," he commented. "But I suppose--damn!" There was a loud thud.

 

Startled, Hermione stepped away from the apparent entrance a bit. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

 

"I'm fine," Severus replied, sounding rather petulant. "I just knocked a rather dense looking book off the top of its pile. This may take a while."

 

"We've got all night," she said with a grin. "Knock over as many books as you'd like."

 

She heard his responding growl but he chose to otherwise remain silent. It was frustrating, not being able to see what he was doing. Not that Hermione thought she would be particularly helpful in his search, but every little noise coming from behind the wall startled her, not to mention the fact that standing in the middle of the library, talking to an empty wall made her feel rather stupid.

 

The loud ticking from the large clock at the front of the library was oppressive to Hermione--time seemed to be slowing to a crawl as she waited for Severus to finish his explorations. Eyes surveying the room nervously, she was halfway expecting a dozen professors to come careening around all of the corners at any time, armed with detentions and expulsion threats. She was certain Dumbledore did not make idle warnings; he'd put her on probation nearly three months ago and would not look upon any infraction of the rules lightly.

 

"Have you found it yet?" she found herself asking the wall tightly.

 

"Nothing's organized in here, you know," was the irritable reply. "And even if it was, I don't remember the title."

 

She grit her teeth. "Just...hurry up," she said. "I'm getting nervous out here, Severus."

 

"Put your Concealment Charm back on, then, if it bothers you," he said absently.

 

Feeling foolish for not considering the option herself, Hermione pointed her wand at her throat, muttering the words and feeling a rush of relief as she faded from any potential observer's notice. She also noticed with a smile that the rustlings behind the wall increased; Severus must have taken her at her word.

 

Fifteen minutes stretched into twenty and were rapidly approaching thirty. Hermione sighed. "How large can that room be?" she muttered, more to herself than the wall.

 

Not five minutes later, there was a muffled shout emanating from the stones. Her ears pricked. "Did you find it?" she asked excitedly.

 

"Found it!" Severus crowed. Soon, his head poked through the wall, followed rapidly by the rest of his body. He waved his wand at the door Hermione could not see, ostensibly closing it. His other hand held a crumbling leather-bound book, curled protectively into his side.

 

"Great," she breathed. "Let's get out of here."

 

They walked quickly to the library entrance, so intent on their escape that it took both of them rather by surprise when the door swung open before Severus could put his hand on the knob, Professor Flitwick giving him a startled look. "Severus?" he asked, amazed.

 

Clearing his throat, he deftly flipped the book over in his grip, hiding the title from Flitwick's eyes. "Good evening," he replied smoothly, but Hermione could see the anxiety in his gaze.

 

"What on Earth are you doing here so late? It's nearly ten-thirty."

 

Severus glanced quickly at Hermione, and she realized that Flitwick couldn't see her--she was still under her Concealment Charm. "I needed a book for my research," he told the still-rabbity Flitwick. "Nothing to bother with."

 

"Oh." But Flitwick didn't sound particularly convinced. "Well, good night, then," he said doubtfully.

 

"Good night," Severus said, striding through the open door. Hermione followed swiftly, tugging at his robe once she was through.

 

As soon as she was certain Flitwick was out of earshot, she let out a sharp breath. "That was close," she whispered.

 

"Thankfully not close enough," Severus said in response.

 

Silent and still wary, they walked briskly back to Severus' office, Hermione staying under her Charm. Once inside, she collapsed into one of his chairs, releasing the Charm with a wand flick. "May I see it?" she asked heavily.

 

"That would be the general idea," he said, passing the book over and taking the chair opposite hers, forgoing his desk for once.

 

"The Memoirs of Gaius Claudius Iustus," she read off the title page before riffling through the pages. The word 'sanguis' in its various cases jumped out at her many times--'blood,' good. "This might prove to be of interest."

 

"I caution you, though," Severus said, "Iustus was a wizard on the order of Delacroix. It probably will not be an entertaining read."

 

"Are you offering to translate?" she asked.

 

He grinned at her. "You're the one who's so interested in the original forms of blood magic. I'd rather be in the lab any day of the week."

 

Continuing to skim through the manuscript, Hermione permitted herself a smile at his words but refused to be drawn. "Wow...this fellow's mother was awfully optimistic when she named him, wasn't she? One of the worst Claudians, you say?" she asked, focusing on an especially graphic passage.

 

"We're probably fortunate that he did not come from a particularly magical line," he said. "Especially given where his descendants ended up politically."

 

"I should think so," she replied, still reading. "Good Lord, he was overly fond of hot knives, wasn't he?"

 

"Hermione, I could live without the details," Severus said with a grimace.

 

She sniffed a bit, biting back an acid retort. "Could you hand me my bag?" she asked instead. "I need some parchment if I'm to get started properly."

 

Passing over the requested item, Severus stood and stretched a bit. "You know, you can use my desk for that--I'm tired of cleaning up the ink you drip all over the upholstery."

 

"Thanks," Hermione said, dripping sarcasm. But she did gather her work and move over to the desk, immersing herself in the translation once more. It was grisly stuff, but much more helpful than any other work she'd previously studied--apparently Claudius Iustus was practically obsessed with blood and devoted a great deal of exclusive study to the subject. She was, in fact, surprised at the depth of his apparent knowledge and appalled at how he'd managed to acquire it. Iustus had seemingly preferred live subjects for study, using strategically placed Freezing and Petrifying Charms. Involuntarily, she shuddered at that image.

 

At some point during the course of the evening, Severus had seated himself at the desk as well, continuing to grade essays as she translated. Hermione barely noticed him until they'd bumped shoulders, but once she took note of him, she found herself comforted by his closeness.

 

Concentration momentarily broken, she studied the wood grain under the desk finish, tracing it from one edge to another and then back again. There was Severus' blotter, his extra quill...

 

Something was different, she noticed with a start. After nearly three months of working at this desk, she had a fairly clear mental image of it. "Didn't you have something else on your desk? A little round box of some sort?"

 

Looking up from the essay he was scribbling on, Severus frowned at the desktop. "My puzzle box," he answered. "It was a gift from my uncle on my ninth birthday. Damn thing took me nearly eight years to work out, but I've always rather fancied the design on the cover. The house elves probably moved it when they were cleaning and forgot to put it back. It will turn up sooner or later." He turned back to his marking in a clear dismissal of the subject and Hermione returned to her text with a small sigh.

 

And before she knew it, the clock chimed two in the morning. With a yawn, Hermione closed her book and blew on her newest sheet of parchment in an effort to dry the wet ink faster. "I ought to go," she said, yawning again.

 

Blinking, Severus pulled himself away from his work and looked up at her. "All right," he replied. "It is rather late, isn't it?"

 

"Yes, and my Potions professor frowns on drowsy students," she said with a smirk.

 

"He may be too drowsy himself to notice," Severus confessed, putting down his own quill. "At least, if he doesn't get to sleep as well."

 

"I'll take that under consideration," Hermione said lightly, shoving everything into her bag, shifting the contents to make the new book fit. Standing, she wondered what to do next.

 

Fortunately, Severus answered that question for her. Rising out of his seat as well, he gave her a hesitant kiss on the lips. "Good night, Hermione," he muttered as he pulled away, breath warm on her cheek.

 

She offered him a demure smile and raised her hand to gently touch his cheek in response. "Good night, Severus."

 

----------

 

Gaius Claudius Iustus was a seriously disturbed individual and there was no doubt about it, but his memoirs contained more information on blood magic than anything else Hermione had ever read. She was only a third of the way through his manuscript and she'd already nearly twice as many notes as she had for the entire Delacroix treatise. In fact, she was hard-pressed to focus on much of anything else these days. She attended class, ate her meals, and then went to Severus' office to keep translating.

 

So she wasn't entirely surprised when, a week after the foray into the restricted Restricted Section, Ron slid into the empty seat on her left ten minutes before Transfigurations was due to start and gave her a cheeky grin. "Been busy lately, have we?" he asked.

 

"None of your business," she retorted, poking her tongue out at him.

 

"Who is he?" he continued.

 

Giving him a pointed look, Hermione remained silent.

 

Ron wagged a finger at her. "You can't keep it quiet forever, Hermione. Sooner or later I'll figure it out."

 

I don't bloody think so, she thought with a grin.

 

"Terry Boot," he said in response to her smirk.

 

"Nope."

 

"Colin Creevey."

 

Surprised, Hermione's eyes flew wide open. "You're mad."

 

Undaunted, Ron persisted. "That Hufflepuff...oh, what's his name? Jonathan Cutrell."

 

"Ron! He's a third-year," she said, scandalized. "His voice hasn't even dropped yet."

 

He frowned. "Please don't tell me you're having a clandestine affair with Malfoy," he begged. "I don't think I could take that."

 

"Don't worry," she replied dryly. "You're quite safe from that."

 

"Oh, good," Ron said.

 

"So..." Hermione began, hoping to change the subject. "How's your...Lucia, is it?"

 

"It's Patricia, 'Mione, for the thousandth time, and she's not mine anymore. But don't think you get off that easy," he retorted.

 

"She broke up with you?"

 

Grinning again, Ron twirled his quill in the air. "For your information, it was mutual. We were moving in different directions. She was moving toward Blaise Zabini and I was moving toward Alex."

 

"Alex?" she echoed, momentarily confused.

 

"Alexandra," he corrected. "You'd like her, love. She's a Ravenclaw--wants to be a mediwitch when she leaves school. But back to your mystery lover..."

 

"Ron, leave it." With a glare, Hermione opened her Transfigurations textbook, hoping he would take the hint.

 

He pointed a finger at her. "For now," he said solemnly. "But I will figure this out eventually."

 

"Figure what out?" Harry asked as he sat down in the desk in front of Ron's, breathing heavily. He must have run from the Great Hall, Hermione reflected.

 

"Hermione's carrying on with someone right under our noses and she won't say who it is," he replied with a mock-pout.

 

Unable to contain herself, Hermione snapped her textbook shut. "It's not any of your business. Either of you!"

 

"I know how we can find out," Harry said, grinning madly. "'Course, I've got to talk to Neville first..."

 

Hermione snorted. "Tell you what, boys. If you can figure it out, I'll write your Potions essays for you until the NEWTs. All of them."

 

Ron and Harry exchanged a gleeful look. "Now we've got to," Harry cried.

 

 

 

Chapter Eleven

            Indeed there will be time---

 

 

Life continued, just as Hermione had suspected it would. Nights in the lab, wee morning hours translating, sniping and apologies. They'd even put together another paper and sent it off to Edoras at MRL, detailing their experimental findings. Their first collaboration was due out in less than two weeks, in the March edition.

 

Hermione found herself already nervous over its reception. While confident that their theories were indubitably correct, she knew that there would be inevitable backlash from the academic community over such new and groundbreaking ideas. It was asking for approaching the problem from a completely different mindset and that was difficult to ask of anyone, much less a group of wizards so convinced of their personal infallibility that it took them over one hundred fifty years to admit that the Muggles were correct and phlogiston did not, in fact, exist.

 

Maybe no one would send her a Howler. That was the best she could hope.

 

Therein laid the problem with research, she reflected inwardly. When you were in the middle of it, in love with your theory, the whole cosmos seemed to be in support of your ideas. But then you wrote the paper, sent it off, and the doubts started snowballing. Suddenly, you'd recall misplaced operators in equations, incorrect error margins, and a whole slew of other mistakes. What was, three months ago, the best idea in the world, suddenly became sheer lunacy. Actual publication only trebled those fears as the unanswerable questions and scathing rebuttals began arriving.

 

At the moment, Hermione could not envision a more hellacious emotional roller coaster. Except for, perhaps, love. Yes...that was definitely worse. Or better, depending on how she looked at it.

 

Worse were those horrible moments of uncertainty when she wasn't exactly sure what to do. The times when every slight movement Severus made grated on her nerves and made her want to scream. Or when the insults they always casually tossed at each other began to sound genuine instead of playful.

 

Fortunately, worse was at least equally balanced by better and quite possibly over-balanced. Their hesitant goodnight kiss had evolved into a little ritual at the end of every evening and when they were in Severus' office working instead of the laboratory, they generally found themselves side-by-side, shoulders barely touching in a camaraderie that Hermione would not have guessed them capable of six weeks ago.

 

And then, of course, there were the best times.

 

The first time she'd timidly tilted her head to rest against his thigh as she was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, reading. Severus, ensconced in one of the wing-backed chairs and reviewing his research notes, had given her a surprised look but said nothing. Scant minutes later, she felt a gentle hand in her hair, stroking lightly, and settled into him more firmly.

 

Sometimes, though, their best times were not nearly as picture perfect. Hermione had laughed out of sheer delight the first time Severus had randomly cornered her and kissed her until her toes curled. Misinterpreting her response, Severus spent more than half an hour stammering apologies through her continual reassurances that no, she wasn't laughing at him, she was laughing because of him. Fortunately, though, he'd finally relented and now Hermione suspected he continued to surprise her with kisses specifically in order to make her laugh.

 

But she shouldn't be thinking about such things right now. Now she was supposed to be thinking about research. With no small degree of effort, Hermione pulled her thoughts back to the matter at hand, trying to focus on the notes Severus was attempting to draw her attention to.

 

“I think that brings the number of ‘magic’ cells in the initial sample up to fifty-eight,” Severus said, tapping a notation on his parchment.

 

“Fifty-eight out of thousands,” she replied thoughtfully. “And you’re no Squib.”

 

“Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “I think.”

 

“That’s not what I mean, you idiotic ass, and you know it,” Hermione said with a sigh. “Just consider, we’ve only found fifty-eight cells out of, well, a whole damn lot, and you’re a pretty powerful wizard, as wizards go. What I’m trying to say is that it’s no small wonder it took us so long to find anything.”

 

“It feels like there’s magic everywhere, but in reality, there’s not,” Severus continued, completing the thought.

 

“Exactly. So imagine what a small, artificial concentration of those cells could do,” Hermione said.

 

He froze. “It could be as devastating as the Muggles’ nuclear weaponry.”

 

“At least,” she agreed, nodding. “So, how do you feel, Dr. Oppenheimer?”

 

Severus gave her a wicked grin she was coming to adore. “I wasn’t under the impression that I was in charge of the project, Hermione. I’m more of a worker bee.”

 

She snorted. “Worker bee, my ass.”

 

“Goodness, Miss Granger. We seem to be particularly profane this evening. Pray, do you kiss your mother with that mouth of yours?”

 

Hermione returned his grin. “No, I rather thought I’d kiss you.”

 

“Only thought?” Severus hummed, sidling closer to her stool.

 

“I didn’t want to presume...” she murmured as his lips grazed hers.

 

“Miss Granger, you may always presume in matters such as these,” he replied, kissing her again. “And no others,” he said once their lips parted.

 

Laughing, she pushed him away. “We should work,” she said.

 

“We should, shouldn’t we?” he asked, nodding.

 

“Of course,” she began, “we could always quit early...”

 

“We could,” he agreed. “But I’m sure you’ll change your mind if you find something interesting.”

 

“So would you,” Hermione replied shortly, turning back to her scope.

 

Severus sighed. “Back to work, then. Of course, I admit, I’m a bit curious to find some ‘magic’ cells in your blood samples. Make sure we’re all Gryffindor wizards and all.”

 

“You’re just afraid the Sorting Hat misplaced you when you were a boy and the headmaster will find out about it,” she retorted, adjusting the eyepiece so she could see the slide more clearly.

 

“You know, Hermione, you really are a brat sometimes,” he groused.

 

She fiddled minutely with the slide. “Ah, you know you love me anyway, Severus,” she said distractedly.

 

Hermione very nearly missed his whispered, “Indeed I do.” As it was, she reeled backward in her seat, forgetting she was perched on a backless stool, and promptly toppled to the floor, arms flailing wildly. Her head hit the stones with an audible crack.

 

Severus was beside her in an instant, warm hands on her cheeks, in her hair. She realized with a start that he was checking for blood. “Are you all right?” he asked.

 

“I will be eventually,” she muttered, dazed from both the fall and his admission. “And I think I’d like you to repeat what you said before.”

 

He looked uncomfortable. “I called you a brat.”

 

Hermione let her eyes slip shut. “No, Severus, after that. And right before I demonstrated that I am in great need of ‘Sitting On a Stool Properly’ lessons.”

 

“I believe that I told you that I love you,” he said quietly, evenly, hands stilling in her hair.

 

“That’s what I thought you said,” she replied just as quietly, opening her eyes again so that she could look into his. “And my proper response should be: I think I love you, too.”

 

Severus’ hands were gentle as they moved to her shoulders. “You think?” he prompted carefully.

 

Hermione shrugged a bit, wishing she were off the infernal floor. “I’ve never been in love before, Severus. I’m not entirely sure what it entails. Now, let me get up. These dratted stones are digging into my spine.”

 

“Do you think you’re concussed?” he asked, hovering nervously over her as she sat up and then stood up. “Should I take you to Poppy?”

 

“I’m fine,” she replied. “And I think I might want to discuss that ‘love’ thing a bit more. Perhaps our research can wait a little while.”

 

“I hope to Merlin that I don’t ever propose to you,” he said suddenly, startling her with the non-sequitur.

 

“What?” she asked, staggering a bit as she reached her feet.

 

Instantly his arms were around her waist, anchoring her firmly. “Well, think about it. I tell you you’re beautiful and you burst into raving hysterics. I tell you I love you and you nearly concuss yourself. I think if I ever proposed, something might happen that involved your gruesome demise.”

 

Hermione laughed, wincing a bit as it rattled around in her brain. “I’ll go ahead and start mentally preparing myself for that scenario, just in case.”

 

The arms tightened. “And you’re sure that--“

 

She interrupted him. “Severus, like I said, I’m fine. My name is Hermione Granger, Albus Dumbledore is the headmaster of Hogwarts, where I’m a seventh year student. I’m in Gryffindor House and you hate my best friends. See? No concussion.”

 

“I never said I hate your friends,” he replied uncomfortably. “Although I should admit that they aren’t anywhere near my list of favorite people.”

 

“If I understand you correctly, Severus, your list of favorite people might have two or three people on it. That is, if Dumbledore hasn’t mortally offended you on the day you’re composing said list,” she retorted.

 

“It should probably bother me that you didn’t make me angry when you said that just now,” Severus said, releasing his death grip on her torso.

 

She kissed his lips softly. “They do say love is blind, you know.”

 

----------

 

"All right," Ron cried as he emerged from the portrait hole. "It took us nearly a month, but Harry and I have a foolproof plan for determining one Miss Granger's secret love interest."

 

Hermione glanced up from her Charms essay. Oh well, she'd been looking for a distraction--this appeared to be promising. "Foolproof, eh?" she asked wryly.

 

Ron grinned. "I'm not going to reveal the full details of said plan until Harry gets here, so you can just sit on it, miss."

 

Rolling her eyes, she turned back to her work. If she finished this essay tonight, she could spend the entirety of tomorrow evening translating Iustus while Severus was on rounds.

 

Not ten minutes later, Harry came through the entrance himself, holding a thick sheaf of parchment and grinning as if he'd just won the Quidditch Cup singlehandedly. "Got it," he told Ron. "Although Neville says he's never speaking to us again."

 

"Aw, he always says that when we ask him for a favor," Ron replied with a flap of his hand.

 

"What did you two do to Neville this time?" Hermione asked exasperatedly, dropping her quill and turning in her chair to look disapprovingly at him. "He's a prefect, you know, and he won't hesitate to turn you in."

 

"It wasn't anything illegal," Harry said. "All we needed was a list of current Hogwarts students. But Neville had to do some fast talking to convince McGonagall that he needed it and it took us three weeks to even convince him to go to her in the first place."

 

She was drawing a blank. "How is a list of students going to help you?" she asked, baffled.

 

Ron's grin widened and he took the list from Harry. "That's the brilliance of our plan, love. We figure you'll be bound to react when you hear Mr. Wonderful's name. And besides...you never gave us a limited number of guesses when you promised to do our essays for us. We're taking full advantage."

 

Hermione bit back a laugh with considerable effort. This was either going to be hilarious or disastrous. Waving at two nearby empty chairs, she schooled her face into a nonchalant gaze. "Go right ahead."

 

Exchanging twin looks of glee, Ron and Harry seated themselves and began shuffling through parchment. "We'll go ahead and throw out the first through third years," Ron said. "We've already learned that Hermione doesn't fancy little boys."

 

She made a face at him but stayed silent.

 

"Wait, though," Harry said. "Maybe she just said that to throw us off the scent."

 

Ron squinted at Hermione, who was contriving to look very innocent. "Right," he said sternly. "We'll read off all the names."

 

Folding her arms over her chest, she tilted back in her chair, smiling serenely. "Go on with it, then."

 

"First years..." Harry read off of the top sheet. "Peter Alexander...no? Andrew Carson. Apollo Early. Apollo--what sort of name is Apollo?"

 

"Greek. Keep reading," she replied, tucking a loose bit of hair back behind one ear.

 

"I know it's Greek," he said, mocking her in a falsetto. "That's not what I meant and you know it. Fergus Marsden."

 

They went through the first four years of Hogwarts' male students quite quickly. Apparently Harry and Ron didn't really believe she'd go out with a 'little boy' either. But as the names began belonging to older students, they read more slowly, trying to gauge her reaction.

 

"This is stupid," Hermione finally said. "By now I've had time to steel myself against the name, anyway."

 

"Ooh...must be getting close, then," Ron said, tapping his parchment. "Sixth years, now. Colin Creevey--that would be a resounding no. Derek O'Leary? No, huh?"

 

Slowly, they read through the rest of their lists, Hermione laughing outright as Ron painfully suggested Crabbe (he skipped over Goyle, probably afraid of her reaction). "This is impossible," Harry exclaimed. "We've said the name of every guy here and she didn't even flutter an eyelid."

 

"That leaves us with only two possibilities," Ron announced, dropping his list and regarding Hermione carefully. "Either one, our Hermione has vastly improved her powers of deception as of late and is successfully fooling us or two..." he trailed off dramatically.

 

Even Hermione was curious to hear what he'd managed to come up with. "What?"

 

"It's an older guy," he said in a hushed voice.

 

Willing herself to sit still and not blink, Hermione cocked her head at him. "What makes you say that?" she asked slowly, steadily. I will not panic, she told herself.

 

Ron grinned. "Someone you met in Hogsmeade, eh? Don't worry...we won't tell. Did he go to Hogwarts? Would we know him?"

 

She let out the breath she'd been holding in with a whooshing sigh. "Ro-on!" she cried, more relieved than exasperated.

 

Frowning, he leaned in closely and squinted at her. "But I know you, Hermione. Unless we've got a name, you won't give us the bet. And I don't fancy reading out the entire list of men that have ever attended Hogwarts."

 

"I think you could safely disregard the dead ones," she said dryly, grateful that he was veering even further off-course.

 

He looked over at Harry. "So we've got to come up with a name," he said heavily.

 

Harry grinned secretively. "Oh, I know how to do that."

 

"Harry, your last plan failed miserably," Ron told him with a smirk.

 

"It did not," he retorted, indignant. "We found out it's someone in Hogsmeade, didn't we?"

 

"Actually, she never confirmed that," Ron said thoughtfully, looking over at a carefully blank Hermione. "And besides, she still could be lying about it not being a student."

 

Smugly, Harry's grin widened. "Doesn't matter. My plan will work in any case."

 

Confusion was apparent on Ron's face, but then Harry mouthed something to his friend that Hermione didn't catch, and he relaxed. "Oh," Ron said knowingly.

 

Looking back and forth between the boys, Hermione's mind worked furiously. What were they up to now? Something that would tell them who it was without her input? How could they possibly...

 

And she had it. The Marauder's Map.

 

Instantly, Hermione was furious. Teasing her was one thing; invading her privacy was quite another. "If either of you think about using Harry's map to track me, I swear I'll...I'll turn you in to Filch!" she said in a low, angry voice.

 

Harry looked stunned, but Ron was attempting to appear innocent. "Hermione," he began placatingly, "we would never--"

 

"Did you or did you not just mouth the word 'map' to Ron just now?" she accused Harry. He nodded meekly. "Right. Now look here, both of you. I don't care if you spend all of your spare time guessing what I'm up to, but I won't let you invade my privacy like that. That's like...like using your Invisibility Cloak to sneak into the girls' showers."

 

"Bloody hell, why didn't we ever...?" Ron began, but a sharp jab in the ribs from Harry's elbow shut him up effectively.

 

Hermione stood up in order to look down at her friends as menacingly as possible. "I want you both to swear that you won't abuse the Map that way."

 

"But, Hermione--"

 

Pinning Harry with a glare, she watched his mouth snap shut with some satisfaction. "Swear it!"

 

"I swear," they both repeated grudgingly, heads nodding a bit.

 

She relaxed and sat back down. "Good. And besides, if I'm sneaking off to Hogsmeade, that wouldn't be on the map, now would it?"

 

Brightening, Ron sat up a bit. "So you admit it...it is an older fellow?"

 

"I admit nothing," she retorted. "You two have got to figure this one out on your own."

 

----------

 

Harry and Ron continued to pester her for details concerning her "Mystery Lover," as Ron had dubbed him, but Hermione was able to mostly ignore it. Thus far, they weren't anywhere near suspecting Severus, still focused on the Hogsmeade idea. Preferring to keep it that way, Hermione permitted herself secretive smiles as they speculated but remained firmly silent, hoping that they'd eventually get tired of her silence.

 

However, ten days had already passed since the incident with the student list and they showed no signs of relenting. Fortunately, they were busy enough with classes and Quidditch that they didn't have enough time to keep it up for extended periods of time. And what's more, it was the beginning of March. NEWTs were a scant few months away and everyone was starting to study. Hermione had even spied Ron at lunch one day with an open textbook propped against the pumpkin juice jug.

 

The beginning of March not only marked the opening of the season of student exam panic, but it also brought an owl to Hermione's table one morning bearing a copy of the newest issue of MRL with "Manifestations of Magical Energy in a Single Individual: A Biochemical Analysis" by the newest academic wunderkinds H.G. and S.S.

 

She'd been so excited that she'd actually forgotten herself and grinned up at Severus, who was sitting at the head table, as she was breaking the seal. His startled look had been genuine and fortunately, no one had caught the look passing between them. If Ron or Harry had noticed, they hadn't managed to consider it a puzzle piece in their little "Who's Hermione Seeing?" game.

 

And really, why would they? There was nothing in their minds to connect her and Severus outside of Potions class. No one had any way of knowing that Hermione spent more than half of her evenings and nights in his company. And they certainly didn't suspect that she knew exactly what his teeth felt like against her earlobe. She wondered briefly what everyone would think if they knew but backtracked hastily from that thought, unwilling to consider the possibilities.

 

With a great deal of effort, Hermione managed to focus her eyes firmly on the textbook in front of her, dragging her mind away from more inviting thoughts and back to the subject at hand. She had promised herself that she'd start studying for the NEWTs today and was attempting to struggle through her old fifth-year Arithmancy text but she was having a dreadful time focusing.

 

On top of her normal distractions, last night Severus had given her an owl he'd received the day before from a witch named Agnes Schmidt concerning a very technical point in the field theory they'd been working on previous to their biochemical work and Hermione had been mentally composing a response the entire day. Equations very definitely not of the Arithmancy sort were currently dancing through her mind. And Severus wouldn't help her with it besides--he claimed he wasn't any good at Muggle math, that he kept getting hopelessly tangled in the notation.

 

She was drifting from her textbook again. Hermione forced herself to concentrate, only to find her thoughts veering off in another direction completely. She slammed the book shut with a growl.

 

“May I enquire as to the source of your distress?” a male voice asked into the empty room.

 

Hermione jumped. She’d been laying on her bed in her dormitory as she made her half-hearted attempt to review. Lavender and Parvati were off goodness-knows-where and supper was at least two hours off. And now imaginary voices were talking to her. “Who’s there?” she asked, hating the tremor in her voice.

 

“If you have to ask, I should leave,” the voice drawled.

 

“Severus?” She was disbelieving and excited all at the same time.

 

“In the flesh, Hermione,” he replied. “Reveal!”

 

The Concealment Charm faded, leaving Severus standing beside her bed with a smirk, wearing casual clothing, making her suspect he had spent the afternoon in the lab.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, surprised at his sudden arrival. “Have you lost your mind, Severus?”

 

“Well, you told me last night that you were planning to take the afternoon and study for those deplorable exams,” he said, apparently prepared to ignore her last question. “And you know as well as I that you could have passed them with flying colors two years ago at least. So the likelihood of you actually needing to open a book any time more than a week before the actual tests is highly questionable. I am, therefore, here to distract you with pleasurable possibilities.” He completed this neat little speech with a very nearly comical wiggle of the eyebrows that sent her spiralling back into shock. He wanted to play?

 

“Are you telling me that you've come up here, to my dormitory, because you fancy a snog?" she asked, amazed. Something else occurred to her. "How did you get in here, anyway?"

 

He sat down on the bed beside her. “First of all, I do not 'snog,' as you so inelegantly put it, and second of all, I am a professor. The rules that apply to your stupid little Gryffindor boys do not apply to me."

 

Hermione ignored his first statement. “Nearly anyone can just walk in, you know” she said. But her resolve was melting as his hands curled around her shoulders, fingers kneading.

 

“That makes it more interesting, you see,” Severus said.

 

“And...ooh...I have to study!”

 

His lips skimmed the side of her neck. “As I said, my brilliant dear, bollocks to your studying.”

 

“You know,” she chided, gasping as his warm mouth slid further down her throat, “you’re supposed to encourage my education.”

 

“Not when I know what you’re capable of, Hermione.” He kissed her lips, finally, and the last vestiges of her willpower died a quick, painless death.

 

Her textbooks hit the floor with a thud as he pushed her down onto the bed, his tongue investigating her mouth with a pleasant thoroughness.

 

An idea forming hazily in her admittedly fuzzy consciousness, Hermione pulled a bit at his shirt, freeing the tails from his trousers. Smiling against his mouth, she slid her hands under his shirt, enjoying his shudder as she encountered bare skin.

 

"Turnabout is fair play, you know," he muttered, trailing a hesitant finger along the neckline of her own blouse.

 

"Are you actually asking permission?" she asked incredulously but immediately regretted it as Severus pulled away slightly.

 

He opened his mouth to speak but she shook her head fiercely, glaring.

 

"Don't you dare apologize," she said, putting one of her hands on his cheek.

 

"Actually," Severus began in a bland tone, "I was going to tell you to shut up."

 

"Oh," she replied, considering. "Well, that's all right, then." Pulling him back down to her, she resumed her previous explorations, shuddering a bit herself as Severus' hands began skimming up her sides, hesitating as his thumbs encountered the undersides of her breasts.

 

Hermione was beginning to wonder exactly how one went about taking off a man's shirt while kissing him at the same time. Especially when his hands were right...

 

“Hey, Hermione?” she heard Parvati Patil cry from the door. And then, “Hermione, what are you--?” shocked.

 

Attempting to sit up and simultaneously untangle herself from Severus' arms, the only thing Hermione accomplished was to flip them both to the floor, whacking her elbow painfully on the bedpost. Severus let out a soft gasp as she landed firmly on his stomach. But he remained otherwise silent, wide-eyed with obvious fear.

 

"Parvati!" Hermione nearly screamed. "Get out! Get out right now!"

 

A hurried scuffle told her that the stunned girl had obeyed.

 

The pair relaxed slightly. “Somehow the mood has been broken,” Severus said dryly, pushing his hair out of his face as casually as he could, but she could still see the fear in his eyes.

 

“Maybe she didn’t see your face,” Hermione said, suspecting that wasn't the correct thing to say in this particular scenario but not knowing what else she could manage.

 

“Maybe,” he agreed, but he didn’t sound hopeful. “I should go now.”

 

“Probably.”

 

She followed him to the entrance, still having no idea what to say. Severus paused at the doorway and gave her a chaste kiss. “I’m sorry about all this, Hermione.”

 

“Don’t worry, Severus,” she said, smiling sadly.

 

He restored his Concealment Charm and she felt his fingers on her cheek before he moved away.

 

Plopping down on her mussed bed with a sigh, Hermione glanced at her clock. She’d give Severus ten minutes to get out of the tower before she went down to the Common Room to do some damage control. If only she could find out beforehand whether or not Parvati had recognized Severus.

 

 

 

Chapter Twelve

            The latent causes of faction---

 

 

Severus was shaken. More than he’d care to admit, even to himself. The idea of seducing Hermione in her dormitory had been a rather appealing impulse at the time, but he obviously hadn’t fully considered the potential repercussions. The worst, of course, resulting in Hermione’s expulsion and his dismissal.

 

Maybe Hermione was right--maybe Miss Patil hadn’t seen his face. And then he could slip out of Gryffindor tower unnoticed and no one would ever know that Hermione’s mystery paramour was, in fact, her Potions professor.

 

The Gryffindor Common Room was decidedly more populated now than it had been thirty minutes ago when he’d slid through it the first time. In fact, most of the older students were present, milling about.

 

And in the middle of it stood Miss Patil, animatedly recounting her experience to a curious Potter and Weasley. Severus winced but lingered to catch fragments of the conversation.

 

“I was going up to see if Hermione wanted to go up to the Great Hall early for supper,” the girl was saying, looking very distressed, “and when I walked in, there she was. In bed...with a boy!” She sounded absolutely scandalized.

 

Potter’s eyes widened and Weasley grinned. “Who?” he asked eagerly. Severus itched to punch the obnoxious boy.

 

Miss Patil shrugged. “I didn’t see his face. They fell off the bed when I came in and Hermione started screaming at me to leave. Well, I wasn’t going to stay around and argue. I think it’s appalling. In the middle of the day like that.”

 

“Wow...” Potter said. “Who would have guessed?”

 

“I know,” Miss Patil continued. “I mean, who’d she find? She’s so...mousy.”

 

Severus’ hands slowly clenched into fists.

 

“Be nice, Parvati,” Potter chided. “Just because Hermione isn’t an exotic whatever doesn’t mean anything. It’s nice that she’s found someone who doesn’t care what she looks like.”

 

His knuckles whitened. Potter probably thought he was being kind to his friend.

 

“Guess she isn't being as careful about her Mystery Lover as we'd thought,” Weasley said with a little laugh. “Good for ‘Mione!”

 

“What about Hermione?” Longbottom asked the little group as he sauntered in through the portrait hole.

 

“Parvati caught her in her dormitory with a boy,” Potter breathed. “And they were...you know...”

 

“In a compromising position,” Weasley completed with a grin.

 

“Really?” Longbottom asked. “Huh.”

 

“What’s going on, then?” Miss Weasley joined the group, wrapping her arm around Longbottom’s and giving him an adoring gaze that made Severus’ stomach turn.

 

“Hermione’s been holding out on us,” Longbottom told her with a smirk. “Parvati says she just caught her with someone.”

 

Miss Weasley’s gaze brightened. “Really? Who is he?”

 

“Dunno,” Weasley told his sister. “Parvati didn’t get a clear look. Shame. Harry and I have a good bet riding with Hermione on the identity of the fellow in question.”

 

“I did see dark hair,” Miss Patil offered.

 

Severus sucked in his breath. Please, please don’t remember my face, he prayed silently.

 

“And he was really, really skinny.”

 

The group was silent for a minute. “I vaguely remember a Hufflepuff that graduated a couple of years ago who sort of looked like that, maybe,” Weasley said finally. “How tall was he?”

 

“Tall as you, I think,” Miss Patil said. “His feet were hanging off the edge of the bed, at least.”

 

“You got an awfully detailed look for someone that didn’t see his face,” Potter chided.

 

“It’s weird, the things you remember when you’ve been shocked beyond all reason,” Miss Patil said thoughtfully.

 

Severus had heard enough. Miss Patil apparently hadn't seen his face and he had no interest in listening to Hermione's friends' idle speculations on the matter. Quickly and as quietly as possible, he slipped through the portrait hole and out of Gryffindor tower.

 

----------

 

He slept horribly that night. Dreams plagued by Miss Patil suddenly recalling his face and Dumbledore firing him in front of the entire student population kept him irritably awake and eventually, Severus didn't even bother to attempt sleep any longer. Throwing off his covers with a growl, he stalked down to his office and began marking essays once more.

 

Hermione hadn't come to his office that evening. She hadn't been in the lab, either, when he went to check. In fact, the last time he'd seen her had been his uncomfortable exit earlier in the afternoon. What had kept her from their studies?

 

Quashing down the immediate thought of, "Miss Patil remembered," Severus tried to console himself with other possibilities for Hermione's absence. Logical possibilities. Potter and Weasley were keeping her occupied. She'd recalled an assignment due the next day in some other class. Potter and/or Weasley had fallen terribly ill and she was in the Infirmary with either or both of them.

 

That was, of course, just wishful thinking.

 

With a little sigh, Severus looked down at the poor third-year essay on the properties of rowan bark that he'd fairly mutilated. Flicking back through the parchment rolls, he noticed that he'd absent-mindedly insulted and failed every single student in the third form. He wasn't usually quite that brutal--not even to the worst idiots he had to teach. Even Weasley and Longbottom received passing Potions marks on occasion.

 

The clock chimed five just as Severus was wondering what to do about his essays. Abandoning the forlorn rolls, Severus decided that it was late enough to go to the Great Hall for breakfast. It was also early enough that Dumbledore and the other professors would not be there yet and Severus would be left to his own devices.

 

Unfortunately, however, Severus found Professor Sprout sitting at the professors' table, waving at him with a cheery little grin. "You're up awfully early, Severus," she chirped.

 

The skin under his right eye jumped and Severus forced a smile of his own. "Marking," he grunted. "Still not finished."

 

Sprout nodded knowingly. "Left it to the last minute, I see? Well, you probably ought to just take the tea back to your office, then. Don't worry, take the whole pot!" And with that, she thrust the teapot into Severus' surprised hands.

 

"Uh...thank you," he managed, sincere for once.

 

Grabbing a slice of toast for good measure, Severus left the Hall swiftly, thankful that Sprout had let him escape. Once back in his office, he began reluctantly recording his third years' essay marks, making a notation to throw them out if their final grades seemed more abysmal than usual. He would think of something to tell them later.

 

It was nearly seven o'clock when it occurred to Severus (in the shower, of all places) that his eight AM class was the dreaded seventh year Gryffindor-Slytherin hell. Glaring at the soap, he brutally quelled any hopeful thoughts he was having on the matter. The chance to see Hermione and make sure she was alright was outweighed by the certainty that all three of the remaining Gryffindors would be teasing her about yesterday afternoon. Not to mention the fact that, if Severus recalled anything about Parvati Patil, it was the girl's penchant for gossip; in all likelihood, the Slytherins would know as well.

 

Draco Malfoy would be celebrating Christmas twice this year, then.

 

And there was only one thing Severus could think to do. He could make sure that this class was the quietest in his teaching history and hope that speculations died down fairly quickly. It pained him to admit it, even to himself--especially to himself--but he could not shield Hermione from this. While it was incredibly unlikely that anyone had successfully guessed his identity, save the off-chance that Miss Patil had an illuminating moment, Hermione and their abortive tryst was certain to be the subject of many hallway conversations over the next couple of weeks. There was nothing he could do about that.

 

Deciding then, that the situation merited no further thought, Severus climbed out of the shower, noting with alarm that he'd managed to waste nearly forty minutes standing under the spray. Class was due to start in only twenty minutes and he was currently standing in the lavatory, naked and dripping water on the floor. Not good.

 

Severus managed to make it to the classroom with five minutes to spare. His hair was still damp, but he doubted anyone would take notice. Even if they did, no one would dare comment.

 

When he strode in to the room, only Malfoy and Zabini were present--no Gryffindors yet. Atypical behavior, really; Longbottom and Hermione, at least, tended to be quite early for all of their classes.

 

With a mental shrug, Severus did his best to feign nonchalance and began copying today's potion ingredients on the board. The scratching of quills on parchment let him know that at least one student was writing them down. Probably Zabini--for all that he managed to botch almost as many potions per year as Longbottom, he made a considerable effort in the class. His essays were verging on excellent, really.

 

Another few scrabblings told him that another student had probably walked in. Severus willed himself not to turn around. It didn't matter in the end; he could eavesdrop with his back turned just as well.

 

"Hermione..." he heard a male voice whine. Sounded more like Weasley than Potter.

 

"Ron," she snapped quietly, confirming Severus' suspicions. "Leave me alone."

 

"Couldn't have been Oliver Wood," Weasley continued, blithely ignoring her, "Parvati said he was skinny and Wood was a broad bloke."

 

"Ron," again. This time, Severus could tell she was gritting her teeth. The last time he'd heard that tone come out of Hermione's mouth, she'd actually thrown her quill at him in anger--Weasley had better watch out.

 

The boy switched tactics. "Just tell me, 'Mione," he begged. "I won't even hold you to the essay thing."

 

Severus made a mental note to ask Hermione exactly what the 'essay thing' was Weasley was referring to.

 

"I will do no such thing," Hermione said loftily.

 

"Just one more hint...?"

 

And that was it. Severus couldn't take any more. "Weasley, Granger!" he barked without turning around. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Keep your squabbling out of my classroom."

 

They fell mercifully quiet. Counting off ten silent beats, Severus finally permitted himself to face his students, most of whom were now present and in their seats.

 

"You know the routine," he snapped. "Brew it, bottle it, and label it properly before the end of the period. Get to work!"

 

The students started obediently chopping and shredding and Severus began his usual classroom prowl, up and down the rows, making sure to fix Weasley with a particularly nasty glare. Hermione, he noticed, kept her head down and worked quickly; he left her alone.

 

Longbottom had already started off incorrectly, slicing his arrowroot crossways instead of lengthways--his potion was going to be entirely too thick, even if he did everything else perfectly, which Severus doubted. But he passed by the boy's cauldron, knowing he would have an opportunity to berate him later.

 

It actually came sooner than he'd anticipated. On his fifth pass of the room, he heard Longbottom whispering something. Unable to make it out and seeing Hermione go rigid, Severus drew closer.

 

"Don't worry about those prats bothering you, Hermione," Longbottom was saying quickly. "I think it's great that you've found someone and I wouldn't let anyone--"

 

"Longbottom!" Severus roared, incensed at the continued speculation. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor! Quit playing agony aunt and get back to work," he snapped, inwardly wincing as he saw Hermione tense further. But his purpose was accomplished; Longbottom made a meek little noise and set back to further ruining his too-thick, over boiling potion.

 

Class continued without further incident, almost preternaturally silent. Severus winced as a blushing Longbottom sat a vial full of a chunky blue substance on his desk, labeled 'Cooling Gel' so lightly that Severus could sense the hesitancy even in the writing--he was shocked that Longbottom had managed a correct label on such a horrific attempt.

 

The other potions were more or less brewed correctly, in varying stages of cloudiness. Only Hermione's and, surprisingly, Zabini's had properly cleared into the expected gel. Zabini looked as shocked as everyone else as he sat his vial next to hers and they matched. "Full marks, for once, Zabini," Severus said dryly. The boy flushed but stayed silent.

 

Fortunately, the students cleared out of the classroom fairly quickly after turning in their assignments. Pansy Parkinson lingered for a few moments, apparently wanting to ask him a question, but a good glare in her direction sent her scurrying away. Severus sat down at his desk with a sigh, burying his head in his hands. Only two periods and he was already tired of today.

 

A cough startled him and Severus glanced up to see Hermione standing on the other side of his desk, regarding him appraisingly. "Severus," she said--he was surprised to hear a distinct chilliness in her tone.

 

He nodded in reply. "Hermione. Shouldn't you be heading to class?" Severus hoped fervently that she would take the hint; he was not up to a detailed conversation right now.

 

But she merely lifted an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's the lunch period," she said.

 

"Oh." He wondered what to say next, but she took care of that for him.

 

----------

 

"Parvati didn't recognize you, in case you were wondering," Hermione said, inwardly wincing at the coldness in her voice.

 

But why shouldn't she be irritated, really? She'd been fending off an eager crowd of people since the previous afternoon and the more she thought about it, the closer Hermione came to concluding that it was all Severus' fault in the first place. If he hadn't...

 

"I'd realized that," Severus was saying. "Thank you," he said, distinctly insincerely.

 

Frowning, Hermione leaned across the desk a bit, actually hoping that her next words would hurt him. "I just thought I should let you know that you can stop worrying about your job or whatever."

 

They apparently hit their mark as Severus' face fell a bit. "Is that what you...?" he trailed off, seemingly incredulous. "Hermione, I..."

 

"And Harry and Ron don't suspect anything either, so you've got nothing--"

 

His face a veritable storm of emotions, Severus stood suddenly and glared at Hermione so fiercely that she broke off her insolent remark mid-sentence. "Will you stop it?" he hissed. "You're angry with me. Fine. I understand."

 

"I ought to be angry with you," she retorted viciously. "I have every right to be angry with you."

 

"Yes, you do," he snapped. "There. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

 

Her ire waned a bit, but there was still an undercurrent in her voice as she spoke. "I'm just...Severus, they've been at me all night and I'm running out of things to say to them. I just want...oh, I don't know!" she broke off, frustrated with herself.

 

"Just ignore them," he replied.

 

And the anger returned, full force. "That's easy for you to say. I imagine you've got friends practically breaking your door down, begging for clues to your secret relationship, haven't you?" she asked nastily.

 

"No," he said softly, dangerously, "I simply sit down in my dungeons, alone, not knowing anything that's happening because the woman who professes to care deeply about me would rather sit in her room and sulk."

 

"Sulk?" she echoed. "Sulk?" Her voice went up a note.

 

"You heard me," Severus said. "You're behaving like a child, Hermione."

 

She laughed shortly. "I'm being childish? Who deducted twenty-five points from Gryffindor this morning simply because he couldn't bear to listen to speculation?"

 

"You stupid little girl," he spat, "I was trying to protect you from them."

 

Hermione stood ramrod straight and shot him the worst glare she could manage. "Don't you ever call me that again," she hissed.

 

"Then don't act like one," Severus practically shouted.

 

They stared at each other for a few minutes of tense silence, neither one willing to speak.

 

Finally, Severus opened his mouth to speak and then shut it once more, narrowing his eyes at her. "I do not wish to discuss this any longer," he eventually said.

 

Her eyes opened wide. "You do not...Severus, I will not be dismissed like some silly little student."

 

"You are a silly little student," he snapped maliciously.

 

Hermione grit her teeth. "Fine," she said with a clenched jaw. "And I suppose that makes you the seductive professor taking advantage of his innocent student. How sporting of you."

 

Immediately, she wished she could retract her previous statement. Severus closed his eyes as if in pain.

 

Unwilling to see the hurt in his eyes, Hermione turned and fled the classroom.

 

----------

 

Hermione stood under the shower spray, wondering idly if someone could successfully drown themselves in such a manner. Perhaps it was possible and if so, she hoped maybe she could figure out the secret.

 

She'd gone too far in Severus' classroom and she knew it. They'd never actually discussed the fact that she was technically his student and he her professor, but that didn't give her the right to toss it back in his face like that, especially in the context she'd put it in. There was simply no excuse.

 

Severus was right. She had been acting childish. So angry at Ron and Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors for continuing to bother her about everything that she lashed out at the more convenient party as soon as he gave her an opening. She just hoped she hadn't permanently alienated him.

 

Turning off the water, Hermione dried off and changed into a fresh set of robes, sighing at her mass of wet hair but utterly unwilling to deal with it. Her original intention had been to shower and then spend the rest of the evening in her dormitory (sulking, a voice in her head whispered, sounding disturbingly like Severus), but the more she considered it, the more she wanted to seek Severus out and talk with him.

 

Well...if he was still angry with her, she would be more or less talking to him as he probably wouldn't be very responsive, but she had to make the effort.

 

Hoping no one noticed her, Hermione made her way quickly out of the Common Room and down to Severus' office. But upon reaching the door, she saw that the room was dark and the door locked. He wasn't there.

 

He wasn't in the lab either.

 

Out of breath from her dash up to the fourth floor and then back to Gryffindor tower, Hermione had to pause for a moment before giving the Fat Lady the password. Upon climbing through the portrait hole, she made an immediate beeline for Harry and Ron, calmly playing chess by the fire.

 

"Harry," Hermione gasped, still panting a bit, "I need to use the map."

 

He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. "Good evening to you, too, Hermione."

 

"Map," she repeated irritably. "I need to see it for a minute."

 

Harry studied her for a moment longer and then abruptly stood. "It's in my trunk. Hang on," he replied, walking toward the boys' dormitory.

 

Ron offered her a pleasant smile. "How are you, 'Mione?"

 

"I've been better," she said absently.

 

Looking rather uncomfortable, Ron regarded the chessboard intently. "We've been a bit rough on you lately, haven't we?"

 

She just continued to look at him dispassionately--that particular question did not merit a response.

 

"I'm sorry," he said, shifting in his seat. "About all of it. I've gone a bit overboard, I expect."

 

With a little chuckle, Hermione permitted herself a small smile. "A bit," she agreed. "I just want you to respect my privacy."

 

"Consider it respected, madam," Ron said with a wide grin. "You don't want to share your love life with the rest of us. Fine. Just one more question."

 

Hermione sighed. "What is it, Ron?"

 

"Promise me you're not sneaking out of the castle at nights to snog You-Know-Who or anything like that," he said quickly.

 

She was floored. Trust Ron to come up with the most off-the-wall candidate and overlook the seemingly obvious ones. "I promise," she replied, somewhat dazed.

 

Choosing just then to come back down the stairs, Harry was waving the map in the air. "Got it," he told her. "Why d'you need it, anyway?"

 

"Now, Harry," Ron chided teasingly, "you know that's an invasion of Hermione's privacy."

 

Even Hermione laughed at that. She took the map and spread it out on the chessboard, ignoring the protests of the pieces that she inadvertently covered with it. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good," she said, tapping the parchment with her wand and watching it come to life.

 

It did not take her long to find the dot she was looking for. The dot marked 'Severus Snape' was sitting rather still in a room in the dungeons, just down the corridor from Severus' office. Hermione thought for a moment and dimly recalled a rusting suit of armor in that general vicinity. It must be the entrance to his personal quarters, she realized with a little start. Tapping the map again, she wiped it clean.

 

Harry gave her a curious look. "Don't you want to take it with you?" he asked. "It won't give you any passwords until you need them, you know."

 

"I don't need passwords," she replied. She wasn't about to actually break into Severus' rooms. If all was well, he would open the door when she asked him to. And if it wasn't...

 

Well, she wasn't going to think about that quite yet.

 

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said, trying to give both him and Ron a reassuring look as she walked back through the portrait hole.

 

The hallways were already clearing as she made her way back down to the dungeons--curfew was a mere hour away--and she was grateful for it. The dungeons themselves were deserted. Hermione knew that the Slytherin dormitories were somewhere around here, but she'd never cared enough to actually determine their exact location.

 

And she was standing in front of the half-remembered suit of armor, wondering just how she could get in. Knocking on the armor seemed rather silly, but simply speaking to it did as well. In the end, however, Hermione concluded that she really didn't have any other option.

 

"Severus?" she asked timidly. "Severus, are you in there?"

 

The armor faded away to reveal Severus leaning in a dark doorway. "What do you want?" he asked in a tired, guarded voice.

 

Suddenly unable to look at his face, Hermione settled for staring at his feet. They were bare, she noted absently. "I came to...Severus, I'm sorry," she told his oddly pale toes. He must not walk outside shoeless often, she thought.

 

"You are?" he asked evenly.

 

She looked up at that, hopeful. "What I said earlier was out of line. It was unfair of me to lash out at you like that."

 

"It was," he agreed blandly, his face carefully blank.

 

"Good Lord, Severus," she exclaimed, "I love you, you know, and I don't ever want to hurt you."

 

"But you do." His voice was very soft and there was a flicker of uncertainty and pain in his eyes.

 

To her horror, Hermione felt her eyes filling with tears. "I don't mean to!" she cried. "Oh, Severus, I'm so sorry and I'd understand if you hate me now and--"

 

"I don't hate you, you silly girl," he said, interrupting her.

 

The tears were threatening to run down her cheeks by now. "You don't?" she asked, resisting the urge to sniffle.

 

"Of course not." His tone was slightly warmer and he relaxed in his stance minutely.

 

Oh, the urge to cry was overpowering, but Hermione managed to hold it at bay a little longer. "You don't?" she echoed herself dumbly.

 

Severus sighed. "As I have said. Hermione, perhaps you ought to come inside. It would not do for us to continue blubbering in the hallway." He stood away from the doorframe and made a little half-turn back into his quarters.

 

Gratified at the 'us,' Hermione followed him meekly, still biting back her tears. It was a shame that this was her first glimpse of his personal rooms. All things considered, she would have preferred such an occasion to be a happy one.

 

His rooms were just as she might have expected, though. Fairly spartan, but cluttered with odd bits of parchment and books laying open on the few surfaces around. The one thing that surprised her was the light. As they were in the dungeons, Hermione had expected a dim set of rooms, lit only by a flickering fireplace, but she saw several lit lamps sitting around on surfaces not occupied by books and stopped dead in front of a large window in his sitting room.

 

"I thought we were..." she began, trailing off as she saw a brightly shining moon and twinkling stars winking at her from the window.

 

He shrugged. "I'm not particularly fond of living in the dark," he said to her unasked question. "It's charmed to look like the actual sky, rather like the ceiling in the Great Hall."

 

"Oh," Hermione breathed, reaching out a hand to touch the window and drawing back in shock as her fingertips encountered actual glass. "It's beautiful."

 

Again, a shrug. "It took me nearly a year to get the blasted thing working properly, but I don't think you came down here to discuss my failings in Charms. Other failings, perhaps, but not those."

 

Here came the tears again. Cursing her weakness, Hermione kept looking out the window, choosing to look at Severus' reflection in the charmed glass rather than his actual person. "Severus..."

 

His reflection offered her a weak smile. "More ill-timed humor on my part, I'm afraid. I'm sorry."

 

She shook her head. "You have nothing to apologize for," she said tightly. "I--"

 

"On the contrary," he replied mildly. "I believe I owe you an apology for my actions yesterday. It was an impulse not properly thought through and it obviously caused you a great deal of stress and for that, I am sorry."

 

"You shouldn't have to apologize for...yesterday," she said, as delicately as she could manage. "I mean..." She blushed.

 

Severus chuckled a bit and Hermione finally began believing that maybe everything would be all right. "I wasn't apologizing for everything," he said. "And in other circumstances, I might only be apologizing for not remembering to put a Locking Charm on the door."

 

She laughed then, turning away from the window to see the genuine mirth in his eyes. But she sobered quickly, knowing that not everything was mended yet. "I was taking out my anger with my friends on you," she said. "Well...mostly. And I'm sorry I didn't come down last night, but I didn't think it wise, what with--"

 

Cutting her off yet again, Severus gave her an understanding nod. "I know," he said. "It was irrational of me to expect you to come, and I knew it, even at the time. But sometimes it is difficult for me to recall that I must share you with the rest of the world at times."

 

It only took a few short steps for Hermione to be close enough to Severus to throw her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Sometimes I just want to stay here with you forever," she confessed.

 

His hands were on her back, moving up and down, smoothing her robes against her skin. "Hermione?" he asked, sounding suddenly insecure.

 

"What?" She tried to keep the fear out of her voice.

 

"Does it bother you that I'm your professor?"

 

Pulling out of his embrace a little, Hermione looked up at him with wide eyes. "Of course not!"

 

"It's just that..."

 

It was her turn to cut him off. "Severus, I stopped thinking of you as my professor a long time ago. You're my colleague, my friend, my...well, you know," she said with a little blush. "Professors are sort of one-dimensional creatures; they exist only to pass knowledge on to their students, in my mind. But you, Severus, you've become just a man to me."

 

"Just?" he asked wryly.

 

She resisted the urge to poke her tongue out at him and settled for simply embracing him again. "Don't tell me that you still think of me as your horrible little know-it-all student."

 

"I will concede that you're a horrible little know-it-all," he replied with a slight smirk that told Hermione that she was entirely forgiven and pulling her a little closer. "But no, I must confess, I haven't seen you as my student for quite a while. The realization that I haven't actually taught you much of anything for the past four years at least helped that along."

 

"You flatterer," she said dryly.

 

"What is that dreadful Muggle expression?" he asked the room in general. "'Love me or leave me.'"

 

She kissed his cheek. "I think I'd prefer to love you."

 

"I'm glad we agree on that, at least," he said, kissing her lips gently.

 

Giving him a cheeky grin, Hermione pulled out of his arms and looked around the room once more. "Your quarters surprise me, Severus."

 

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

 

"I would have expected some dark, depressing hole draped in green velvet," she teased. "Somehow chintz armchairs weren't in my mental picture. Neither was a ten-foot tall window."

 

"I didn't have a choice about the chintz," he replied defensively. "Those came with the room. And I've already said that I have no interest in living in darkness. Contrary to popular belief, I would actually prefer to not live in the dungeons." He suddenly seemed to finally hear Hermione's previous words. "Wait...green velvet?" he asked, pained.

 

She shrugged a bit. "Why not? I know the drapes in Gryffindor tower are done in velvet."

 

"And I've always enjoyed decorating tips from Gryffindors," he said derisively.

 

This time, Hermione did give into her impulse and stuck her tongue out at him.

 

To his credit, Severus recovered from his momentary shock rather well and responded by kissing her senseless.

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

            Bloody Romans and their damned incantations---

 

 

"I believe we may have finally reached an impasse," Severus said, frowning at his lab notes. "Our avenues seem to be exhausted."

 

Hermione looked over at him crossly from her own scope. "What do you mean? The research is progressing wonderfully--we've catalogued more than a hundred cells, from both our bloodstreams. Now we can--"

 

He cut her off. "Now we can what? If I recall correctly, your next proposed step is to examine the actual effects of magical energy on these cells. Alternately, you have also suggested that we try to determine exactly how much like genuine red blood cells these are."

 

"And?" She looked confused. "I still don't see the problem, Severus."

 

"Do you know how much the equipment for such a venture will cost? he asked, rising from his workstation and approaching hers. "We would have to acquire more Muggle supplies and adapt them; to my knowledge, no wizarding equivalent currently exists. And I'm not talking about things that we can simply break into a lab and steal with even a remotely clear conscience."

 

Less than halfway through his small monologue, comprehension had already begun dawning in Hermione's eyes, and by the time he'd finished speaking, she was solemn. "I see your point," she said. "And I doubt the school would fund us, either."

 

"A project that has nothing to do with coursework and would have no long-term benefits for the school itself? No, probably not," he agreed.

 

She narrowed her eyes a bit, studying him carefully. "And I suppose private donations would not be a practical hope, either."

 

Sighing, Severus shook his head slightly. "Hermione, if you are asking me if I can afford to fund our research, the answer is a resounding no. Where on Earth did you come up with the idea that a professor would have such wealth, anyway?"

 

"I thought maybe..." she began with a tiny shrug. "I mean, Lucius Malfoy..." Hermione fidgeted on her stool, apparently unable to come up with a decent response.

 

"You assumed that since I am a Slytherin pureblood and, up until quite recently, was on fairly decent terms with individuals like Lucius Malfoy, I am of their financial ilk as well?"

 

Flustered, she nodded.

 

Severus was thoughtful as he formulated the answer to his own question, covering Hermione's hand absently with one of his own. "I suppose if I'd lived five hundred years ago, I would have been. My family has not always been destitute, or so I've been led to believe. But the old estate was apparently auctioned off after my great-grandfather's funeral and Snapes have been living hand-to-mouth ever since. I would wager that my childhood home makes the Weasley clan's dwelling look like a palace." He felt oddly comfortable revealing these few shreds of his past to Hermione and smiled a bit at her obvious curiosity.

 

"Really?" she asked rhetorically. "I'd no idea."

 

"I prefer not to project an image of abject poverty," he replied. "Not many people remember any more, anyway."

 

"But I thought that You-Know-Who..." Hermione apparently realized the tactlessness of her question even before she fully formulated it and cut herself off.

 

Permitting himself a small chuckle, Severus tried to answer her unposed query as lightly as he could. "Yes, you are correct, my dear. You-Know-Who does tend to recruit wealthy patrons to his cause, but I was, obviously, not one of those," he said dryly.

 

Hermione remained silent but squeezed his hand with her own, looking up at him as if waiting for him to continue.

 

But while Severus would gladly talk about nearly any subject with her at great length, this particular one was not included in that statement. Not yet, at any rate. "I would like to change the subject now," he told her gravely.

 

Without a single protest, Hermione offered him a small smile and patted his hand one final time before releasing it completely. "Well, then," she said briskly, "I guess I should ask you to take a look at this sample here--it's a little strange and I was wondering how to note it..." Continuing to mutter quiet details, she tilted her microscope eyepiece in his direction.

 

Nodding, Severus leaned over her shoulder to peek into the scope, feeling one of her stray hairs tickling under his nose with something akin to contentment.

 

----------

 

"Why are your toenails blue?" Severus asked her, amazement in his tone.

 

"Huh?" Hermione grunted, dragging her mind away from the Iustus treatise with great difficulty and looking down at her bare feet. "Oh, that," she said. "I borrowed some of Parvati's nail polish. D'you like it?" she asked with a grin, wriggling her toes at him.

 

"It's...different," he eventually said. "But why paint your toenails if they're just covered by your shoes all day?"

 

Rolling over onto her back to look at him more fully, she shrugged. "I don't know. I just felt like it. Why is this so important all of a sudden?"

 

From one of his still-incongruous chintz armchairs, Severus frowned slightly. "I just wondered," he replied defensively.

 

"Don't worry about it, Severus," she said with a smirk, turning back to her work. A few moments later, a page turn signaled that he'd done the same.

 

Once Hermione had discovered the actual location of his quarters, she'd found herself approaching the rusty suit of armor more and more often. His sitting room was far more comfortable than his office and it was also much less likely that someone would come to his rooms seeking him out without his knowledge.

 

And so it had become customary for them to spend their nights away from the lab in his quarters, Hermione usually sprawled out on the hearthrug, working her way through the dense Iustus text and Severus seated in one of the wing-backed armchairs nearby, marking or reading his own book. Every once in a while, he would actually join her on the floor, head propped against a chair and legs splayed out so that his foot dug comfortably into her ribs. Or Hermione would join him in his chair if she was feeling particularly brave. Although on either of those occasions, usually very little actual work was accomplished.

 

It was nice to have a place to retreat from her increasingly anxious friends. NEWTs were, of course, drawing ever closer, now a little less than two months away. Six scant weeks to attempt to relearn everything they'd been taught in the previous nearly seven years. Hermione spent no more than two nights in the Common Room in a week and if anyone noticed that during any of those evenings, she'd not even come close to opening a textbook, no one commented.

 

She'd made one or two abortive attempts to review in Severus' quarters, but as soon as he noticed what she was doing, he did his best to distract her. And really, the second time she'd tried to study, it was more or less to invoke his response. He'd probably suspected as much but hadn't called her on it.

 

Turning another page in her book, Hermione pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment for her notes and squinted at Iustus' treatise, wishing idly that whoever had made the copy hadn't been quite so devoted to ancient Latin. It was written in the original alphabet, of course, with the added bonus of not having a single space between words. Fifteen hundred pages with nary a break. She could only translate about ten pages at a stretch before she felt her eyes crossing with the effort, usually. Of course, it varied a bit with her interest in whatever Iustus was currently discussing.

 

Tonight he was expositing on his successful defeat of a rival in the Senate in a fashion worthy of old Delacroix himself, making it very difficult for Hermione to care about what she was doing. Apparently crazy old sadistic wizards demonstrated what the Muggles called 'alpha-male syndrome' by bragging rampantly about how many of their enemies they'd killed and in excruciating detail.

 

In fact, the further she read, the more familiar it sounded. "'His daughter came to me and struck a...bargain,'" she translated aloud.

 

"Hermione, do you have to do that out loud?" Severus asked irritably.

 

She grimaced at him. "Only for a bit," she replied. "It just looks like something I've seen before. Maybe."

 

"Where?" He closed his book, marking the page with his pointer finger, and gave her an interested look.

 

"Hang on," she said. "Let me get further on. Let's see...'came to me and struck a deal. I did not...ensnare her,' I think. 'Secundus had,' um, 'offended her and promised her to the son of Gratus.'"

 

"Oh, wait, I know you've seen this before," Severus broke in. "I confiscated a dreadful looking book from a fourth year Gryffindor only last week entitled 'The Empire of Love.' You would remember it--the cover displayed a man wearing a Roman Senatorial toga very inappropriately."

 

"Severus, I'll put a Silencing Charm on you," she threatened, not taking her eyes from the page.

 

"You wouldn't dare," he retorted.

 

Idly, she pulled her wand out of her pocket and pointed it over her shoulder in his general direction, still not bothering to turn around. "Would you like to place odds on that?" she asked sweetly.

 

Suddenly, his breath was warm in her ear and his voice was low as he muttered to her. "No, thank you. But I would like to detail exactly what would happen to you if you did place a Silencing Charm on me."

 

She hummed. "Would I enjoy it?"

 

His teeth grazed her earlobe lightly. "Probably not," he whispered.

 

Hermione finally looked up to see him smirking at her, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her. "Can I go back to translating now?"

 

He put a hand between her shoulder blades and she could feel the warmth seeping into her skin. "By all means," he replied.

 

Mostly ignoring him, Hermione returned her gaze to the text, willing herself to read faster. "'She wished me to render her unacceptable to the Gratian clan and in turn promised me my due.'"

 

"Unacceptable?" Severus asked curiously, peering over her shoulder. She could feel the very tips of his hair on her neck.

 

"Hmmm...probably, um, not in the most pure of states," she told him with only a slight blush.

 

"Oh."

 

"Anyway...'And I took my due once I had fulfilled my end of the bargain. Blood of my enemy's blood'...that's it!" she shouted suddenly, making Severus jump beside her.

 

"Merlin, Hermione, what is it?" he gasped, blinking rapidly.

 

"That damned thing that Delacroix did that drove me so batty," she cried. "He killed his enemy using the blood of his enemy's child and he never said how, but here, Iustus does it as well."

 

Now fully recovered, Severus leaned over her again, eyes devouring the text. "So maybe Claudius Iustus gives more details, you think?"

 

She snorted. "He may have been an evil bastard, but he was an obsessive one as well. I'd be shocked if he doesn't give the fullest account."

 

"Interesting," Severus said absently. "Although I don't see its immediate significance, really."

 

Shrugging, Hermione began scribbling notes on her parchment. "I was just curious about the actual nature of the ritual. The Killing Curse wasn't devised until the fourteenth century, you know, and this predates that by nearly fifteen hundred years."

 

"I always assumed that they used strychnine or arsenic," he said. "Some people still do, you know. Not quite as tell-tale as the Killing Curse."

 

"But this is the second time I've seen such a reference," she replied irritably.

 

Running his fingers through his hair to push it out of his eyes, Severus frowned at the book. "So what does it entail, then? Does it require a wand?"

 

"I'm not done translating it," she said with a slight glare up at him. "I don't know yet. All I know is that it apparently requires the blood of a child...descendent," she corrected herself.

 

His features darkened. "Pity You-Know-Who doesn't have a son or daughter, then. Might actually be useful in that case."

 

"It's interesting in any case," she said. "Piece of history and all."

 

"Dark history," Severus inserted. "If you ever tried to publish a proper account of such a ritual, the Ministry would throw you into Azkaban in a heartbeat."

 

"Don't Potions Masters often publish formulas for poisons in their journals?" she asked innocently.

 

He poked her shoulder with his pointer finger. "Only alongside antidotes. And besides, Hermione, I don't think a historical essay on methods of murder previous to the Killing Curse is MRL material."

 

"I never said I wanted to publish," she retorted. "We've been studying old forms of blood magic for ages, to put our research in perspective. If I recall properly, it was your idea in the first place, Severus."

 

"It was," he agreed with a nod. "But I've since found our current findings to be more of interest."

 

"I also recall you mentioning that our current findings might be reaching a very large wall unless our financial situations improve. This might be an alternate avenue," she argued.

 

"And then we return to my previous complaint--this is not publishable work, Hermione. It isn't even original!" He pulled away from her and propped himself against the chair.

 

"What problem do you have with me working on this all of a sudden?" she cried, throwing her quill down angrily. "Six weeks ago, you helped me get this book and now you want me to stop reading once I've gotten to the most interesting bit?"

 

Folding his arms over his chest and crossing his legs, Severus pulled himself into a stiff stance and glared at her. "I don't care what you study," he replied. "But you need to realize that not everyone is going to be pleased with your foray into the Dark Arts."

 

"I'm not going to use this information to kill anyone!" she nearly shouted, shocked at his implication.

 

He sighed, frustrated. "Of course you won't, but what's to stop someone else, once you've pieced the ritual together for them?"

 

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, closed it, and considered what he'd just said. "I hadn't thought about that," she finally said.

 

Narrowing his eyes, Severus gave her a look that clearly said, Obviously, but remained silent.

 

"What if..." she began slowly. "What if I continue to translate it, just to see what Iustus has written on the subject, and then, if the notes are too bad, we destroy them?"

 

"Do you actually think you'll be able to do that, if it comes to it?" he asked.

 

Again, she had to concede the point. "Well, then," she said, bringing up the final point she could think of, "we can't be the only people in the world with a copy of this text. Someone else is bound to have translated it."

 

Severus was quiet for a few moments, mulling over her statement. "I still don't like it," he grumbled.

 

"Duly noted," she said tartly. "Now may I go back to work?"

 

"One request," he replied, holding up a hand. "It would be better if you worked on this only in my quarters. I wouldn't like to see you trying to explain to the headmaster why you're translating Dark texts in the Gryffindor Common Room."

 

"Really?" she replied. "I rather thought you would sell tickets to such an event."

 

"I would not," Severus said, contriving to look rather wounded. "Admission would certainly be free on that particular occasion."

 

She poked her tongue out at him. "I'll keep that in mind." Returning to her translation, Hermione noted that Severus remained on the floor, reading his own book. Resolutely, she ignored him.

 

Aha! Her guess had been correct--Claudius Iustus had indeed given a fairly detailed account of his transaction with the daughter of Secundus (although thankfully not too graphic). She gave him her blood after he explained what he was going to do with it. Apparently she had no love for her father. Although that made sense, if she was driven to approaching her father's worst enemy for assistance in breaking an unwanted marriage vow, she probably wouldn't mind seeing something awful happen to her father.

 

And from the way Iustus kept mentioning that she came to him instead of the other way around and the very fact that he'd explained to the girl what he was planning to do made Hermione suspect that it was important that the blood be taken from a willing donor. In fact, she vaguely recalled something similar from Delacroix. Freewill, she mused.

 

Severus' foot was nudging her calf, distracting her again. "What do you want?" Hermione asked, only slightly amused.

 

"I have a question," he announced.

 

"I thought you were reading."

 

He looked at her innocently. "I just recalled it," he replied. "A little while ago, after, well, you know..."

 

"Yes?" she asked impatiently.

 

"Weasley said something to you about an essay," Severus said with a grin. "What was he talking about?"

 

Hermione was dumbfounded. "What on Earth made you think of that?"

 

The grin widened and he poked at her calf again with his bare foot. "Who knows?"

 

She sighed, aware that he was not going to relent--he was in too playful a mood to let her alone. It was best to answer him and then maybe he'd allow her to return to her work. Although she made a note to bother him one night when he was working on something dreadfully important. "It's quite funny, really," she said by way of reply. "I don't think I'd told you, but some time back in January, Ron decided he was going to figure out who I was...uh, spending all my spare time with," she settled on tactfully.

 

He raised his eyebrows. "So early?"

 

"Apparently I'm even worse at deception than I'd previously thought," she explained. "Anyway, he drafted Harry into the plan."

 

"I suppose Potter and Weasley have been unsuccessful to date," he said.

 

Hermione permitted herself a smile. "Actually, it's been rather amusing to watch, for the most part. Their current theory is that I'm sneaking out of the school nightly to have trysts with an older man who lives in Hogsmeade. Ron fervently hopes that it's not a Malfoy."

 

"A Malfoy?" Severus echoed incredulously.

 

Shrugging a bit, she twirled her quill absently in her fingers, ignoring Severus' wince as ink splattered on his rug. She'd clean it up later. "They've been so far away from the truth that I told them if they happened to guess it correctly I'd write their Potions essays for them until NEWTs. So far, I'm doubtful I'll ever have to worry about it."

 

Severus smirked at her. "You offered to help them cheat?"

 

"The likelihood of them discovering the truth is roughly equal to the probability of Ginny Weasley dumping Neville for Malfoy," she replied dryly.

 

"Ah, yes," he said. "Young Miss Weasley does send Longbottom rather sickening gazes of longing, doesn't she?"

 

"I think it's quite cute," Hermione said defensively.

 

"Cute," he echoed in a derisive tone. "Cuteness is abhorrent and should be restricted only to the vocabulary of giggly little eleven year old airheaded brats."

 

"That's one of the things I love most about you, Severus," she said with a wry smirk. "Your tolerance and respect for your fellow human beings."

 

"Five points," he replied idly.

 

She highly suspected that Severus resorted to taking points from her only when he could not come up with a proper insult, but she also suspected that as often as not, he wasn't serious and so the points did not wind up coming off Gryffindor. "Dirty pool, Severus," she said good-naturedly. "I can't take points from Slytherin when I'm angry at you, now can I?"

 

"I can. How many would you like removed?" he asked, smiling faintly.

 

"Oh, you wouldn't even if I asked," Hermione retorted, flapping her hand in the air. "You're still hoping that Slytherin will win the House Cup."

 

"They might win the Quidditch Cup at least," he said in an off-handed tone. "That is, if Gryffindor loses to Hufflepuff."

 

Covering her face with her hands, she moaned loudly. "Not Quidditch!" she cried through her fingers. "I get enough of that at mealtimes. Yesterday, Ron decided that the only way to properly explain to Harry the maneuver he was discussing was to actually stand and demonstrate. You can talk about anything except for Quidditch."

 

"So that's what Weasley was doing at lunch yesterday," Severus replied thoughtfully. "The entire table of professors was wondering why he was flapping his arms about like that. I rather thought someone had hexed him, but Albus was adamant that he was simply impersonating a duck for some unknown reason."

 

Hermione snorted inelegantly. "It was a Wonky-Smetski something-or-other that apparently has previously undiscovered nuances. I caught that much before ignoring them completely."

 

"Yes, if Potter and Weasley were my friends, I expect I would spend most of my time ignoring them completely as well," he said.

 

Stretching her leg to its full length, she managed to dig her toes successfully into his side, eliciting a gratifying yelp. "Leave Ron and Harry alone," she said. "Apart from existing, they've done nothing to upset you. Well...lately."

 

"How is Potter doing?" he asked, very nearly looking interested in her potential response.

 

With a little shrug, Hermione rolled away from her book. She apparently wasn't going to get any more work done this evening. "He's all right, I suppose. Is that concern I hear in your voice?"

 

Severus appeared to be distinctly uncomfortable. "Rubbish," he said.

 

She grinned, amazed. "No...it was. Severus, are you worried about Harry?"

 

"No..." he responded evasively. "I just...it's nearly the end of the school year, you know. And I find it difficult to believe that You-Know-Who won't make a play before the semester is out."

 

Again she shrugged. "I'm fairly certain Harry's okay. He hasn't been acting out of the ordinary, if that's what you're asking."

 

"I'm not sure what I'm asking," Severus admitted. "But I find myself disturbingly comforted by the fact that Potter is behaving normally."

 

"Would you care to know how Ron is doing?" she asked sweetly. "Or how about Ron's new girl...?"

 

Severus ran a tickly finger down the bottom of her foot, causing her to shiver pleasantly. "I'd rather not, thank you."

 

----------

 

In the Common Room the next night, Hermione caught herself watching Ron and Harry play Exploding Snap rather more intently than usual. Probably, it was only Severus' question from the previous night that was bothering her, but all the same, her eyes rested on Harry's dark-haired figure more often than not.

 

"'Mione, d'you want to play?" Harry asked from across the room suddenly, catching her watching him.

 

Blinking, Hermione recovered herself fairly well. "Uh...no, thank you. I was just woolgathering."

 

"Oh...okay," he said, turning back to the game. She wasn't entirely sure exactly what they were playing. It required the Exploding Snap pack and a handful of Knuts, but otherwise, the rules were not immediately apparent.

 

But once the cards exploded, Ron scooped up the Knuts with a little cry and shoved them in his pocket, grinning at Harry. Perhaps Ron had won--it certainly seemed so; he was a notoriously poor loser and certainly would have been rather more sulky if the game had gone to Harry. With a cheerful wave in her direction, Ron bounded up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

 

"He wants to get to sleep early for tomorrow's match," Harry explained. "If we win, the Cup's ours, you know."

 

"I know," she said tiredly.

 

Standing, Harry made his way over to her seat and plopped down beside her. "I promise not to talk about Quidditch any more, Hermione."

 

She grinned. "Won't Ron give you hell if you're not in bed as well?"

 

"I'm not afraid of him," Harry scoffed smilingly.

 

Which, of course, begged the question of who exactly Harry was afraid of. But Hermione wasn't about to ask him that. She settled for studying him even more intently than before. Maybe there was something to Severus' unprecedented concern.

 

Harry wrinkled his nose at her and shoved his glasses against his face. "What, has my face gone green or something?" he asked her.

 

Startled, Hermione managed a quick head shake and a self-deprecating smile. "Sorry, Harry," she apologized. "My mind's been wandering a bit today."

 

Giving her a shrewd look, he frowned a bit. "Not too far, though, I don't think. Do you want to talk to me about something, Hermione? You've been watching me all night and I don't think I'm quite that interesting."

 

She almost responded to his opening, her desire to keep the conversation light and away from the subject threatening to overwhelm her acute. But in the end, Hermione grit her teeth and plunged forward. "How are you, Harry?" she asked abruptly, nearly echoing Severus from the night before.

 

He blinked. "What?"

 

"How are you?" she repeated.

 

"I'm fine," he replied, obviously still rather confused. "Not so much as a sniffle. Could do with a bit more sleep, but after tomorrow's match, I'll be able to sleep in a little more often. NEWTs have got me thrown, but that's true of everyone. Except you. In fact, why aren't you studying now, Hermione?"

 

Shaking her head, Hermione ran an agitated hand through her hair, hating the curls that tugged at her fingers. "That's not quite what I meant, Harry, and I think you know it."

 

"What do you want me to say?" he asked with a shrug. "That I'm scared. Of course I'm scared. Everyone knows this is the year. If Voldemort is going to make another try at Hogwarts, he's got less than two months. Would you like me to spend my nights crying in my sleep? Or how about sitting in classes jumpy and terrified?"

 

"Harry..." she began.

 

"It's all right," he replied complacently. "Everyone's worried. I am too, really. But there's not a whole lot I can do, save being careful. And to be honest, I'd much rather be playing Quidditch or trying to remember exactly who Uberic the Ancient was without having to look it up than spending much time pondering my horrible fate. Trelawney does enough of that for me without me helping her along."

 

Hermione chuckled. "So you're all right, then?" she asked doubtfully.

 

"As all right as I can be, 'Mione," he said. "And what brought this on all of a sudden?"

 

"Oh...someone just put it into my head," she said as lightly as she could. "Can't I worry about one of my best friends?"

 

"Apparently so," Harry responded.

 

They watched each other quietly for a few moments until Hermione finally patted his shoulder and stood. "I think I probably ought to send you to bed, Harry," she said. "You know how happy it will make Ron. And besides, I'm tired, too."

 

"If only to make Ron happy," he groused. "Good night, 'Mione."

 

"Night, Harry."

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

            The worst day since yesterday---

 

 

The next five weeks simultaneously crawled and flew by. Severus could not decide whether he would have preferred for them to slow down or to speed up. Speeding them up would have brought final exams and the end of the semester more quickly, but at the same time, slowing them down would have meant being able to savor his evenings in Hermione's company.

 

All of the students and many of the professors were so completely wrapped up in the typical pre-exam rush that he probably could have stripped down naked and danced on the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall during supper without capturing anyone's notice. Hermione had even reported that Potter and Weasley were finally leaving her alone in lieu of their studies. Of course, they were now apparently pestering her for help studying, which she'd been reluctant to give.

 

"I don't want to spend the next month trying to cram seven years' worth of classes into their heads," she'd told him one evening. "And besides, it isn't as if either one of them isn't intelligent and perfectly capable of reviewing on their own."

 

Severus had privately disagreed with her assessment of her friends, but he wasn't about to share that with her. And perhaps, in some small way, Hermione was correct. Potter and Weasley might be fairly intelligent, but he still stood firm in his conviction that between them was probably significantly less than an ounce of common sense.

 

And now, with roughly a week until the beginning of exams, the corridors were daily deserted, as students packed into their Common Rooms and the library to study and professors sequestered themselves in their offices, writing out exams and trying to fit a few last-minute bits of knowledge into the more stubborn students knocking on their doors.

 

Fortunately for Severus, his second year of teaching, he'd stumbled across a triply-warded room adjacent to his office, wondering what it could be. It took him nearly six months to bring down the wards, but once he had, he discovered a treasure trove of information. Fifty years' worth of old Potions exam papers, for first through fourth and sixth years. It was common practice among all the professors, of course, to retain exams for ten years, just in case they were needed for some reason, but to Severus' knowledge, no one saved them from any further back.

 

But Severus was no fool. While some other idiot might have cleaned out the dusty room and used it for something else, Severus restored the wards immediately and began devising an exam schedule. If he used twenty-three year old exams and worked his way through the old papers in that fashion, no one would notice that his exams were recycling. Too many years for most siblings to notice it, and too few for parents.

 

The only final exams Severus had ever written were the ones he'd come up with his first year of teaching. Since then, he'd used his archives, making a few corrections and adjustments as his curriculum altered slightly. The end result, then, being that it took Severus only about three hours to come up with his finals and it generally took the rest of the professors the better part of two weeks. The foolish ones, like McGonagall, who was convinced that she should make her exams interesting, often took even longer, as they wanted so-called 'thought-provoking' questions. Severus had never found a single 'thought-provoking' question on any Transfigurations exam he'd ever taken in his entire life.

 

Maybe one day, if he remembered to, he'd ask Hermione if she'd ever found McGonagall's exams interesting. Of course, she probably would. Silly girl.

 

Although Severus noted with great delight that she'd finally conceded his point and given up trying to study further for her NEWTs. But she'd informed him primly about two weeks ago that she was taking the week before exams to study and he wasn't going to stop her and she would hex him if he tried.

 

He wasn't actually going to try, of course. She was mostly correct--she did need to study, at least a bit. But it was nonsensical for her to have started revising back in March and he was gratified that he'd finally gotten her to acknowledge that fact.

 

Instead of studying, then, Hermione had continued on Iustus, working through his description of what she was now calling the 'Ritual of Death.' He'd told her how pompous that sounded, but she'd promptly thrown a roll of parchment at his kneecap and he'd left it alone. Besides, Severus himself was becoming more and more intrigued with the ritual, against his better judgement.

 

It was not particularly complicated. The child of the person you wanted to kill had to surrender some of their blood, completely willingly, of course, and then you said a few ritual words as you symbolically spilled the blood on the ground. Not even exceedingly difficult, given the presence of a willing donor. And that was the interesting point, really. It took a wizard of above-average strength and a fair amount of willpower to be able to control the Killing Curse well enough to use it against an actual person, but practically anyone could use Iustus' ritual. It didn't even seem to require the use of a wand.

 

Severus had wondered aloud whether or not a Muggle could successfully perform the ritual and Hermione had tartly asked him if he really wanted to know the answer to that question. That response more or less meant that she didn't know either and he'd tactfully switched the subject.

 

The other question was the incantation itself. Severus was of the opinion that it had to be recited in the original Latin, but Hermione replied that just because the earliest account they currently had was written in Latin didn't mean that the incantation was as well. "Delacroix had absolutely no grasp on Latin and he used the ritual," she'd argued.

 

So they had a Latin copy of the incantation and an extremely rough English one. The pieces of parchment looked so innocuous in Hermione's hands that Severus often forgot that they held the power to kill someone. Fortunately, she'd put them away soon after completing them and Severus tried very hard not to think about the fact that she routinely carried the earliest known form of the Killing Curse in her rucksack.

 

And despite the grisly nature of her discovery, Hermione was still delighted with it. She was enjoying her work, possibly even more than she enjoyed working in the laboratory. The look of sheer joy in her eyes after she'd completed the passage on the ritual simultaneously unsettled and amused him.

 

She'd probably approach a vampire and ask him for a blood sample, Severus reflected with a little snort. He wondered if there was actually anything that bothered her or made her truly afraid. Probably not. She would be too interested in seeing how whatever it was worked to bother being scared. It was oddly alluring.

 

He was turning into a right old sap, really. Mooning over a woman. There was something deeply bitter inside him that rebelled at the very thought of love. But slowly, it was dying down, smothered by the wonder that Hermione actually returned his love.

 

Severus had been terrified nearly continuously these four months past. Terrified that Hermione would suddenly come out of her daze, realize she was being held by the evil old Potions Master and laugh in his face.

 

And at the same time, he’d marveled at the reactions he could provoke in her. Her blushes at his compliments (as the weeks progressed, he’d become more elaborate in his declarations, just to see the blush deepen), her satisfied grins as he pounced on her at random intervals and smothered her with kisses, just to prove that he could. Courtship was as simultaneously wonderful and horrible as he’d been led to believe. He could stand poised on the edge of this juxtaposition forever and be content. Well, mostly.

 

He had to admit, sitting in a chair with Hermione’s knees pressing into his hips and her tongue sweetly exploring his was the closest to heaven he’d ever been. He'd been trying to finish up the last few touches on his third-years' exams when Hermione had seated herself on his lap, presumably to see exactly what he was working on. It had taken her less than fifteen minutes to distract him entirely from his task and he rather suspected she was proud of herself.

 

The exams now sat forlornly on the floor amidst the bits of parchment she'd been translating to. Severus was fairly certain he had ink on his face from when Hermione had pitched the quill across the room, but he wasn’t complaining. Instead, he chose to wrap his arms around her waist and draw her closer, hands sliding up her sides and mouth moving down her throat.

 

Hermione’s hands tangled in his hair and she panted into his ear. “That feels good,” she said, low and surprisingly sultry.

 

His nerve endings sprang to life, skin tingling even where she hadn’t touched it. In response, he hummed into the curve of her neck, suckling hard enough that he knew she’d have a small bruise there.

 

Moving to his chest, her hands pushed him away so that she could capture his mouth again. His thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts hopefully and she smiled against his lips, tilting her hips firmly into his and then...

 

She froze, mouth closing.

 

Severus dropped his hands as if burnt. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, willing himself not to cross his hands over the part of his body she’d unknowingly just thrust into.

 

Relaxing a bit, Hermione gave him a shaky smile. “Don’t be...it’s just that I hadn’t...I mean...”

 

“I’m sor--“

 

“Don’t apologize, Severus,” she said firmly. “I hadn’t realized, is all. It’s normal, you know.”

 

“I know,” he said lamely. “I just didn’t want...”

 

“Good Lord!” Hermione cried. “Severus, it's not as if you were forcing yourself on me. And besides, if I'm not mistaken, this is a natural progression for people who're in love with each other.”

 

“Do you want to talk about this?” he asked, nearly withdrawing completely.

 

“Not as much as you apparently want to,” she said, giving him a cheeky grin that nearly undid his resolve. “I mean, I hadn’t really planned anything out, as it were, but if I were to say anything, it would probably boil down to: I’ve never, you’ve never. You haven't, have you?"

 

Exasperated, Severus sighed. "Hermione..."

 

"Sorry," she replied, remorseless.

 

"I just...want to make sure everything is all right," he said, not knowing how to go about this and aware that she was tensing.

 

She fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, folding the edges over themselves and not making eye-contact. "What makes you think something's wrong? Did I...?"

 

"Oh, no," he reassured her. "But this is a...significant step, I think, and it warrants a little more than 'I've never, you've never,' in my mind, at least."

 

Relaxing in his arms, she smiled again. "Do you want me to run fetch a couple of candles from Lavender for the occasion?"

 

"Please stop deliberately misunderstanding me," he said sternly, putting a hand on her chin and forcing her to look up at him. "I'm attempting to be serious and cooperation would be helpful."

 

Her eyes skittered away from his momentarily before making full contact. "Severus, this isn't something that's comfortable to talk about, you know."

 

"You had managed to convey that point fairly effectively," he replied dryly, letting his hand trace the curve of her neck and come to a stop on her shoulder.

 

Her fingers moved from his shirt-cuff to his collar, playing with the top button. "I don't know--there's no right way to go about this, I don't think. I mean, those stupid books you keep confiscating from the girls talk about moonlit evenings on the beach and heaving bosoms and silk sheets, but I can't imagine actually going about this that way."

 

"So you do read those books," he said, tapping her nose with a single finger. "I'd always suspected."

 

"What happened to being serious?" she asked teasingly.

 

Severus shrugged a bit. "I can't be serious when you're blathering on about romance novels. But I confess that I'm rather glad to hear your pragmatism."

 

"Not pragmatism, exactly," she replied. "That somehow implies that I'm settling for something."

 

"And you're not?"

 

To her credit, Hermione only rolled her eyes slightly before she kissed him.

 

----------

 

"So...did bosoms heave?" Severus asked her playfully as he drew a single finger down one of the scars Lestrange left on her torso.

 

"In the interest of scientific research, I believe we ought to establish a proper range before we can fully answer that question," she replied with a little smile. "And stop doing that! It tickles."

 

" All right," he said, moving his hands to a location that elicited a surprised squeak from her. "I'm sorry I don't have any silk sheets, either," he continued blandly. "If I'd known that you had a fantasy built up, I would have made preparations."

 

"I didn't have a fantasy built up," she retorted good-naturedly. "And besides, you know as well as I do that if we'd tried to do anything involving silk sheets, someone would have been perilously injured. Silk is slippery," Tugging at a lock of his hair, she gave him a gentle kiss on the lips.

 

He grinned. "More of your pragmatism, I see."

 

"Our track record is sadly self-evident," Hermione said, curling further into his side and yawning a bit.

 

"Maybe you ought to go back to your room," he said quietly, evenly.

 

"Do you want me to leave?"

 

"That does not merit a response." Severus wrapped his arms around her and pulled her even more firmly against him.

 

She wriggled a bit, making herself comfortable. "I'll stay, then."

 

"Won't your roommates notice your absence?"

 

Hermione snorted. "They're so busy studying for Divination that I could probably walk in and inform them of exactly what I've been doing this evening and who I've been doing it with in incredible detail and they wouldn't even so much as look up from their books."

 

"How do they study for Divination?" Severus asked curiously. "I didn't know that was possible."

 

"Parvati and Lavender are perhaps the only two students in the entire school who haven't resorted to simply making up Divination results," she replied drowsily. "I'm just glad I got Lavender to stop burning incense in the room last year. You could tell she was walking down the hall fifteen feet before she actually got there because of the patchouli cloud drifting in her wake."

 

Mentally gagging with the thought, he kissed her shoulder and relished her soft sigh. Sleep was not far off for either of them, he realized as she yawned once again.

 

"'Night, Severus," she mumbled into his neck, letting her eyes slide shut.

 

He hummed in reply and allowed sleep to claim him as well.

 

----------

 

There was a collective sigh as the seventh-year Gryffindors stumbled into their Common Room, weary after their first NEWT.

 

"Well, that's Charms down," Ron announced to the group. "And Divination."

 

Arithmancy, Hermione mentally corrected, remaining silent.

 

"Transfigurations tomorrow," Neville said gloomily. "Want to study in here?"

 

Most of the students agreed with grim smiles and several moved toward their dormitories to collect their books. Hermione just coughed a bit and retraced her steps toward the portrait hole. "I'm going to go to the library for a little while," she said to no one in particular.

 

Ron looked up at her, alarmed. "But it's nearly curfew," he protested.

 

Shrugging, she hesitated momentarily at the exit. "There are extended hours on account of exams, you know. Madam Pince won't throw anyone out until eleven."

 

He let her leave without further protest. She, of course, had no intention of going to the library and headed toward Severus' quarters unerringly, encountering no one in the hallways. In fact, she had the added incentive of having left her Transfigurations textbook in his sitting room. Perhaps she might even open it.

 

Hermione had forced herself through revisions all last week and stayed away from Severus, knowing he would only distract her from her work, intentionally or not. But during the exam week itself, she had no intention of denying herself of his company--she'd studied enough for her own comfort the week before and if she didn't know enough by now, she wasn't going to by tomorrow.

 

And besides, if she had to endure another second of hesitant questions from her fellow students on the exact wand motion needed to turn a kitten into a puppy or the number of ounces of powdered bicorn horn in a Polyjuice Potion, she was going to scream. Her only consolation was that in less than seven days, they would stop. In less than five days, actually.

 

She wondered if it was that high level of NEWT-induced anxiety that prevented anyone from noticing any difference in her over the last week or so. Hermione certainly felt different and assumed it was probably reflected in her bearing. She wondered if Severus felt different after last week as well. It wasn't something they would discuss, even if they'd spent any time together after that night, which, of course, her self-imposed study schedule had more or less prevented.

 

Coming up on the suit of armor, Hermione noticed with a start that it was already gone. Apparently, Severus had heard her approaching footsteps and greeted her in the open doorway, leaning casually against the stone wall and smirking lazily at her. "Good evening," he drawled. "How were your first exams?"

 

She shrugged. "They're over. How were yours?"

 

Turning to allow her to walk past him into his quarters, Severus placed a casual hand at the small of her back. "They're over," he echoed. "And only one student fainted."

 

"Fainted?" she asked with a quirked eyebrow.

 

"I don't think it was in any way my fault," he replied. "You know Ravenclaws and exams--the poor boy probably hadn't slept in a month. He even stayed to finish after I woke him up."

 

"And then you sent him to Madam Pomfrey," she prompted.

 

"And then I sent him to Madam Pomfrey," Severus parroted with a grin. "Honestly, Hermione, I'm not quite that cruel. I even offered to let him go see her before, but he wanted to stay."

 

Hermione regarded him with suspicion. "Just how often does this happen in your exams?" she asked.

 

"Generally not during the written sections," he said. "But quite often on the practicals, for obvious reasons. I've taken to keeping a fairly large stock of Pepper-Up Potion in my desk during finals week. I also try not to test students on potions that are easily combustible--they're nervous enough without the added possibility of blowing themselves up."

 

"You're too kind," she said sarcastically. "Next thing you know, you'll stop reducing first-years to tears."

 

Severus rolled his eyes. "That usually only happens a couple times in a year," he defended himself.

 

Patting his arm, Hermione retrieved her textbook from the table she'd left it on and sat down in one of his armchairs. "I'm glad to hear it."

 

"You're studying?" he asked with a grimace.

 

She opened her book and gave him a stern look over the spine. "Really, Severus," she began in a fair imitation of McGonagall, "these are the NEWTs. They determine my future and it is very important that I excel."

 

He snorted.

 

"I'm not going to study all night," she said with an exasperated sigh. "But I might as well refresh my memory on self-Transfiguration. Harry asked me about it last night and I couldn't quite remember the specifics."

 

"Bloody right you're not going to study all night," Severus grumbled. "You can just go back to your room if that's what you're going to do."

 

"And here I thought you'd be glad to see me," she said airily. "What with me being off all last week, revising."

 

Suddenly he was right beside her chair, his warm breath puffing on her neck as he spoke. "I am glad to see you," he muttered. "But I am somewhat less glad to see your Transfigurations text."

 

Hermione suppressed her shudder. "Twenty minutes."

 

"Ten." Severus planted a kiss on her cheek and allowed his hand to drift to a rather pleasant but decidedly inappropriate place on her person.

 

"Fine," she said, shoving him away with only a little regret. "But you've got to go over there." Pointing toward the other chair. "Go stare gloomily into the fire or something."

 

"Gloomily?" he inquired.

 

"Shut up."

 

----------

 

"We're done!" Harry shouted jubilantly as he nearly ran out of the Potions classroom.

 

"No more classes, ever!" Ron cried, darting after his friend.

 

Hermione followed the two boys more demurely, choosing not to comment on the completion of their NEWTs. It seemed rather redundant, after what Ron and Harry had already expressed.

 

"So, what, 'Mione?" Harry asked over his shoulder. "Already mourning the end of classes?"

 

Making a face, she picked up her pace to walk side-by-side with the boys. "Mourning?" she asked derisively. "Hardly."

 

"I find that hard to believe," Ron scoffed. "Hermione Granger, glad to be done with school?"

 

"For your information, Ron," she said stiffly, "there are more important things in life than school."

 

"Like Quidditch," he replied with a cheerful grin.

 

She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. "You know what I mean, you prat."

 

"Yes, yes," he said, waving an impatient hand in the air. "The beginning of our adult lives, moving on to the next step and so on. Very important business, that."

 

"I'd like to start the beginning of our adult lives with supper," Harry interjected. "What time is it?"

 

Ron glanced at his watch. "Sorry, mate. We've got a good hour before they start serving. I've got a few Chocolate Frogs in my trunk, though, if you're starving."

 

"Famished," he agreed with a grin.

 

"Celebratory Chocolate Frogs it is, then," Ron cried. "On to the Common Room!"

 

Laughing and bantering, the three of them made their way up to Gryffindor tower and into the suddenly more cheerful Common Room. Ron went up to their dormitory to retrieve the Frogs and Hermione and Harry flopped onto the sofa, still chatting.

 

Harry was regaling her with his best Flitwick impression, even going so far as to stand up on the sofa and topple over the edge, affecting surprise, and Hermione was trying her best to breath through her rampant giggles when an owl suddenly swooped into the room through an open window and dropped a fairly large parcel onto Harry's head.

 

"Hey!" he cried, picking up the package and glaring at the owl. "You could be more careful, you know," he told the owl.

 

The bird just hooted and flew back out the window.

 

"Curious," Hermione said, looking down at the brown parcel. "Wonder why it didn't wait for the breakfast post tomorrow. Or why it wasn't delivered this morning, for that matter."

 

Shrugging, Harry turned it over in his hands experimentally. "Dunno. Maybe it just got a late start. It was just a post owl. Or at least, I didn't recognize him. Did you?"

 

She shook her head. "What is it, anyway?"

 

"From Mrs. Weasley," he said curiously, shaking it gently.

 

"Strange."

 

Harry didn't reply.

 

"Hey, whatcha got there?" Ron asked from the staircase.

 

"Package from your Mum," Harry responded absently.

 

"Huh," Ron said. "Probably some after-exam sweets or something for us. Wonder why she didn't send it to me, though."

 

"She didn't use Errol, either," he continued, a thoughtful look on his face.

 

Shrugging, Ron dropped a few Chocolate Frogs on the sofa and offered Harry a hand to stand. "You know how Errol is. She probably just sent it through the Post Office since it's heavier than just a letter."

 

"Probably." But Harry continued to turn the parcel over and over in his hands.

 

"Well, come on, then," he prodded. "Open it."

 

Hermione was filled with a sudden sense of dread. "Harry, wait!"

 

Startled, both boys gave her confused looks. "What?" Harry asked slowly.

 

"Don't open it," she said breathlessly, shaking her head. "What if it's...you know, dangerous?"

 

Ron sighed. "Hermione, it's from Mum. The most dangerous thing in it might be a new jumper she's knitted."

 

"But it's so strange," she protested. "I think we ought to take it to someone."

 

"Who?" he asked. "Dumbledore? Oh, sorry to disturb you, Headmaster," he began in a falsetto, "only Harry's got a package he's afraid of. Will you open it for us?"

 

Hermione resisted the urge to clobber him. "Ron..." Gritting her teeth, she closed her hands into fists. "For pity's sake..."

 

"Don't be stupid, Hermione," Ron said. "Come on, Harry, maybe it's toffee."

 

"I dunno," Harry said. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief--at least Harry might be listening to her. "But it is from your Mum..."

 

"Harry..." she tried one last time as she saw his hands move to break the seal.

 

But it was in vain. Pulling off the lid, Harry peered down into the box, confusion evident on his face.

 

"What is it?" Ron asked excitedly.

 

"Strange," he replied. "A little box, like." His hand reached tentatively forward into the box. "Pretty little design on the top, though."

 

Hermione watched Harry's hand dip further into the box as if in slow-motion. And it clicked.

 

Severus' little puzzle box. The one that had been missing since January.

 

"Harry, don't!" she cried, just as the tips of his fingers made contact with the puzzle box.

 

With a surprised cry, Harry vanished into thin air, leaving Ron and Hermione to gape at the empty space in which he'd been standing.

 

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

            Not every action has an equal and opposite reaction---

 

 

It was Ron who recovered first, surprisingly. All Hermione could do was replay that moment in her head over and over, watching Harry reach into the box and wanting to tear his hand away but doing nothing. She stood, frozen in place, frozen in time, watching herself fail again and again.

 

"Hermione?" Ron asked quietly, interrupting her self-castigation.

 

She blinked. "We should go get Dumbledore," she finally said. "He'll know what to do."

 

And with that, they both snapped to attention, running out of the Common Room and through the corridors, panting side-by-side as they dashed to the headmaster's office.

 

Ron regarded the stone gargoyle with dismay. "We don't know the password," he said hopelessly.

 

"Maybe he'll hear us if we shout," she replied, still gasping to breathe.

 

They began yelling at the gargoyle, panic apparent in their voices. "Headmaster, please! We don't know the password," Ron cried.

 

"It's about Harry!" she shouted shrilly. "Please, sir!"

 

After a few moments, the gargoyle faded, revealing a mildly-concerned looking Dumbledore. "What is it, children?" he asked, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

 

"Harry's gone!" Ron said. "He was taken...a Portkey, must have been."

 

Dumbledore's eyes widened a tiny bit. "Taken?"

 

Nodding, Hermione tugged at his sleeve. "Please, headmaster, what do we do? He just disappeared." It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about the puzzle box, but she realized in the last minute that it might not be a particularly prudent move on her part. Not only might it implicate Severus unfairly, but it would also pose the next question of how she knew that it was his box in the first place.

 

The headmaster remained calm. "Go back to your Common Room," he finally said. "I will call a meeting. And above all, don't worry."

 

Exchanging a tense glance, Hermione and Ron both shuffled their feet minutely. "But, Professor--" Ron began.

 

He held up a single hand, silencing the agitated boy. "Mr. Weasley, there is nothing you can do at the moment. Please, do as I say."

 

Reluctantly, slowly, they left Dumbledore standing in the hallway, walking back to their Common Room with sullen eyes. "I hate this!" Ron growled. "I feel so...so useless."

 

Hermione agreed with him--she was nearly shaking with her frustration. "Harry's alone," she said roughly.

 

"I suppose Dumbledore's right, though," he said, glaring at the flagstones as if they were personally responsible for Harry's disappearance. "What can we do?"

 

Surprised at his easy acquiescence, Hermione told herself that he was right. Maybe if she repeated it several times, she would start to believe herself. "I just feel like we ought to be doing something," she admitted.

 

"Exploding Snap?" he asked with a small grin.

 

She frowned. "Please, Ron, don't make any jokes right now. I don't think I can take it."

 

"I wasn't joking," he replied mildly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder comfortingly. "It's something to do, isn't it?"

 

Studying the Fat Lady despondently, Hermione couldn't help but feel as if there was something she'd forgotten. Or missed. Something that would help Harry.

 

Maybe taking her thoughts off it would bring it to mind quicker, she reflected silently. "I'd rather play chess," she told him.

 

"I believe I can accommodate you, in that case," he said, squeezing her shoulder one last time and then turning to the portrait himself. "Ursa Minor."

 

They climbed through the hole awkwardly, both feeling the absence of their usual third party acutely. Hermione stared at the empty Common Room despondently, looking at the couple of Chocolate Frogs Ron had previously scattered on the sofa and feeling tears prickle at her eyes. She would not cry, she told herself stubbornly.

 

Displaying an uncanny amount of intuition, Ron bumped her shoulder playfully with his. "Aw, Hermione, you know as well as I do that Harry's got more lives than a cat. If anyone will get through whatever he's going through right now alive, it'll be him."

 

"Yeah," she replied rustily. "I think I'd really like to play chess right now."

 

----------

 

The faces were tense as the professors crowded into Dumbledore's office. While no official announcement had been made yet as to the reason for the sudden meeting, Severus assumed that everyone else had drawn the same conclusions he had. There was only one reason for them to be here.

 

Potter. Something had happened to the boy--Voldemort had finally made his move.

 

Sighing, he glared hard as Flitwick unintentionally shoved his elbow into Severus' gut. "Sorry, Severus," Flitwick said apologetically, once he'd realized who he'd hit.

 

"I'll live," he replied, rubbing the tender spot ruefully.

 

Finally, Sprout bustled into the room, apologizing for her tardiness and Dumbledore stood up to greet her, chair scraping against the stones in the sudden silence.

 

McGonagall squinted at the headmaster shrewdly. "What's happened, Albus?" she asked. "Is it Potter?"

 

"Yes, Minerva," Dumbledore replied with a single jerk of his head. "Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley informed me about an hour ago that somehow Harry got his hands on a Portkey and has left the grounds."

 

"What do we do, then?" Severus asked tersely, not wanting to draw this out any longer than absolutely necessary.

 

Dumbledore was silent, gazing at him with sadness in his eyes. The rest of the professors were solemn as well.

 

And Severus realized their intentions with a start. "You're not going after him?" he asked incredulously. "You're just abandoning Potter to his fate?"

 

"There is nothing to be done, Severus," Dumbledore said gently. "We must simply wait for Harry to return."

 

Coldly furious, Severus put a hand to his temple, rubbing fiercely. "And what if Potter doesn't return?"

 

Several professors coughed a bit and he could hear their shoes scuffling against the floor. The headmaster was frowning. "This is not our battle to fight," he said in a stern tone. "This is for Harry Potter alone."

 

"He is a seventeen year old child!" Severus cried in agitation. "You've sent a little boy into the clutches of the devil, Albus. Don't you realize that?"

 

"Do you somehow think that I'm happy with my decision?" Dumbledore asked sharply, an undercurrent of anger rising suddenly in his tone. "Do you think I wanted it to happen this way? Severus, we don't even know where they are."

 

He clenched his teeth. "We can search. There's the manor and the shack on the moor and..."

 

"Severus," he began in a soft voice, laying a gentle hand on Severus' tense shoulder, "Severus, what do you think we would find if we happened to stumble across their hiding place?"

 

"I don't like it," Severus spat. "I wouldn't even abandon Lucius Malfoy to You-Know-Who's fury, much less a child."

 

"It's a commendable impulse, my boy," Dumbledore said. "But you must also be realistic--our hands are well and truly tied."

 

Lowering his head, Severus stared at his fingernails. "Respectfully, Albus, I disagree. But I will respect your opinion."

 

"Good," he said as cheerfully as he could manage given the circumstances. "Now, I suggest that we continue our patrols as usual tonight and make sure the students know as little as possible. Try and get some sleep, everyone."

 

"Perhaps we ought to double up on patrols," Flitwick suggested hesitantly. "When Mr. Potter comes back to the castle, we'll want to find him as quickly as we can."

 

McGonagall nodded vigorously. "I agree. We need to keep an eye out for Potter's return. Three people to each shift?"

 

"Who's on already? I know I'm supposed to take an early patrol," he replied.

 

"You, Minerva, Ceres, and I were scheduled for tonight," Dumbledore told Flitwick.

 

"I can take an early patrol," Severus said quickly, it occurring to him suddenly that Hermione might want to see him later in the evening.

 

"Right," Dumbledore said. "That leaves seven slots. Well, six, as I know Hagrid will want to take one. Who else?"

 

In the end, Dumbledore had to take on an extra shift for everything to even out--no one wanted to ask Trelawney to come down from her tower and patrol the grounds. She hadn't even bothered to come to the meeting, anyway. McGonagall also suggested that Madam Pomfrey be alerted in the Infirmary, and with that, Dumbledore firmly dismissed everyone from his office.

 

Making his way back to his quarters, sneering at the few students celebrating the end of final exams in the hallways, Severus flopped down in a chair with a heavy sigh. That was that--Potter was on his own, by Dumbledore's command. He hoped fervently that the faith the headmaster was putting in the child was warranted. He also hoped fervently that Hermione was managing to cope with her friend's disappearance. But he couldn't very well go poke his head into Gryffindor Tower and ask how she was. Perhaps she would come to him later.

 

With a glance at his clock, Severus noted that he only had thirty minutes until his patrol shift began. It would give him something to do, at least. And maybe he could offer to take the part of the castle that included Gryffindor Tower. That might make him feel better.

 

----------

 

"Mate," Ron said blandly as Hermione tipped her king over in defeat. "You know, love, you're lousy at chess for someone who's supposed to be so brilliant. That's the third game you've lost in less than four hours."

 

"Sorry," she replied. "I'm not concentrating very well, am I?"

 

"Well, to be fair, I'm not either," he said. "I ought to have put you in mate about eight turns ago, but I didn't notice my rook placement until just now."

 

She grinned wryly. "That makes me feel so much better, Ron. Even when you're distracted, you still trounce me."

 

"Yeah, but I think you're more distracted than I am right now," he said. "What is it, Hermione?"

 

Shaking her head, she frowned at the king laying on his side on the board. "There's something bothering me. Some part of the puzzle I haven't put together. And I just don't know..."

 

"Something to help Harry," Ron said flatly. "Hermione, I keep telling you, there's nothing..."

 

"But there is!" she cried, frustration rising. "I can't quite think of it, but I know there's something I can do, if only I could remember."

 

With a little snort, Ron started setting the chessboard up once more. "The only thing I can think of that you've been working on lately is all that blood nonsense you've been reading in those old books you keep lugging around. That French chap you were so mad about all those months ago."

 

Eyes widening, Hermione jumped to her feet as everything fell into place, knocking over the chessboard and causing the pieces to begin shouting at her. "That's it! Ron, you're a genius!"

 

He laughed. "Not something I hear every day. What are you talking about?"

 

"The ritual--the one Delacroix used to kill his enemy. Harry can use that to defeat Voldemort!" she shouted, causing a couple of second-years sitting across the room to give her alarmed looks.

 

"What ritual?" Ron asked, baffled.

 

"It might work," she continued, promptly forgetting Ron's presence. "If I can get to Harry in time..."

 

"Hermione, will you please explain?" he asked angrily, standing up himself. "I don't know what you're talking about."

 

She gave him a radiant smile and patted his arm. "I've got to go help Harry," she said. "But first, I've got to grab a few things from my room and then go talk to someone."

 

"Right," Ron replied sharply. "If you're going on some batty quest to get yourself killed, I'm going with you."

 

"Ron, maybe you ought to stay here," she said, mental wheels turning even faster. "I mean, the Portkey will bring Harry back here and someone ought to stay, just in case."

 

"Hermione..." he warned.

 

"Ron, if I'm right, I'm the only one that can help Harry," she told him gently. "You've got to trust me on this."

 

With a deep sigh, Ron gave her a mournful look. "Someday, will you explain all of this to me?"

 

"In more detail than you could possibly want, I imagine," Hermione replied with a sad smile. "Thanks, Ron."

 

----------

 

Severus was more surprised than not to hear a soft voice calling outside his doorway at a quarter 'til midnight. But he unwarded the entrance with a wand flick, not bothering to stand up.

 

Rushing in and gasping for air, Hermione stood before him with panicky eyes.

 

"Yes?" he asked, wondering what she was about.

 

"Has the headmaster gone to fetch Harry yet?" she asked, still panting slightly.

 

He tensed slightly. "No one is going to fetch Potter," he replied in a quiet voice.

 

Eyes narrowing, she stood stiffly and looked down at him with anger unfurling in her gaze. "What?"

 

"You heard me," he said with a little shrug. "The headmaster claims that Potter is best left to his own devices."

 

Her jaw dropped. "He's abandoning him?"

 

"Albus is putting all of his faith in some prophecy. I'm sure Potter has told you about it," Severus said, pushing some hair out of his face.

 

"Not any specifics," she answered, "but I am aware of the existence of such a thing."

 

"So, you see," he continued with an elegant wave of his hand, "Potter must fulfill his destiny and no one must interfere. According to Albus, at least."

 

She studied him intently. "You disagree, then?"

 

"I dislike sending a rather unprepared child into the hands of a monster, yes," he said as diffidently as he could manage.

 

"Good," she said matter-of-factly, "then you'll help me find him?"

 

His face hardened and he nearly came up out of the chair. "Absolutely not."

 

Her tone became pleading, beseeching and Severus hated the weak tug in his chest that it produced. "But, Severus, I can help him," she said. "I know I can."

 

"What can you do?" he asked derisively. "As soon as You-Know-Who lays eyes on you, he'll kill you. You're nearly as marked as Potter, in your own way."

 

"Severus, Harry needs to perform Iustus' ritual," she said fiercely. "That's the only way he'll be able to defeat You-Know-Who--Harry can't manage the Killing Curse, and you know it as well as I do."

 

"The ritual?" he echoed, incredulous. "But You-Know-Who has no relatives. The ritual is useless."

 

She grinned. "But there is someone who's shared blood with Voldemort. Very recently in fact. Last November, when she attacked him with a knife while covered in deep wounds herself. There was bound to be some blood exchange. I was practically covered in it."

 

Severus' eyes flew open and he did come out of the chair, grasping her shoulders intently. "You're mad!" he cried. "It's not possible for such a thing to work."

 

"Why not?" she protested, struggling a little in his tight grip. "I'm 'blood of his blood' now and if I shed my blood of freewill, it should be enough to do it. Severus, I have to take this chance."

 

"Let me understand," he started, releasing her shoulders and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. "You're telling me that you intend to somehow get close enough to Potter to explain the ritual to him and then actually perform it and you're going to do this without getting killed by the evil Dark Lord who's standing right nearby and on top of all that, you don't even know if it will work?"

 

"That would be a basic outline of my idea, yes."

 

He was grave. "Hermione, I forbid you to do this."

 

"Forbid?" she echoed angrily. "You have no right. I did not come here asking your permission; I came here asking your help. If you refuse your assistance, I will continue without you."

 

Rolling his eyes, he knew she'd just effectively painted him into a corner. "Fine," he conceded grimly, voice tight with fury. "You know I'm not going to let you go off alone."

 

"I know," she agreed with a smirk. "Thank you." Planting a soft kiss on his cheek, Hermione pulled out of his arms and moved toward the doorway. "We don't have any time to lose, Severus. I've already got my notes on the ritual and one of the knives out of my potions kit."

 

Reluctantly, he allowed her to lead him from the room, walking briskly through the castle. Noticing that Hermione was doing her best to look like a contrite student on her way to a particularly horrible detention, Severus schooled his face into his usual stern expression, pushing his fear deep down in his gut. He liked this idea even worse than sitting helplessly useless in his rooms.

 

----------

 

Hermione was glad she'd managed to more or less convince Severus to come along. She knew he was violently opposed to her plan, but she also knew, deep down, that she had to do whatever she could to help Harry.

 

They walked to the Apparition point in silence, Severus a couple of steps ahead of her. "Where do you think he's taken Harry?" she asked into the quiet.

 

"There are several possibilities, unfortunately," he replied. "And none of them particularly stand out in my mind, although I think we might safely discount the last place they took Potter. Voldemort is no fool--he will not want to return to a place that was discovered."

 

"That probably leaves out the Riddle Manor as well, then," Hermione said thoughtfully. "If that was the first place that the Ministry thought to look, it would be the last place he would actually be."

 

Severus sighed. "Two down and more than a dozen to go. Perhaps trial and error is the best plan. Hold on," he said, holding his hand out to her.

 

Taking his hand, Hermione Apparated, nausea rising in her belly. They appeared to now be standing in a very dark, very abandoned field. She could hear sheep bleating in the distance. "Not here," she said, still clinging to his hand.

 

"I didn't think so," Severus replied with a sigh. "But it was worth looking."

 

They Apparated again and again, each time encountering darkness and nothing else. She stopped counting after ten but found herself growing dizzier and dizzier with each Apparition.

 

"This is ridiculous!" she cried in frustration after a few more times of this, coming dangerously close to actually vomiting. "We're never going to find them this way. We might as well go back to Hogwarts!"

 

"I'm running out of ideas," Severus told her, putting a hand to his forehead. "I just don't know..."

 

"We can be logical about this," she said, willing her nausea away. "Just think like Voldemort. Where would you want to defeat your greatest rival if you were in his place?"

 

Severus laughed shortly, scratching the back of his head and grinning. "If I were You-Know-Who and I wanted to absolutely revel in the irony of the situation, I'd want to face Potter in the place where I was first defeated."

 

Humming thoughtfully, she folded her arm in his once more. "Have you ever been to Godric's Hollow, then? Where Harry's parents died?"

 

"Once," he replied. "A long time ago. But I remember it well enough to Apparate there with little difficulty, if that's what you're asking. At least, as long as it hasn't changed much."

 

"I doubt it has," Hermione said. "I would think the Ministry would have wanted to preserve it, like. The first defeat of the Dark Lord and all."

 

"I do think we ought to place Concealment Charms first, though," he said thoughtfully. "If our suspicions are correct and that is where they are, we cannot be sure what we're Apparating into."

 

She was dubious. "Will they hold through an Apparition?"

 

"They ought to," he said after a pause. "Not for long, though. I cannot give you an exact time frame, unfortunately."

 

Apparition under a Concealment Charm was decidedly worse than without one. For one horrifying moment, Hermione was positive she was going to throw up as she staggered and fell into Severus' side. Fortunately, a few rapid breaths and a reassuring half-embrace as Severus realized what was happening to her managed to quell her roiling stomach fairly well.

 

Again, however, they found themselves standing in relative darkness. Looking around, she found her earlier assumption to be right--Godric's Hollow was still a fairly undeveloped place. Quiet and still, it just meant that they heard the scream very clearly echoing around the clearing they were standing in.

 

Hermione looked at the empty spot she knew was Severus. "Harry," she said.

 

"I think it came from that way," he replied. Quite possibly, he was pointing somewhere.

 

"Not helpful, Severus," she chided. "You're Concealed, remember?"

 

"East, then," he retorted tightly. "Can you see well enough to walk?"

 

As if on cue, a fork of lightning arced across the sky, briefly illuminating the entire area. "Oh, good," Hermione said sarcastically, "a storm. And here I wasn't quite nervous enough."

 

"Maybe You-Know-Who will be struck by lightning and it will take care of him for us," Severus grumbled, rustling through the grass.

 

She followed the rustling noises. "Doubtful," she replied. "He seems to be a lucky sort of evil fellow. Cheating death and escaping capture and all."

 

"If only he could manage to defeat his archnemesis," he said from quite far ahead of her with a dry chuckle.

 

"Slow down, Severus," she said sharply. "I'm losing you."

 

A searching hand jabbed her in the collarbone.

 

"Ouch!" she exclaimed.

 

The hand moved across her torso and wrapped around her wrist once it encountered it. "Run," he hissed, dragging her across the clearing and forcing her to move quickly, not letting go.

 

Lightning flashed several more times and thunder began rumbling across the horizon. The storm was drawing closer. Hermione thought she felt a few raindrops splatter against her face, but that might have been her imagination.

 

They were close enough now that they could hear voices shouting, but still no light. Hermione was relieved to hear Harry furiously, painlessly cry something unintelligible. He was still relatively unharmed, at least. But to hear the answering shout from Voldemort chilled her to the bone.

 

Closer still and she could begin to make out several figures standing in another clearing just ahead. But Severus yanked her to a sudden halt and pulled her behind a tree. "Damn," he hissed. "There have got to be at least twenty out there."

 

"What should we do?" she whispered back, squinting around the tree to confirm his count.

 

"You get to Potter," he continued in her ear. "I'll try to take a few of those others down--it should take them longer to find me if my Charm holds."

 

"Severus..." she began in protest.

 

"It's my turn to play diversion," he whispered, tapping her cheek with an invisible finger.

 

She grinned, even though she knew he couldn't see it. "What a Gryffindor sort of plan," she murmured teasingly.

 

"Remind me to do something awful to you after we get out of here," he said dryly. "Now, on my count, just try and get to Potter. I'll see to the rest."

 

Fingering the knife handle jutting out of her pocket, Hermione patted his arm. "Right."

 

"Go!" he hissed, a rustling noise signaling his own exit.

 

With a deep breath, she pulled the knife out of her pocket and fished the parchment with the English incantation written on it out of another, walking quietly toward the cluster of Death Eaters. Now all she had to do was find Harry.

 

 

 

Chapter Sixteen

            I will fear no evil---

 

 

If possible, the night was growing darker, the occasional flash of lightning Hermione's only source of light. The wind was picking up as well, blowing her hair rather annoyingly into her eyes. Idly wishing she'd brought something to tie it back with, she tucked it behind her ears and tried to focus on her part of the plan.

 

Somehow, she had to find Harry.

 

He wasn't in the clearing with the Death Eaters, she knew that much. His shouts, mingled with Voldemort's, had been coming from further away.

 

Striking out further east, she felt a few more raindrops pelt against her skin. The storm was moments from breaking, unless she missed her guess.

 

Wonderful. Facing an evil wizard in the middle of a raging thunderstorm. Just how Hermione had pictured her evening. She didn't even have Severus beside her to make her feel better.

 

There was a small stand of trees a few hundred feet away, new leaves rustling in the wind. She thought she saw a thin figure slipping through the branches and picked up her pace.

 

Indeed, as soon as she drew near enough to see his face, she saw Lord Voldemort himself making his way through the tiny forest, a sly grin on his face. "Where are you hiding, wee Potter?" he asked quietly, voice carrying disturbingly far.

 

With a flick of his wand, Voldemort blasted the leaves off of the tree nearest to his right hand, regarding the naked branches with something akin to pity.

 

"Make no mistake, Harry Potter," he continued in that same conversational tone that was somehow loud enough to reach Hermione's ears fifteen yards away. "I will find you. And when I find you, we will end this once and for all."

 

His only reply was the mournful rustle of the leaves as the wind continued to whip around them. Thunder echoed in the distance and Hermione moved even closer.

 

There could not be more than thirty trees standing here and Voldemort had already denuded nearly half of them. If Harry was indeed hiding here, it would not be for long.

 

As quietly as possible, she slipped through the trees herself, looking up and down and around the trunks, trying to catch a glimpse of her friend.

 

There.

 

Hunched behind a tree not twenty feet from Voldemort, Harry's glasses glinted in a sudden, blinding flash of lightning.

 

Still moving slowly, so as not to make any noise, Hermione reached Harry just as Voldemort blasted the leaves off of the tree right beside his. "Not very Gryffindor of you to continue to hide from me, Harry," he said derisively. "I would think that such a brave, strong lad would face his fate with dignity."

 

Harry's lip curled in a sneer, but he remained silent. She could read the terror in his eyes, though. Otherwise, he looked unharmed. As gently, as carefully as she could manage, Hermione moved close to him and whispered in his ear. "Harry...Harry," she said quickly, "it's Hermione."

 

He tensed, eyes widening further. But he still did not speak.

 

"Harry, you've got to follow me," she continued quietly. "I've come to help you."

 

"I can't see you," he whispered.

 

Voldemort drew even closer to his hiding place, thin lips stretched in a gleeful parody of a smile. "I can smell you, Harry Potter. Not long now..."

 

Thinking quickly, Hermione grabbed his robe sleeve. "I'll pull you along. Now, Harry."

 

Not about to wait for a response, she gave his sleeve a tug, forcing him to follow her silently away from the tree, away from Voldemort. She breathed a thankful sigh for Harry's black robes--Voldemort did not see him fading back.

 

She led Harry in a wide circle around the stand, coming to a stop behind a tree Voldemort had already exfoliated. "I still can't see you, Hermione," Harry whispered.

 

A thought striking her, she jabbed her wand in Harry's chest and swiftly spoke the words to the Concealment Charm, breathing a little sigh of relief as he faded from her view.

 

"What did you do?" his disembodied voice asked with wonder.

 

"Concealment Charm," she replied tersely. "It's not on our syllabus, but I've found it useful lately. Most people don't bother with it since they've got Invisibility Cloaks."

 

He was silent for a moment, but his next question was rather reproachful. "If you can go invisible, why don't you just sneak up on Voldemort yourself?"

 

"I can't perform the Killing Curse any more than you can, Harry," she admonished. "And besides, I don't think it would be helpful--he's survived that once already."

 

"So what do you suggest, then?" he asked brusquely.

 

There was a certain tightness in his voice that suggested to Hermione that he was perhaps not as unhurt as she'd initially thought. "Harry, are you hurt?"

 

"I think my right arm is broken in a couple of places," he muttered in a hoarse tone. "I fell out of my tree--that's how Voldemort knew where to look for me. But I landed on my arm and I think I heard it crack. It doesn't hurt as badly as it did."

 

"Cruciatus?" she inquired with a slight frown.

 

He was blithe. "Of course. But I managed to get away before it got too bad. That's how I lost my wand."

 

Putting a hand over her eyes, Hermione tried desperately not to hit him. "You lost your wand," she repeated.

 

"I was more worried about losing my life," he said irritably. "What, have I foiled your ingenious plan?"

 

"Not exactly," she replied, still itching to smack the empty space he was standing in. "But you have rather mucked up our getaway."

 

Compounding her rising fear, Voldemort's voice drifted toward their ears, signaling his approach. "Now, Harry," he drawled, "let's do be reasonable about this..."

 

Apparently unconcerned about this new wrinkle, Harry's voice sounded almost cheerful as it floated softly toward her. "So now that we've assessed our failings and we've got an evil wizard breathing down our necks, how about that ingenious plan, now?"

 

"I'm going to try to put a piece of parchment in your hand, Harry," she said. "And once I do, you should be able to read it, if I've done your Charm correctly." Reaching out her hand blindly, she bumped into Harry's chest and felt him take the parchment.

 

"Got it," he replied. "And I can see it fine. Well, when the lightning flashes, at any rate. Now what?"

 

Taking in a deep breath, she crossed her fingers. "When I say so, Harry, I want you to read it. Loudly. Okay?"

 

"And that's going to defeat Voldemort?" he asked doubtfully.

 

As if in response to Harry's query, the Dark Lord made himself heard once more. "Do I hear murmurings, little Potter? Are you calling me near?"

 

"Trust me," she replied shortly, fumbling around for her knife, not liking the slight motion around the trees she could see a few feet away from their hiding space. "I'm going to count to three and then you read. Got that?"

 

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Harry. She could hear the parchment crinkle slightly as she poised the knife on the inside of her arm.

 

And before she could even finish saying, "One," Severus' prediction came true. Her Concealment Charm failed completely--it didn't even flicker in warning, just gave out. Hermione froze as she came into view once more, nearly dropping her knife. She hadn't even been standing behind the tree.

 

Voldemort's eyes came to rest on her and he was close enough now that she could actually see the expression of surprise mingled with joy on his face. "Well, well," he wheezed in that horrible little chuckle of his, "what is my little Gryffindor lioness doing here tonight of all nights?"

 

----------

 

Severus prowled through the clearing stealthily, noting the faces of the unmasked Death Eaters milling about. They all appeared to be focused on a dark mass of trees some yards east.

 

One of them--Nott--jumped as thunder crackled once more. "Damn!" he exclaimed. "Why doesn't he just kill the brat and be done with it?"

 

"Unfortunately," Lucius Malfoy drawled from Severus' left, "Potter has proven to be more resourceful than any of us had ever imagined."

 

"I was rather surprised to see him recover from the Cruciatus as quickly as he did," Nott admitted.

 

Lucius smiled and Severus shivered. He didn't like it when Malfoy smiled like that. "Not quickly enough, though," he replied. "He didn't remember to take his wand..." The smile widened and took on more of Malfoy's usual smirk as he twirled a wand idly through his fingers.

 

Potter's wand, Severus realized.

 

"Cor, where did you find that?" Avery breathed. "Does our Lord know?"

 

"Yes and no," Malfoy said. "He knows Potter does not have his wand."

 

Which meant that Voldemort didn't know that Malfoy did, he thought. Malfoy was planning something above and beyond the murder of a child tonight.

 

It was too early for them to fail to notice if Severus started Stunning them. Their attention needed to be drawn away from the circle itself. Hopefully, Voldemort would make enough of a fuss over the ritual to properly distract his followers and then Severus could make his move. It would be a shame for Hermione and Potter to follow through with their plans and kill the Dark Lord only to be slaughtered by his Death Eaters.

 

Grimacing, Severus pushed all thoughts of Hermione out of his mind. He could not handle any distractions. It was very important to retain his focus.

 

He needed to pinpoint the locations of the most dangerous ones. Not all of Voldemort's followers could cast the Killing Curse--they would be slightly easier to incapacitate and therefore could wait.

 

Severus saw Lestrange and his wife standing next to Wormtail. Those three had the added bonus of insanity and he added them to the top of his mental list. Unpredictability was more dangerous. Besides--if he moved quickly enough, he could Stun them in a group and perhaps no one would notice.

 

And of course, Lucius Malfoy, standing in between a blank looking Goyle and an openly nervous Avery. Severus toyed with the idea of Stunning him first, but then a flash of lightning illuminated the knife glinting in Lestrange's fist and Wormtail's silvery left hand. No...unpredictability needed to be dealt with foremost.

 

Avery suddenly started, eyes narrowing in the purported direction that Potter and Voldemort had gone. "D'you see that?" he asked Malfoy.

 

"See what?"

 

"A green flash, like. Maybe our Lord's done it. Maybe he's got Potter. There, again!" he cried, pointing now.

 

"Come on," Malfoy said, brandishing his own wand and making Potter's disappear somehow. "Let's go!"

 

Taking advantage of the sudden movement of the crowd, Severus quietly Stunned the few Death Eaters that passed near his hiding place, rejoicing as the Lestranges silently hit the ground among the three others he'd taken care of.

 

That was two out of four and Wormtail was only a threat if given a chance to toss the first spell. Severus could take him by surprise fairly easily.

 

Lucius was now the primary concern and he was leading the pack, walking swiftly, jerkily toward the source of the light, his long hair flapping wildly in the whipping wind. Severus slipped from his hiding place and followed them, Stunning as many as he dared.

 

The storm was drawing ever closer.

 

----------

 

Voldemort's smile widened as he pointed his wand at a still Hermione. "Avada Kedavra," he said conversationally.

 

But Severus' words echoed through her head. As soon as You-Know-Who lays eyes on you, he'll kill you. And she dropped flat to the ground as she heard Voldemort's voice, watching the green light whiz harmlessly over her head.

 

Rolling, she managed to duck behind a tree, giving herself a brief respite. Unfortunately, the tradeoff was that she dropped her knife somewhere on the way. She cursed silently.

 

"I've wondered what happened to you after that night," Voldemort continued. "You dealt me a blow greater than most, you know. I'd hoped that you died."

 

"Sorry to disappoint," she shot back, pulling her wand out of her pocket and gripping it fiercely, bracing herself for his onslaught.

 

"Such cheek," he said with another one of his wheezes. "I will enjoy killing you, I think. But first, my lioness, you will tell me where your friend Potter is hiding."

 

She smiled grimly. "You presume much, Lord," she said derisively. "I have no intention of doing any such thing."

 

"You will find, my dear," Voldemort continued as if she hadn't even spoken, "that I can be a very persuasive fellow when I put my mind to it."

 

"I would rather die," she cried boldly, wondering at the fact that he hadn't yet come around her tree. Perhaps if she moved very quickly, she could fetch her knife. If she could find it, of course.

 

The crackle of thunder was nearly simultaneous with the lightning--the storm was nearly upon them--and Hermione could hear rain pattering on the ground and could feel it on her shoulders. Only a few drops now.

 

"A viable option," he told her, voice drawing slightly closer. "If an unfortunate one. Just recall that Lord Voldemort allowed you your free will, little lioness."

 

Gritting her teeth, Hermione allowed herself a moment to reflect on the irony of his statement. "Oh, I will," she spat. In one motion, she spun around the tree trunk and leveled her wand at a mildly surprised Voldemort. "Expelliarmus!" she shouted.

 

It only took him a second to dodge her hex and send another Killing Curse her way. But, anticipating it, Hermione ducked, once again watching the light flicker past her shoulder.

 

He had to be tired--he'd sent more than one Crucio Harry's way this evening and now two Killing Curses. If he could manage a third, Hermione would be shocked. And that wasn't even accounting for any other major spells he might have cast. Voldemort may have been the closest thing to inhuman she'd ever seen, but even he had magical limits.

 

And so she threw herself at the ground, searching frantically for her knife and momentarily ignoring the Dark Lord not twenty paces away from her.

 

Her hand was closing around the handle as she heard Voldemort cry something unintelligible. Instinctively, Hermione twisted, trying to evade the curse she knew he'd just cast.

 

But she let out an agonizing scream as the hex hit home, her left side suddenly rupturing and blood flowing freely down her hip and leg.

 

The rain was falling harder now, thunder echoing in her ringing ears.

 

The lightning lit up Voldemort's grinning face. "You will die as you intended me to, now. I hope you enjoy yourself."

 

Struggling to retain consciousness and rolling onto her side in an effort to stem the bleeding, Hermione raised the dagger against her arm. Three drops of blood, freely given, that was all she needed.

 

Her side crying in pain, she dragged the knife across her skin, barely feeling it, watching a slight trickle of blood drip to the ground.

 

"Harry, now!" she shrieked over the moaning wind.

 

Hermione was gratified to hear Harry's answering shout, his voice clearly repeating the incantation she'd so carefully copied out from Iustus' text almost a month before.

 

Looking rather confused, Voldemort lowered his wand slightly as he heard Harry, eyes searching for the boy. But by the time Harry read the last word triumphantly, he'd blanched fully, gaze turning back to the barely-conscious girl sprawled at his feet. "What have you done, girl?" he whispered.

 

"This is how we intended for you to die, my Lord," she spat back, pointing the bloody tip of her dagger up at his heart and trying desperately to not pass out.

 

It was rather anti-climactic, really. One moment, Voldemort was standing there, looking down at her angrily, the next, his eyes went blank and he toppled to the ground, laying there, motionless.

 

Only halfway caring that there was probably a dead body now lying about three feet away from her head, Hermione was slightly more focused on the fact that she was bleeding profusely from a fairly large wound in her side.

 

She tried to use her hands to put pressure on the wound but either she was too weak or it was too large and she had to resort to pressing into the ground once more, gritting her teeth against the scream as a few scraps of gravel worked their way under her frayed skin.

 

"Hermione?" she heard Harry's voice ask quietly in her ear. "Hermione, you've got to tell me what to do. I can't..."

 

"My wand," she whispered. "Point it at yourself and say 'Reveal.' That will break your Charm."

 

In mere seconds, Harry's familiar face flickered back into her sight, concerned eyes boring into hers and a large bruise forming on his right cheek. He must have hit it when he fell, she reflected.

 

Suddenly, inexplicably, Harry squinted into the distance, frowned and shot off a Stunning Curse. She wanted to ask him what he was doing but felt too weak to speak.

 

The rain was now more of a downpour, plastering her hair to her forehead, and the thunder grumbled.

 

She didn't want to die in the mud, she realized. And someone nearby was shouting. But that was none of her concern.

 

"Have to stop the bleeding, Harry," she muttered, vision flashing dangerously. "Use...something."

 

Looking around helplessly, he shucked off his shirt, wincing only slightly as he jostled his broken arm and held it out. "Will this...?"

 

"Got to help me," she said. "Can't move on my own."

 

His eyes asking her forgiveness, Harry carefully rolled her over onto her other side. She screamed when he pressed his sopping shirt into her wound, but he just closed his eyes and continued to attempt to stop the blood flow. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed to be working.

 

----------

 

Severus broke into a run when he heard an unmistakably female voice cry out. Hermione.

 

Outstripping Lucius, he continued to increase his speed, barely noting it when his Concealment Charm failed, his only thought to find her. As it was, he skidded into the stand of trees just in time to see her rolling around on the ground some yards away, ignoring Voldemort who was standing just at her feet. He opened his mouth in preparation to warn her.

 

"Severus?" he heard someone ask incredulously from behind him.

 

Unthinkingly, he whirled around and saw the ten Death Eaters he'd been following staring back at him. Lip curling up into an unconscious sneer, his wand firmly in hand, Severus threw out six Stunners and two Disarming Hexes in rapid succession, not even pausing to breathe.

 

Crabbe, Wormtail, Nott, and a masked fellow all went down. Avery flew back into a tree and did not rise. But Malfoy elegantly dodged his curse and pulled his own wand out. The remaining four followed suit.

 

Severus managed to duck most of their hexes, darting back and forth between the trees and trying not to react as he heard Hermione scream in what sounded like extreme pain. One of the curses hit the back of his leg at that moment, however, and Severus staggered, his left knee now completely numb. At least he could still walk, mostly.

 

The increasing rain was slicking his dripping hair into his eyes and making it incredibly difficult for him to see. His only consolation was that it was also hindering his opponents.

 

In fact, he watched Malfoy actually hit one of the Death Eaters with the Killing Curse, probably mistaking him for Severus. Malfoy cried out a rare expletive as he realized what he'd done. "You can't hide forever, Severus!" he shouted over a rumble of thunder.

 

"I can certainly try," he retorted loudly, ducking behind another tree and managing to Stun another one in the process. Only three left.

 

"Come, now, Severus," Lucius said in what might have otherwise passed for a reasonable tone. "You're outnumbered and you must be positively exhausted after casting all of those hexes. If you surrender now, perhaps we will let you die a dignified death."

 

"Believe it or not, Lucius, I have no intention of dying today," he replied in an equally civil tone.

 

Laughing coldly, Malfoy stepped nearer to Severus' tree. "Isn't it ironic how life sometimes betrays intention?"

 

It was now or never, he told himself. Impulsively, Severus leapt out from his hiding place and pointed his wand at Lucius, shouting, "Expelliarmus!" at the top of his lungs.

 

Perhaps a childish maneuver, it was a successful one, in any case, and Severus relished the feel of the smooth wood as Malfoy's--no, Potter's--wand jumped into his outstretched hand. Malfoy's mouth was hanging open in a rather uncharacteristic fashion.

 

"You were saying?" Severus inquired mildly, keeping his wand trained on Malfoy's chest.

 

Incredibly, Lucius' mouth was stretching into a sly smile, brightened by a flicker of lightning. "You've forgotten, Severus," he chided. "You're still outnumbered."

 

He flicked his wand absently over Malfoy's shoulder at one of the advancing dark figures, crying, "Stupefy!" and watching the figure fall with satisfaction. Raising his wand once more to deal with the other one, Severus was just as surprised as Malfoy when a red jet of light arced through the trees and felled the last one.

 

"Outnumbered, eh?" he asked a now pale Malfoy with a grim chuckle. He took a step closer, realizing with a slight start that Malfoy probably had his actual wand tucked away in his robes somewhere. He'd only taken away his extra one.

 

Malfoy held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. The thunder boomed again.

 

"Keep your hands up," Severus barked. "If you so much as twitch, I swear I'll kill you, Lucius." Swiftly, he advanced on him and thrust his hand into Malfoy's robe pocket, searching.

 

"This is rather unnecessary, I think," Lucius said in a tone that suggested that searching his person was somehow worse than actually killing him.

 

"I doubt it," he replied absently, flinching as he heard another female scream echo through the trees. And indeed, within moments, Severus pulled another wand out of Malfoy's pocket.

 

"Oh, my, three wands," Malfoy said. "And here I am with none."

 

Rolling his eyes slightly, Severus poked his wand into Lucius' chest. "Shut up."

 

"Are you actually going to kill me, Severus?" he asked silkily. "Have you ever managed to kill anyone, I wonder? I never saw you, if you did. Tell you what, Severus, go right ahead." Spreading his arms out, Lucius offered an inviting target. He grinned wolfishly. "I dare you!"

 

He only hesitated for a moment. "Stupefy," Severus whispered into Malfoy's ear, smirking as he heard the thud of his unconscious body hitting the ground. "Petrificus totalus," he added for good measure.

 

Tucking two wands into his pocket and holding his own in front of him, Severus began moving quickly toward the source of the screams he'd heard. He only dimly saw Voldemort's limp body sprawled in the mud, water running in rivulets into the blank, open eyes. Noting only that it was not Hermione, Severus turned around and saw her, similarly collapsed, Potter at her side.

 

With a soft curse, Severus fell to his knees at her other side. "What has happened to her, Potter?" he asked, willing his voice to remain level.

 

"Professor Snape?" the boy asked idiotically. "What're you...?"

 

"Potter!" Severus snapped, unwilling to deal with stupid questions as his panic mounted.

 

"She's hurt," Potter said unnecessarily. "I can't stop the bleeding."

 

At the worried note in his voice, Severus' heart dropped. Hermione's face was pale and she appeared to be unconscious. Blood was seeping around the already soaked rag Potter was holding to her side--his shirt, probably, Severus noted, taking in the boy's bare chest.

 

Not hesitating, Severus stripped off his own shirt, ignoring Potter's shocked gaze and placing his hands beside the boy's on her body, putting firm pressure on the wound. Hermione moaned a bit but didn't move. His heart broke a little more.

 

"She needs the Infirmary," Potter said very quietly, still looking rather surprised at Severus' appearance.

 

"Where's the Portkey? " he asked. "The one that brought you here."

 

Potter was despondent. "Wherever I dropped it when they grabbed me. I wasn't paying close attention to my surroundings. We'd never find it in this rain, Professor."

 

With a sigh, Severus removed one of his hands from Hermione long enough to take Potter's wand out of his pocket and toss it at him. "Do you know how to make a Portkey, Potter?" He hoped fervently that the boy did--he would never be able to concentrate long enough to be able to manage it himself.

 

Startled once more, Potter looked down at the wand in his lap with obvious curiosity. "I think so...to Hogwarts, at least. Gryffindor tower."

 

"Quickly, then!" he snapped, returning his gaze to Hermione's disturbingly white face and his hand to her oozing side. "A rock, a leaf, anything!"

 

Removing one of own hands from her body, Potter pointed a trembling wand at a nearby fist-sized rock. Severus let out a relieved breath as he recited the proper words and the rock sparkled momentarily.

 

"Can you walk?" Severus inquired.

 

Potter nodded.

 

"Good. I can only carry one of you," he said, gently slipping one hand behind Hermione's neck and another under her knees, twisting her so that her side was firmly against his belly. It was the best he could do for the moment. As swiftly as he dared, he stood, taking care to continue to press her wound into his body. She groaned softly in protest.

 

They positioned themselves around the stone, Potter crouched with an outstretched hand and Severus' foot extended toward the rock. Looking up and seeing Severus' affirming nod, Potter cried, "Now!" and they both touched the Portkey, feeling the tell-tale tug.

 

Ron Weasley looked very surprised as the sopping wet trio popped into the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room. Potter managed to fall flat on his face and cursed loudly as his chin encountered the floor. With only a stagger, Severus fixed the shocked Weasley with his most fierce glare. "Get out of my way," he hissed, holding Hermione more tightly as she moaned louder.

 

Without a single protest, the boy moved to Potter's side, eyes still focused on Severus and his precious bundle as they left the tower.

 

As Severus neared the Infirmary, his steps quickened, but he was careful not to jostle Hermione. Once in the correct hallway, he began shouting, uncaring of whoever heard him. "Poppy! Quickly! I need you, now!"

 

A disheveled but alert Madam Pomfrey stepped out into the corridor. To her credit, she managed to mask her amazement at seeing Hermione rather than Potter cradled in Severus' arms rather well. All business, she was at his side in a minute, pushing him into the Infirmary. "What happened?"

 

"She's bleeding," he said simply, depositing her gently on an open bed and holding the shirts to her side with his hands once more.

 

"Get out of my way, Severus," Pomfrey said, unceremoniously shoving him away and lifting the edges of the makeshift bandage.

 

All he could do was watch helplessly as the mediwitch clucked over her new patient. For a moment, a confused and fearful look flickered across Pomfrey's face. But only for a moment. Severus allowed himself to be convinced that it quite possibly could have even been his own imagination playing tricks. Yes, that was it.

 

Seized by a sudden shiver, Severus tried to blame it on the fact that he was currently shirtless and sopping wet. But he failed miserably when he heard Madam Pomfrey make another worried little noise. Worse was the fact that Hermione hadn't made a single sound since they'd left Gryffindor tower.

 

Closing his eyes, Severus lowered his head, feeling his wet hair slap softly against his neck. It would be a long night.

 

 

 

Chapter Seventeen

            One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies---⁽²⁾

 

 

Hermione's first thought upon opening her eyes was that it felt as if she had a hot knife poking into her side. Her second was that it was incredibly dark, wherever she was.

 

She probably wasn't dead, she eventually concluded. Death probably didn't involve quite this much pain, and it wouldn't smell like antiseptic, besides. So, she was alive. Alive and ostensibly in a hospital or infirmary of sorts, given the sterile scents currently tickling her nostrils.

 

What had happened, anyway? She remembered Voldemort in the woods and the rain. And her blood. But then, there was nothing but an odd sort of darkness and a nagging sense that she ought to know what had happened. At least, given that she was tucked into a warm bed as opposed to her last memory of cold mud mixed with hot pain.

 

With a little snuffling sort of sigh, Hermione tried to stretch, stifling a cry as her side protested vigorously.

 

"You're awake," a male voice said from very near by. He sounded halfway between amusement and relief.

 

"Severus?" she asked cautiously into the darkness. She noted that her voice sounded quite rusty and more than a bit tight with pain. "Is that you? Where are we?"

 

He chuckled. "We're in the Infirmary at Hogwarts, my dear. You've given everyone quite a scare."

 

"Why?" she continued to ask. "What happened? Well, after, you know..."

 

"Potter and I managed to get you back to Hogwarts by Portkey," he said, a rustling noise emanating from roughly the same direction as his voice. "You almost died, by the way. And I would appreciate it if you wouldn't do that again."

 

"I'll try," she replied sleepily. "Why can't I see you?"

 

"It is late, Hermione. Or early, depending on one's perspective, I suppose. After four in the morning. You've been unconscious for a little more than two hours." Another rustle of cloth against cloth.

 

"Are you hurt, Severus?" she asked suspiciously. "Are you in a bed of your own?"

 

He coughed a bit. "I'm fine," he said in such a way that suggested that he might have already had this argument several times this evening. "I was hit by a small hex, but Poppy fixed it in less than ten minutes. For some reason, she's insisting that I stay under her observation for the rest of the day."

 

And there was another voice she wanted to hear. "Harry?"

 

His reply was snide at best. "Potter persists in being annoyingly healthy. Once Poppy mended his broken arm, Albus snatched him off to his office for further details. My only consolation is that I am well aware of how few details Potter actually knows. The castle is in quite an uproar, I think."

 

"Uproar?" she echoed, feeling sleep tug at her once more.

 

"We Portkeyed back into the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room, Hermione," he said. "It was rather difficult to escape anyone's notice. I thought, however, that you might appreciate that Argus Filch came in here personally about an hour ago to complain about the mess we tracked through the halls. Well, that I tracked through--you were too occupied with unconsciousness and bleeding to death to manage walking successfully." He wasn't quite able to convey his usual sarcasm as he spoke.

 

She awoke only slightly. "'M'sorry, Severus," she mumbled.

 

"So am I," he replied quietly.

 

He might have said more, but she fell back asleep before she could hear any of it.

 

----------

 

The next time she woke, it was to a pair of rather loudly arguing voices. The female seemed rather more agitated than the male.

 

"Albus, I will not allow you to do this," the female protested. "That poor girl almost died not twelve hours ago, and you want me to wake her up so you can interrogate her? I put my foot down!"

 

"Poppy..." the male said in a rather tired voice.

 

Ah...Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey. Probably Dumbledore wanted to ask her and Severus about last night and Pomfrey was throwing her customary fit.

 

Hermione considered this for a brief moment. Would it be better to allow Pomfrey her victory and face questioning later? No...probably best to talk about it now. Putting it off would only make it worse. "I'm awake," she said faintly in an attempt to catch someone's attention.

 

Opening her eyes, she saw a concerned Pomfrey and a rather stern Dumbledore both looking in her direction with startled eyes. "You see, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked rhetorically. "She's fine."

 

Madam Pomfrey literally swelled. "She is not fine," she retorted, swooping down on Hermione and starting to poke and prod her in various places. "This girl has been through a severe trauma and..."

 

"Why do I hurt so much?" Hermione asked the mediwitch very quietly, hoping the headmaster could not hear her query.

 

She clucked, placing a hand on Hermione's forehead. "You were on the receiving end of a strange hex--I wasn't able to heal you magically very successfully. But in the end, stitches worked just as well."

 

"Stitches?" she asked, alarmed, twisting and wincing simultaneously.

 

"Sit still, child," Pomfrey scolded. "Yes, stitches. I couldn't very well let you bleed out, now could I? And the usual binding spells and potions weren't working. I don't know as much about Muggle medicine as I'd like, but I do know that you won't want to be moving around much for the next few days. Once your wound has properly knitted together, I'll pull those out and you'll be riding broomsticks before you know it."

 

"I hate flying," she complained good-naturedly with a small smile.

 

"And there's that mouth," Severus said irritably from the next bed, eliciting starts from the room's other occupants. "You must be feeling better."

 

With more mutterings, Madam Pomfrey moved over to his bed, performing the same checks she'd just done on Hermione and openly smiling at his deepening scowl. "You're exhausted, Severus," she said briskly. "I still want you to stay here today. And stop looking at me like that! You're acting like I've just asked you to drink bubotuber pus."

 

He grumbled something Hermione couldn't make out.

 

"Now, Severus, you know as well as I do that's anatomically impossible," Pomfrey replied breezily. "Not to mention the fact that Albus' grandfather has been dead for a good, long time."

 

She couldn't help it--Hermione giggled, frowning as the action caused the throbbing in her side to intensify. Severus' glare deepened, although whether at her laughter or her obvious resulting pain, she wasn't entirely sure.

 

Dumbledore smiled at his professor indulgently. "They're both awake, Poppy," he said, impatience clear in his tone. "May I speak with them now?"

 

"Albus..." Pomfrey tried once more.

 

"Poppy," he said sternly. "I insist. Half an hour. Then you may return and ply them with chocolate and poke at them 'til your heart's content."

 

Huffing slightly, Madam Pomfrey walked out of the Infirmary, giving the door a solid slam upon her exit.

 

With a lazy wand flick, Dumbledore Summoned a chair from across the room and placed it in between Hermione's and Severus' beds, seating himself carefully. "I hear it was a rather exciting night last night," he said.

 

Severus coughed and regarded his coverlet with overt interest. Unsure how to respond, Hermione just plodded forward. "Erm, exciting, yes," she stammered.

 

"In fact," Dumbledore continued in the nearest thing to a drawl she'd ever heard him use, "I saw the evidence of your little, ahem, adventure for myself. Young Harry Potter escorted me to Godric's Hollow earlier this morning. We couldn't recover the Portkey he'd been sent, however. I do wonder what became of it. And that is the earliest point in your tale, is it not?"

 

Shrugging a little, Hermione toyed with the sleeve of her gown, wishing she could sit up further but unsure how to go about it without ripping her stitches. "We'd just finished our last NEWT," she started uneasily. "Harry, Ron, and I, that is. And we'd gone back to the Common Room--it was too early for supper. And an owl brought Harry a package from Mrs. Weasley."

 

"Strange," Dumbledore said noncommittally. "And it didn't occur to you that it might be a trap?"

 

Momentarily forgetting that she was talking to her headmaster, Hermione rolled her eyes slightly. "Of course it did," she retorted. "And especially when Harry opened it and that little puzzle box was inside, but--"

 

"What?" Severus interrupted incredulously.

 

Oh, yes, Hermione thought to herself. In all of the fuss, she hadn't managed to tell Severus that she'd found his puzzle box. Giving him an apologetic look that she vaguely hoped Dumbledore didn't notice, she continued. "A puzzle box," she enunciated. "Small, round, with a rather pretty design on the top. And Harry reached in to take it and disappeared."

 

His hands whitened on the coverlet. "Malfoy," Severus breathed in a dangerous voice.

 

She was at least as confused as Dumbledore looked. "Excuse me?" Dumbledore finally asked.

 

"Draco Malfoy," he explained. "Some months ago I caught him down around my office for no apparent reason. He was hiding something in his sleeve. Not long after that, I noticed that the little box I keep on my desk had gone missing. It was a puzzle box that my uncle gave me years ago. Malfoy must have stolen it and enchanted it to be a Portkey to take Potter to You-Know-Who!"

 

Hermione's jaw dropped, but Dumbledore actually looked irritated. "Really, Severus, just because you don't care for Lucius Malfoy is no reason to accuse--"

 

"Albus, Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater. One of the Dark Lord's most trusted servants. Me not caring for him is rather inconsequential," he replied tightly.

 

"Lucius Malfoy is also beside the point," Dumbledore said. "It is Draco that you are blaming. A student, Severus. A child."

 

Severus' eyes widened slightly and his nostrils flared, gaze a mixture of hurt and anger. "Albus, I saw him with my own eyes!"

 

"Then why did you not come to me immediately?" Dumbledore asked hotly. "If you were so certain that Draco Malfoy was up to something."

 

"I didn't know exactly what he was doing," Severus admitted. "I did not want to make unfounded claims."

 

"It seems to me, Severus, that is exactly what you are doing right now. Unfortunately, it is the word of a student against yours." But Dumbledore did not sound quite as sorrowful as his words would otherwise indicate. "A student who has never been a major disciplinary problem and who you have often called a credit to your House."

 

Severus looked dumbfounded and Hermione wanted to wrap her arms around him in comfort. "Albus, you know that I was forced to say..."

 

She decided to throw in her own two Knuts, as well. "Professor Dumbledore, Malfoy provokes a Gryffindor at least once a week. He hasn't called me anything but filthy names since we were in our second year."

 

Softening slightly, Dumbledore did not seem to be convinced. "While perhaps a misguided child, Draco Malfoy still has a fair amount of maturing ahead of him. I will, of course, address the matter appropriately if he comes to me, as I expect you to, Severus, if he chooses to speak to you."

 

With a slight nod, Severus' face clearly expressed his opinion on the notion of Draco Malfoy ever approaching him on such a matter. Hermione, for her part, did wonder briefly how one would go about initiating that conversation. I'm sorry, Professor, but I tried to send Harry Potter to his death at the hands of a sadist recently, just didn't have a ring to it.

 

In a clear dismissal of the point, Dumbledore chose rather to continue the narrative. "So, Miss Granger, Harry disappeared," he prompted.

 

"And then Ron and I went to tell you, sir," she said.

 

"At which point I seem to recall telling you to go back to Gryffindor Tower and wait," he said pointedly.

 

Hermione bowed her head. "I tried," she said. "But then I got to thinking about something I'd read lately in an old book." Thinking fast, Hermione tried to come up with a way to explain her extracurricular activities without going into great detail. "A ritual, you see."

 

"Yes," Dumbledore replied. "Harry did mention that you asked him to read something off a piece of parchment that he, regrettably, subsequently misplaced. This, apparently, is what caused Voldemort's rather surprising demise."

 

Her fingers began plucking at her coverlet anxiously. "It's an ancient ritual. I found it referenced in some things I was reading and then I happened to stumble across a full account."

 

"I am unfamiliar with such a thing," he replied.

 

She shrugged. "It hasn't actually been in use for centuries. Not since the advent of the Killing Curse, I imagine. But it's very simple--if the blood of an enemy is freely shed and an incantation spoken, the enemy dies. Body and spirit."

 

"Body and spirit?" Dumbledore asked mildly.

 

Her discomfort increased and she noticed that Severus' hands were clenching his blanket for dear life. "Well," she began, wondering how to phrase her theory. "All the Killing Curse does is stop your heart. Kills the body. Voldemort's spirit endured after he was hit with it before and that's how he was able to come back, I think. But Iustus' ritual, that's blood magic. It's got nothing to do with biology. So when you use that, you're cursing more than just the body. You're cursing his magic, his essence as well. Less elegant than the Killing Curse, I suppose, but rather more effective as well."

 

She saw Severus' jaw drop, his eyes clearly asking, When did you figure all of this out? Hermione permitted herself a small smile.

 

"You appear to have given this a great deal of thought, Miss Granger," Dumbledore told her gravely. "And just how did you happen to come across an account belonging to Claudius Iustus, besides?"

 

Returning to her fidgeting, Hermione refused to look up at him. "I know it's very Dark magic," she said tentatively. "I just...we don't study the ancient forms of blood rituals in any of our courses here and I was curious." Perhaps he would accept that.

 

Dumbledore was clearly fighting to not respond. Instead, he switched subjects. "How did you convince Voldemort to shed his blood of freewill?"

 

"We didn't," she replied. "But last November, when, well, you know," she hedged, "some of You-Know-Who's blood got into my open cuts. We shared blood and I became his bloodkin, which made it possible for me to play the sacrifice."

 

Eyebrows raising even higher, the headmaster leaned closer to Hermione. "Then, Miss Granger, perhaps you could tell me why it was required for you and Professor Snape to approach Voldemort, if you had all of the resources for this ritual here at Hogwarts?"

 

"We didn't have Harry," she said. "And Harry had to perform it."

 

"Why, Miss Granger?" he asked. "Certainly the school is practically overrun with enemies of the Dark Lord. Any of us could fulfill this role."

 

She was confused--Dumbledore was the one who wouldn't go after Harry in order for him to fulfill his destiny and he was asking her that? "But they're connected," she cried desperately. "Harry is--was--You-Know-Who's greatest enemy!"

 

"Allow me to understand," he began slowly. "You took it upon yourself to seek out Harry and Voldemort in order to perform this ancient, Dark ritual in which you and Harry were the only potential players. Pray tell, what was your role in all of this, Severus? Were you there to light the incense?" Hermione blinked at the unheard of sarcasm in the headmaster's tone.

 

"And to bless the knife," Severus retorted, equally sarcastically. "What do you think, Albus? She comes knocking on my door, asking me where the Dark Lord could have possibly taken Potter and I'm going to just tell her blandly and then go back to marking my finals? I wasn't going to let her go alone."

 

Dumbledore looked back and forth between them, blinking. "There's something here that you are hiding from me," he said suspiciously.

 

Studying her blankets even more intently, Hermione could not tell what Severus was doing. "I don't know what you could possibly mean, Albus," he said carefully. "Miss Granger approached me for information on Potter's whereabouts last night and explained enough of the ritual to me that I realized she might have been correct in her assessment of the situation."

 

With a deeply furrowed brow, Dumbledore put a hand to his forehead in exasperation.

 

Severus tried again. "Albus, when we arrived, Potter was hiding in the trees, disarmed and injured. He could not have lasted much longer without intervention."

 

"Be that as it may, Severus, I cannot help but to be disappointed in both of you," Dumbledore told him. "After the events of last November, I would have expected you to act in a less rash manner."

 

Hermione would not apologize. Her actions had possibly saved her friend's life and helped him destroy one of the most evil men in the world. She couldn't apologize for that.

 

"No one will be informed of the exact events of last night," he continued, pinning them both with a brief glare. "Harry knows, and you two, but no one else must know that Voldemort was defeated using Dark magic. The surrounding events, of course, are common knowledge already, but the details of the ritual you have just described to me will not be disclosed. Do I make myself clear?"

 

"Yes, Headmaster," she said, just as Severus muttered, "Yes, Albus."

 

"Good," he replied briefly. "I do hope that Poppy lets you leave the Infirmary soon. There are many celebrations you are both missing in the meantime."

 

Severus harrumphed.

 

----------

 

Severus watched Hermione doze and shifted uneasily in his own bed. The slight flush on her cheeks as she slept made him feel better; at least there was enough blood in her system now so that she could blush. In fact, she probably still had traces of Poppy's transfusion spells in her veins.

 

He had been more afraid last night than he'd been in a very long time. Watching helplessly as Madam Pomfrey went about her work, making noises of concern and shaking her head every so often. Hermione had stopped breathing at one point, he did know that. It had elicited an incredibly rare curse from the usually stolid mediwitch and he'd had to resist the urge to plunge forward and take Hermione in his arms again as Pomfrey had begun artificial respiration.

 

But after a tense moment, Hermione had gasped and twisted a little, perhaps in an attempt to rise out of her unconscious state. That was when Severus had finally allowed himself to relax and his poor numbed knee remembered that it couldn't support his weight. Watching him collapse to the floor, Pomfrey had just thrown a gown at him and told him to get into bed, barely missing a beat.

 

The longest hour of his life later, Pomfrey had finally pronounced Hermione stable, stitching her side shut and changing the still unconscious girl into a clean gown, giving her a quick bath along the way to remove the mud from her face and hands. And not three hours later, Hermione had woken up.

 

A horrible experience, to be sure, but it was showing signs of being over, finally. Especially given that it seemed as if Dumbledore was not going to shower them with laurels and place them at seats of honor. Well, that suited Severus just fine. He had no interest in such things.

 

It had stung, though, and more than he would like to admit, that Dumbledore brushed over his certainty of Draco Malfoy's involvement so blithely. He had thought that, through the years, the headmaster had come to place a certain level of trust in him. But that did not seem to be the case. Dumbledore had not so much as questioned the child, to his knowledge. It wasn't as if Severus was calling for Malfoy to be thrown into Azkaban; he just wanted the entire story to be known.

 

Perhaps seeing his father being given the Dementor's Kiss would be punishment enough for Malfoy, Severus told himself despondently. Probably not, though.

 

"Ah, Severus, you're awake," Pomfrey said, interrupting his thoughts as she came bustling into the room. "Good." Walking over to his bedside, she began pulling his blankets down.

 

"What are you doing?" he asked, startled.

 

"You need a bath, Severus," she replied briskly, tugging at the laces of his gown.

 

Quickly, he folded his arms across his chest and fixed her with a fierce scowl. "Poppy, I am more than capable of bathing myself," he said sternly.

 

"Nonsense. I don't want you putting weight on that knee any more than you have to for today, Severus. It will only take a few minutes," she told him, pulling a bit at his collar. "Now come on, off with it."

 

"I will not!" he cried, wincing as he realized he'd just given a fair impression of an angry three year old boy. He decided to go for broke. "And there's nothing you can do to make me!" A snuffling noise from nearby made him wonder whether or not Hermione was awake.

 

"Severus..." Pomfrey warned.

 

If anything, his scowl deepened. "Put a chair in the shower or something, if you're so damned worried. But you will not give me a sponge bath, Poppy. I forbid it!"

 

Yes, a definite chortle emanated from the general vicinity of Hermione's bed.

 

With a spluttering noise, Pomfrey backed away from his bedside and strode off into the back of the Infirmary, still muttering to herself. Severus hoped she'd stay away for a good, long time. Sponge bath, indeed. "I'm glad I could provide your afternoon entertainment, Hermione," he said, glancing over.

 

Slowly, she turned over, still laughing. "Ooh...stop making me laugh, Severus. It hurts," she said, grinning.

 

Immediately, he was concerned. "Are you...I mean..."

 

She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Severus. It's just...not fun to make any sort of sudden movements, you know. I just hope I don't start to hiccup any time soon. That would be unfortunate."

 

"I take it you're feeling better, then?" he asked, equal parts sarcasm and concern.

 

"Well enough to be bored with staying in bed." Perhaps to illustrate her point, her hands began fidgeting with the edges of her coverlet. "Although I suspect that I'd find otherwise if I stood up. Maybe I can find someone to send me some books..."

 

He smiled. "Now that Albus is aware of your extracurricular reading tastes?" he asked. "Doubtful."

 

Hermione returned his smile but did not speak. Severus began wondering how angry Pomfrey would be if he went over to her bedside and was beginning to swing his legs off the side of the bed when the main door banged open.

 

"Hey, Madam Pomfrey?" a boy's voice asked cheerfully. "We were wondering if--"

 

"She's not here," Severus said in a stern tone, hoping whoever it was would go away. "What do you need?"

 

Ron Weasley popped his head around the door. "Oh, hallo, Professor Snape. We were just wanting to see how Hermione was doing. May we...?" He looked rather perplexed at the sight of his professor tucked sullenly into a hospital bed of his own but, to his credit, said nothing about it.

 

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, catching sight of her friend. "Come in. Although, I expect Madam Pomfrey will kick you back out if you're too loud."

 

Weasley laughed. "We wouldn't want that. Harry's got the bright idea of hiding out here for a bit," he explained. "A Daily Prophet reporter's just arrived, right after luncheon. D'you think that would be all right?"

 

"Did you bring something entertaining?" she asked hopefully as they ducked into the room and came over to her bed.

 

Weasley sat down in Dumbledore's vacated chair, contriving to look hurt. "You wound me to the quick, love. Am I not entertaining enough for you?"

 

Hermione rolled her eyes and Severus suppressed his urge to mirror her.

 

Potter was slightly more subdued, Summoning his own chair and taking a seat on her other side. "How are you doing, Hermione?" he asked pleasantly, taking one of her hands in his.

 

"I'm okay, as long as I don't move," she replied. "How's your arm, then?"

 

With a little smile, he held the arm in question up in the air, waving it slightly. "Good as new."

 

"And did you find your wand?" she continued. "I remember you'd lost it when..." Trailing off, she gave Harry an apologetic look.

 

He coughed slightly, eyes flicking over to Severus so quickly Severus wasn't entirely sure if he had or not. "Uh...Professor Snape recovered it for me last night."

 

With an inward sigh, Severus realized that might be Potter's casual way of asking for further explanation. "Lucius Malfoy had it on his person. I don't know why."

 

The three Gryffindors were silently regarding him--Weasley with his typical confusion, Potter with a shameful sort of gratitude, and Hermione with an expression Severus mentally tucked away to think about later. After a series of awkward pauses, Potter coughed again and gazed down at his fingertips. "I guess I ought to thank both of you," he said. "For, well, last night and all."

 

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, Severus knowing that her eyes were filling with tears and wishing he was close enough to touch her.

 

"You're welcome, Potter," Severus said gruffly, breaking the moment. "I trust that this will be the last time my services will be required as far as you are concerned?"

 

He smiled rather bashfully. "I will try not to be abducted by insane, megalomaniacal wizards in the future, Professor," he replied.

 

"Besides," Severus continued blandly, "if He--Miss Granger turns up in the Infirmary with mortal injuries once again, I shudder to think of what actions Madam Pomfrey might take."

 

"It couldn't be worse than a sponge bath, now could it, Professor?" Hermione teased.

 

"A thousand points," he replied automatically, forgetting they weren't alone.

 

The boys' reactions were priceless, really. Potter's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Weasley reddened with anger and opened his mouth to speak but immediately closed it upon realizing there was no possible response.

 

Severus rolled his eyes at the pair. "Gryffindors," he said in disgust.

 

"Ron, Harry," Hermione said gently. "He was joking. Really. You don't think he'd actually take away that many points from someone, do you?"

 

He was rather startled to see the looks in their eyes that suggested that yes, yes they did think he would.

 

----------

 

Various people visited during the day, mostly for Hermione, of course. Although McGonagall did smile at him rather pleasantly as she fussed over her pet student.

 

But it was time for supper and the Infirmary was fairly deserted. Even Madam Pomfrey had stepped out herself, wanting to celebrate with everyone else. "Severus, you let me know immediately if something happens," she'd told him with a warning glint in her eye.

 

He was currently staring at the stones in the ceiling, counting. He'd lost count around three that afternoon when the playing cards in Weasley's hands had exploded and startled him out of his boredom. Soon after that, Pomfrey had thrown the boys out of the Infirmary, claiming that, "Miss Granger needs her rest!"

 

She probably did, he reflected. If the fact that she'd promptly fallen asleep and stayed that way for more than two hours was any indication. He'd stopped watching her sleep because it only made him want to go to her side.

 

This was ridiculous, he realized with a start. All he wanted to do was touch her, reassure himself that she was all right. And it wasn't as if he had an audience or anything.

 

Pulling himself upright, Severus placed his feet on the cold stone floor, wincing slightly as his knee protested against his weight. But it was not a great distance he was intending to travel--six feet, at a maximum.

 

He paused momentarily once standing, considering both Dumbledore's armchair and a relatively empty place on Hermione's bed. It only took him a moment to seat himself on her bed, hand reaching out tentatively to lay on her cheek.

 

With a little sigh, she smiled drowsily and her eyes fluttered open. "Severus," she murmured.

 

"Good afternoon," he replied with a smile.

 

"You've been too far away," she admitted. "But I didn't think Madam Pomfrey wanted to hear that." She stretched out a hand of her own, fingers wrapping around his other wrist.

 

Quickly, carefully, Severus shifted on the bed, settling himself behind Hermione, his belly her makeshift pillow, loosely wrapping his arms around her shoulders in an embrace, cautious not to hurt her. "Is this okay?" he whispered, relishing the feel of her.

 

She hummed. "Wonderful."

 

He kissed her shoulder, smoothing her hair back with a gentle hand. "I was worried," he confessed. "I think you ought to stick to books and needles and leave the 'battling evil wizards' to others."

 

Chuckling a bit, she turned her head halfway into his chest, breathing in deeply. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "I might agree with you. All of these scars are doing awful things for my self-esteem."

 

"I think you're lovely," he said quietly. "You and your scars." Before she could formulate a reply, he leaned down and kissed her.

 

Her lips curved into a smile against his. "I wasn't going to say anything," she protested.

 

"Who said you were?" he asked, kissing her again.

 

Wrapping her hands around one of his own, Hermione threaded her fingers through his thoughtfully. "Severus?"

 

"Hmmm?" Another kiss on the crown of her head.

 

"Thank you for going with me last night. I couldn't have..." Her voice cracked and his arms tightened around her.

 

"Hush," he replied firmly, not wanting her to say it.

 

A contemplative silence fell between them, a comforting quiet that Severus was actually loath to break. He wondered for a moment if she had fallen asleep again.

 

If she had, of course, the loud slam of the door being flung open would have startled her into wakefulness once more. "Hey, Hermione, Madam Pomfrey said--"

 

The silence shifted to a more awkward one as the newest occupant of the room gaped at the pair on the bed.

 

It had been Miss Patil before and so it was Miss Patil now. Her mouth was hanging quite unattractively open and she rather looked like a fish. How she'd managed to hang on to the two plates of food she was holding, Severus would never know.

 

After a few beats, Miss Patil put the plates on a nearby table and backed away. "Maybe I ought to...yes...good night, Hermione, Professor," she squeaked, all but running away.

 

Hermione covered her face with her hands and Severus unflinchingly let his head fall back against the headboard with a loud thud.

 

"Are you hungry?" he eventually asked her, eyeing the plates on the table.

 

"Are you serious?"

 

Shrugging, Severus carefully extracted himself from her bedclothes and made his way over to the food, placing a plate in her lap and then sitting in the armchair with his own. "What else do you propose we do? I am not going to run after Miss Patil and Oblivate her, and you are in no condition to either."

 

With a frown, she poked her fork into a ham slice forlornly. "Pity. So, what happens now?"

 

Oddly complacent, Severus took a bite of potatoes. "Who knows?"

 

 

 

Chapter Eighteen

            The jaws that bite, the claws that catch---

 

 

Hermione woke up when Madam Pomfrey pulled down her blankets, allowing cold air to grab at her warm body. Struggling for a moment, she relaxed upon realizing that Pomfrey was merely checking the dressing around her wound.

 

"You're healing nicely, Miss Granger," the mediwitch said. "In fact, I daresay that if you feel like it, you can leave the Infirmary today. I want you to come back so I can keep an eye on you, of course, but I know you'll want to be celebrating with your friends." She offered Hermione a rare smile. "Severus left earlier himself, but I thought you would prefer to sleep."

 

"I can leave?" she asked, dumbfounded. Pomfrey was notorious for keeping students far longer than required. Unwilling to question her sudden impulses, Hermione gingerly sat up, gratified when her side only protested mildly.

 

Pomfrey watched her anxiously for signs of distress. "Nothing strenuous, mind. You can go to meals, but otherwise, I want you laying down in your dormitory or Common Room. And if anything changes--if you start to feel dizzy or your wound starts weeping--I want you to come to me immediately. Is that clear? If I hear of anything amiss with you, I will Petrify you and strap you to the bed, Miss Granger."

 

With a reassuring smile, Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I promise to be careful, Madam Pomfrey," she said, putting her feet on the floor and rather enjoying the shocking cold on her bare toes.

 

It only took two tries for her to stand successfully, taking a few steps around the room to prove to the hovering Pomfrey that she could.

 

"Can I have my robes?" she asked.

 

"I have a fresh set, dear," Pomfrey replied. "The ones you came in wearing were ruined. Let me help you..."

 

With a few token protests, Hermione allowed her to undress and help her into her robes. Actually, she was rather glad for the help. She could have done it herself; it just would have taken about five times longer.

 

Stepping back, Pomfrey studied her calculatingly. "Now, dear, I don't want you to think I'm throwing you out. If you feel that you need to stay--"

 

"Oh, no," Hermione replied hastily. "I feel all right. I mean, I don't want to go skipping through the halls or anything, but I don't want to spend another day counting stones in the ceiling."

 

Surprisingly, Pomfrey chuckled. "Well, take it easy. Breakfast is in a little less than an hour, so you can take your time getting there."

 

With heartfelt thanks, Hermione left the Infirmary slowly, trying to figure out the best way to walk that didn't make her hurt too badly. If Pomfrey noticed that she went in the exactly the opposite direction than the Great Hall, she didn't say anything.

 

Severus should be in his quarters, she thought. And wouldn't he be glad to see her up and about? Smiling secretively, she focused her attention on making it to his rooms without tripping. Fortunately, the corridors were blissfully empty, so she wasn't worried about knocking anyone over as she literally watched her feet shuffle forward.

 

“Well, well,” an unmistakable voice drawled from somewhere nearby. “Someone’s up early. Or perhaps you’re up very, very late?”

 

Hermione turned around to see a gleefully grinning Draco Malfoy propped lazily against a suit of armor. “Malfoy,” she said coldly, inclining her head but maintaining eye contact.

 

“Granger,” he replied, still smirking at her. “According to local sources, you’ve been a very naughty girl.”

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she retorted, injecting as much haughtiness in her tone as she could.

 

“I hear that you’ve finally given it up, Granger,” Malfoy said, uncrossing his legs and moving closer to her. “I’d no idea that our dear Potions Master had a thing for ugly little Mudbloods, but there’s no accounting for taste, now is there?”

 

Her hands clenched into fists by her sides. “Go to hell,” she said quietly through grit teeth.

 

“Tell me, Granger, how long have you been letting him fuck you?” Malfoy’s voice slid over the expletive like silk on water and he placed a single finger on Hermione’s cheek as he spoke. “One year? Two? Is he the first professor you’ve--“

 

She could take it no longer. The last two days of rage and fear and anxiety came pouring through her as she swung her closed fist at Malfoy’s slimy smile. It connected with a sickening crunch against his nose.

 

Hermione hoped fervently she’d broken it.

 

“You bitch!” Malfoy spat, cupping his hands around the freely bleeding appendage.

 

Absently, she noticed her knuckles were spattered with his blood as well. It made her feel oddly better.

 

Eyes filled with a mix of pain and anger, Malfoy pointed his wand at her. “Ex--“

 

But he never finished the spell and she never knew what hex he was going to place on her. Before Malfoy could even blink, her wand was in her hand and pointed straight at his throat. “Silencio! Expelliarmus!” she cried, effectively cutting him off.

 

Hermione smiled as she caught Malfoy’s wand deftly in her left hand. “Crudity is the self-defense of ignorance, you know, Malfoy,” she said grimly, imitating Severus as well as she could and putting a hand to her now-aching side. Hopefully, she hadn't burst any of the stitches.

 

Her victorious moment was cut short, however, as she heard a scandalized voice shout, “Miss Granger!” halfway down the hall.

 

Professor McGonagall came skidding through the corridor, grabbing Hermione’s shoulder and giving it a firm shake. She bit back a cry as her side protested once more.

 

Of course, she thought, it probably did look rather bad. There she was, standing over a bleeding Draco Malfoy, holding his wand and smirking at him. It certainly couldn’t look good.

 

“What are you doing, girl?” McGonagall roared, shaking her again. “Fifty points from Gryffindor for assaulting a student.”

 

Hermione blinked but stayed silent.

 

“Mr. Malfoy, get on to the Infirmary,” she continued, giving him a glare for good measure.

 

Taking an indecent period of time, Malfoy clamored to his feet, holding his hand out and giving Hermione an expectant look. With one last sneer, she handed him the wand and watched him saunter down the hallway. She noted that he kept prodding at his nose with no small amount of satisfaction.

 

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, finally releasing her shoulder and her expression softening minutely, “just because you've just recently undergone severe trauma is no excuse to go about attacking your fellow students.”

 

Hermione looked up at her Head of House, wondering what she should say. In the end, she concluded that it would probably be best to remain quiet.

 

Softening even further, McGonagall stepped away. "I think it would be best if you run along, now, Miss Granger."

 

With a short nod, Hermione turned and started walking toward Gryffindor tower. Now would probably not be the best time to visit Severus. Harry and Ron would probably be awake already, in any case, and she could go to breakfast with them. "Ursa Minor," she told the Fat Lady.

 

"Glad to see you're feeling better," the portrait responded. "Everyone's been quite worried about you."

 

"Thanks," she said, very carefully climbing in the hole as the Fat Lady swung forward, grimacing as she had to bend over.

 

She was rather surprised to see at least half a dozen people milling about in the Common Room, Ron, Parvati, and Ginny among them. Offering them a half-smile, she put a hand to her side again. "Morning," she tried.

 

Ron grinned back at her, eyes sparkling, but Parvati spoke before he could. "Hermione, how could you?" she cried reproachfully. "With him?"

 

Smile freezing, Hermione didn't know what to say to that. She was hurting and tired and not up to dealing with this. Not now.

 

She turned on her heel and climbed out of the tower once more, only allowing her tears to fall once she'd escaped the Fat Lady's line of sight.

 

----------

 

She wound up, oddly enough, in the corridor leading to the kitchens, curled up beside a large statue, the marble cold and somehow comforting against her back.

 

Hermione cried for an unknown length of time; hot, angry tears that left her shaking in their aftermath. She was torn between an anger so strong it scared her and abject misery. How dare Parvati react like that? That was probably how everyone was going to behave, even Harry and Ron. Especially Harry and Ron, perhaps.

 

It was the first time ever, she dimly noted, that she actually wished Severus was a bit nicer to people in general. If only he didn’t snipe at Harry every time he saw him.

 

But that was unfair--she couldn’t ask Severus to change just to please her whims. Well, she shouldn’t at any rate. Sighing, she tilted her head back, resting the crown of her head on the statue’s base, closing her eyes and making an attempt not to cry again.

 

She’d almost gone to his quarters. Almost. But as upset as she was, she knew she'd wind up picking a fight with him and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him like that. Again.

 

“So there you are,” someone said from above her. Slowly, Hermione opened her eyes. Ron.

 

“I’m not going back there right now, Ron,” she said tiredly. “I can’t bear people looking at me like that. As if I’ve somehow betrayed them.”

 

“Everyone’s worried,” he replied. “Well...most everyone. It’s all over the castle by now, I’m sure.” Ron coughed a bit, nervous about her reaction to that fact.

 

She made a little noise between a hiccup and a giggle. “Of course,” she agreed. “If Parvati ran into Lavender on her way to Hannah’s room last night, I’m sure it circulated in record time.”

 

“And you missed breakfast,” Ron continued, crouching down beside her.

 

She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes with a little huff. “Somehow, Ron, I’m not very hungry.”

 

The crouch turned into a sit, his long legs splaying out in front of him, his bony hip digging into her side. Hermione was comforted by the reality of him. Even the smattering of freckles across his nose made her feel better.

 

Something struck her. “Where’s Harry?” she asked very softly.

 

Ron’s eyes nervously flicked away. “He’s pretty mad, love. Well...mad may not be the right word for it. Stunned, maybe. You’ve managed to shock everyone, you know.”

 

“It’s an incredibly long story,” she said, hands going to the back of her neck and rubbing fiercely. “And not very interesting, I’m sure.”

 

“Not interesting?” he echoed. “Are you crazy? Hermione, you’re telling me that the story behind the fact that you apparently were cuddling with evil Professor Snape in your Infirmary bed not a day ago isn’t interesting? What on Earth does your definition of interesting involve? Man-eating polar bears?”

 

She laid her head familiarly on his shoulder and his arm automatically snaked around her shoulder. The smells of musky boy-sweat and laundered robes tickled her nostrils and Hermione, to her horror, found herself tearing up again. “I didn’t want to make such a mess of everything,” she wailed, turning her face to the fabric of Ron’s robed shoulder.

 

“Course you didn’t,” he soothed.

 

“I just...no one was supposed to find out!” she cried, muffled.

 

Ron just sat there, letting her soak his robes, as her tears ran dry.

 

She pulled away and gave him a watery smile. “Sorry about that.”

 

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he replied, giving her a little one-armed hug across her shoulders. They regarded each other quietly for a moment. “So...” Ron said after the pause. “You and Snape, eh?”

 

“Are you mad about it?” she asked, looking at her fingertips with muted interest.

 

“Mad? Why would I be?” Ron asked blankly. “Confused as hell, sure. I mean, I’d no idea you spent any more time around him than we did, but I’m not angry. As long as...well...he is nice to you, isn’t he?”

 

She looked up, startled. “Of course he’s nice to me,” she said archly. “Ron, we’re lovers.”

 

Ron winced. “That’s a bit strange, thinking of him as your lover. Hey, ‘Mione, do me a favor and don’t call him that for a little while, okay?”

 

They were quiet once more, Hermione finally beginning to calm down a bit. After some time, she pulled away and made as if to stand slowly, stitches pulling at her side.

 

“Hold on there, girlie!” Ron said with a smile, clamping his hand over hers and pulling her carefully back down. “You don’t get off that easy.”

 

She was confused. “What?”

 

“Hermione, up until last night, I never knew that you’d spent any time around Snape that doesn’t involve either class or detention, and then I learn that you somehow know him well enough to let him....well...you know,” Ron said. “I think I am entitled enough of an explanation that I don’t spend my nights wondering if he’s taken advantage of you. But not too much, mind,” he interjected hastily. “I also don’t want to spend my nights in sleepless terror at the recollection of your description of my Potions professor naked.”

 

“I’ll refrain, then,” she replied dryly. “But it might be easier if you asked questions instead, you know.”

 

“How long?” he asked without preamble.

 

Hermione let out a dry chuckle. “That’s not very detailed. How long what? How long have we been...intimate or how long have I known him better than I’ve let on or how long has it been since they last served kippers at breakfast? Those are all valid extensions, Ron.”

 

He glared mockingly at her. “If I had the stomach for it, I’d ask for the first one please, but as it stands, I’ll settle for the second one, instead.”

 

“You remember how Harry and I told you about getting him away from You-Know-Who all those months ago?” At his nod, she continued. “Well, Dumbledore was so angry that he actually gave both of us detention--Severus and I.”

 

Ron winced again. “Hey, Hermione? Could you not call him ‘Severus’ yet either? Just for a little while. Then you can call him anything you want. Even ‘dearest, darlingest Sevvie.’”

 

“Good Lord,” Hermione replied with a laugh. “I couldn’t call him that. Doesn’t suit him at all.”

 

He grinned at her and waved his hand. “Pray, continue. I’m very intrigued with the idea of Snape having detention.”

 

“Dumbledore has a nasty streak wider than Salazar Slytherin,” she said. “He came up with some of the worst detentions I’ve ever served. The first night, you remember, he sent us out to the stables. It got a little better after that, but not much. He even handed us over to Trelawney one night,” she said with undisguised horror. Ron laughed at her expression. “Anyway, somewhere in there, we--Sev--Snape and I, that is, started working on some stuff together. You know, magical theory sort of stuff. Sev--Snape is just as interested in it as I am.”

 

Ron waggled his eyebrows comically. “A meeting of the minds, eh?”

 

She playfully slapped his shoulder and gave him a glare. “You idiot, we didn’t just fall into bed together, you know. In fact,” Hermione informed him with a prim cough, “we didn’t actually...um...well, you know, until a couple of weeks ago.”

 

“So what did you do between November and May, then, if it wasn’t that?” he asked blankly.

 

“You really are a pig, you know that?” she asked in disgust. “There’s more to life than your sexual gratification.”

 

“But not much. Anyway, you were telling me about some absolutely fascinating magical theory thingy that wound up with you and your darlingest Sevvie doing the nasty.”

 

“If you’re not going to be serious, Ron...” she warned.

 

He shrugged. “I prefer Indignant Hermione to Hysterical Hermione. Sorry.”

 

“I know you don’t care at all about our theories,” Hermione sniffed, turning away from him. “So I won’t bother telling you anything detailed. But it’s really interesting, Ron. And it’s not anything anyone’s ever done before.”

 

“With that recommendation, you have to tell me a little at least.”

 

She smiled beatifically. “Blood is magic. That’s the source of it. I’ve seen it--raw, elemental magic.”

 

He studied the dreamy look in her eyes with interest. “But what about--?”

 

“I promise, Ron, it’s true. I can’t explain any more without a chalkboard and a microscope, but trust me. And that’s what Severus and I are working on.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “So that’s why you’ve been reading all of those weird blood magic thingies. You know, Hermione, you could have said.”

 

“And admitted I was collaborating with evil Snape and falling in love with him at the same time? Right,” she scoffed.

 

“Love?” Ron asked.

 

“Yes, love,” she mimicked. “What do you think happened? I’m in love with him, he’s in love with me.”

 

Ron swallowed anxiously. “In love, huh?”

 

She just glared at him silently, daring him to say anything.

 

“I can’t say I’m thrilled for you, Hermione, okay? It’s weird and you know it as well as I do. But if this is what you want, and I’m sure it is by the way you’re giving me that ‘I’m going feed you to one of those unspeakable Forbidden Forest creatures’ look now, then far be it from me to interfere,” he said earnestly, running his free hand through his shaggy hair. “It will take a bit, but I’ll be fine with this. Although don’t ever expect me to try to be his best friend.”

 

Hermione grinned at the discomfort in his voice as he said that. “Lord, no. It’s not a front--Severus really dislikes people as much as he seems to. He doesn’t want to be your friend either.”

 

“Well, all I want is for you to be happy, and if he makes you happy, then I can accept that. Mostly.” He gave her one last hug.

 

Her tears started falling again, although they were of a decidedly more happy nature--she wasn’t going to lose all of her friends over this issue. “Oh, Ron, he does make me happy,” she said fervently. “He and I understand each other completely, although he persists in telling me I’m beautiful, which I’ve never understood. And when he touches me--“

 

“Hang on!” Ron interrupted, cheeks reddened. “Adjustment time, remember? I’m still not secure with the thought of Snape, Ardent Lover.”

 

She chuckled. “To be honest, Ron, I don’t think he is either.”

 

----------

 

They walked back to the Common Room together, Hermione’s head held high and proud as the few students they encountered gave her looks of mixed shock and disgust. Ron shot glares at them and hovered protectively at her side. Neither of them spoke and anxiety was twisting her gut into an angry knot.

 

Harry was sitting in a chair directly facing the portrait hole, obviously awaiting their return. His face was clear and his gaze frankly curious as he watched them.

 

"I found her," Ron said unnecessarily. "She's okay."

 

Silence. Harry just continued to look at them impassively. Hermione was starting to feel nervous. Steeling herself, she turned to Ron and put a hand on his arm. "Ron, maybe you ought to leave us alone."

 

Perturbed, Ron peered at her more closely. "Are you sure?"

 

"Ron," she said, exasperated.

 

With a shrug, he turned to leave. "Well, I'll be on the Quidditch pitch, then, if either of you need me. It's a beautiful day, you know." And with that, he was gone, leaving Harry and Hermione to continue to watch each other.

 

She was unsure as to the reason for his silence. He didn't appear angry. But if he wasn’t going to say anything, she wasn’t either. Two could play that petty, childish game.

 

Seconds ticked by. The sunlight flooding the room half-illuminated Harry's face, sharpening his generally congenial features. Every now and then, his glasses would glint as he shifted in the chair. But he still remained quiet.

 

Hermione let a breath out through her nose more sharply than she’d intended. This was stupid. She turned around to go up to her dormitory--Madam Pomfrey would throw fifty fits if she knew that Hermione hadn't spent her morning stretched out complacently on a couch somewhere.

 

"I knew," Harry said, finally breaking his silence.

 

She turned once more. "What?"

 

"I knew," he repeated mildly. "And you ought to sit down, you know. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey would be on your back if she knew you were standing around when there were perfectly decent and empty chairs nearby."

 

Rather confused, she laid down gratefully on a sofa, relaxing for the first time in many hours. "What do you mean, you knew?" she asked once settled in.

 

He shrugged. "I'm not stupid, Hermione. And I had a fair amount of time to think about it. Out there, out in the trees night before last, he was so worried about you, he had me make the Portkey."

 

"That's all?" she asked, chuckling incredulously. "You figured it out based on that?"

 

"Well," he continued, shifting in his chair once again, "that was when I started wondering about it. I mean, when he found us, he asked what had happened to you. Not about Voldemort, not about me. And when we got back to Hogwarts, it looked to me like he just panicked or something. He ran right to the Infirmary with you, shouting all the way. Snape's not usually that...well, out of control, I suppose."

 

"And then you figured it out?" She was dubious--that was still an awfully big leap for someone like Harry to make.

 

He grinned. "Not quite. But when I was down in the Infirmary, having Madam Pomfrey mend my arm, I saw Snape sitting up in bed, watching you, and I got to thinking. Parvati said back in March or whenever it was that she saw you with a tall, skinny fellow with dark hair. And you'd all but told us it was an older chap. I didn't really know that I knew until Parvati came back from supper last night, but I wasn't surprised when she told everyone what she'd seen." Leaning back in his chair, Harry shoved his glasses up his nose, causing them to glint in the sunlight again.

 

Hermione was baffled by his reaction. It was almost as if he was pleased at figuring it out. "You're not...mad?"

 

"I don't like that he's our professor," Harry admitted with a slight shrug. "It seems like he took advantage of you somehow. I mean...well, I don't really know what I mean. Doesn't it bother you that he's old enough to be your father?"

 

"Should it?" she asked.

 

He shrugged again, clearly becoming uncomfortable. "If I hadn't already suspected something, I probably would have been really angry with the whole thing. Or maybe if I didn't know that Snape's fundamentally a good person--if he wasn't, he wouldn't have saved my life so many times. Lord knows he hasn't protected me out of any affection or concern for my well-being. But I can't be angry with him. Not after all that. Just do me a favor and don't, you know, run over and smother him with kisses at dinner or anything."

 

"I doubt that will be a significant concern," she said dryly. "But I'm glad you're okay."

 

"Oh, I'm not okay," he said. "I'm confused and I think you've lost your mind, but I'm not angry or anything. And really, 'Mione, I don't think anyone else is, either, despite what they might say. I mean like Parvati, or Colin Creevey--who looked heartbroken when he found out, by the way. They're shocked, but they'll get over it eventually."

 

"You've given this a lot of thought." Shifting a bit on the sofa, she worked herself into a position to see him more clearly.

 

Cheerfully, Harry reached out an arm and ruffled her hair. "I've been hiding out all day and playing card games. That leaves a fair amount of time for thought."

 

"And here I thought you spent your days working out Quidditch plays in your head," she retorted playfully, swatting at his hand.

 

Harry stuck his tongue out at her. "Just because I don't like classwork and working out Quantum-thingies like you do doesn't make me completely unintelligent, you know."

 

"Oh, I know, but--"

 

Startled, Hermione was cut off as she heard someone loudly and quickly coming through the portrait hole. A red-faced McGonagall climbed into the Common Room and began scanning the chairs, eyes coming to rest squarely on her. "Miss Granger," she said sternly. "I need to have a word with you. Alone." Giving Harry a pointed glance, she folded her arms.

 

Silently, he scampered from the room, up to his dormitory.

 

She had a sneaking suspicion she knew what McGonagall was doing here. "What would you like to speak with me about, Professor?" she asked demurely.

 

"I would like to ask you about some interesting rumors I heard floating around the Gryffindor breakfast table, Miss Granger."

 

"I was not at breakfast, ma'am," she replied. It wouldn't do to make it easy for McGonagall.

 

Her mouth thinned. "Do not play the fool with me, Miss Granger. I am referring to the fact that some students are suggesting that you have an...inappropriate relationship with Severus Snape."

 

"Inappropriate?" she echoed, sitting up with only a small struggle.

 

"Ten points from Gryffindor," McGonagall snapped. "Answer my question. Are these rumors ill-founded or not?"

 

"Possibly not," Hermione conceded. "Although I am sure that the rumors themselves are false." She patiently waited for her professor to put the pieces together.

 

It did not take long. McGonagall’s sharp nostrils flared and her eyes widened. “Right,” she said stiffly. “Miss Granger, you’re coming with me.” Her bony hand closed tightly around Hermione’s upper arm and she found herself being pulled to her feet and out of the tower, down hallways and stairs, gently enough to suggest that McGonagall was being cautious of her injury, but with a firmness that told her it would not be prudent to attempt to pull away. But Hermione said nothing--she didn’t feel deserving of a tongue-lashing from her professor and wasn’t about to ask for one.

 

McGonagall stopped in front of the suit of armor Hermione knew marked Severus’ personal quarters, but she maintained her death grip on Hermione’s arm. She was definitely going to have a bruise there the next day.

 

“Open up,” she told the armor firmly. “I don’t need a password--I am Deputy Headmistress of this school.”

 

With a decidedly reluctant feel, the armor faded away, revealing a simple wooden door.

 

McGonagall banged on it with an angry fist. “I know you’re in there, Severus Snape! You open this door this instant!”

 

The door opened hesitantly and a bare-chested Severus poked his head out. His face was wet and he clutched a razor in his right hand. “Minerva,” he said, not particularly welcoming. His eyes flicked over Hermione and a resigned look settled across his features. “Hermione,” he sighed. “Good afternoon.”

 

Face contorting with fury, McGonagall’s other hand leapt out and grabbed Severus’ arm, startling him into dropping his razor. “Don’t you give me that,” she spat. “Come on, both of you!”

 

Severus looked bewildered as he allowed himself to be pulled down the corridor. “Where are we going?”

 

“Where do you think?” McGonagall asked witheringly.

 

“Oh.”

 

Hermione saw maybe a dozen students all told on their unceremonious walk through the castle. Most of them were openly gawking at the bizarre trio--McGonagall was nearly spitting nails, Severus was only half-dressed, and Hermione was preternaturally calm, a single hand pressed to her aching side. They stopped short in front of the ugliest statue Hermione had ever seen before. This must be the headmaster’s office--Harry had described it to her once.

 

“Ice Mice,” McGonagall hissed to the gargoyle.

 

She practically frog-marched Hermione and Severus through the office, propelling them fiercely toward the approaching desk.

 

Dumbledore looked up with a bemused smile. Well, Hermione reflected absently, they probably did look a bit silly, after all. “Good morning, Minerva. Severus. Miss Granger. What can I do for you?”

 

“Sit,” McGonagall barked at her charges. Startled, Hermione obeyed, noting that Severus didn’t even hesitate to comply either. “Albus, have you happened to listen to the students’ chatter lately? At supper last night, perhaps? Or breakfast this morning?”

 

“I believe I overheard that Mr. Finch-Fletchley is planning to attempt a reconciliation with Miss Brown,” he replied, gently puzzled, “but I fail to see exactly what that has to do with these two.”

 

“Albus, according to most of my seventh-year Gryffindors, yesterday afternoon these two were caught in a...a delicate situation in the Infirmary.” McGonagall’s eyes flashed dangerously and Hermione saw her knuckles whiten as her hands clenched further.

 

Dumbledore regarded them passionlessly. “Is this true, Severus?” he asked, benign.

 

“Yes,” Severus whispered, staring at the floor.

 

The headmaster’s eyes narrowed and his voice was increasingly stern. “And how long has this...?”

 

“Not long,” Hermione confessed, trying to meet his gaze and failing entirely.

 

If she thought she had seen him angry all those months ago, or even yesterday morning, it was nothing to what she was seeing now. Dumbledore’s hands worked themselves into fists on top of the desk. Otherwise, he was completely still, face like stone. “I see,” he said coldly.

 

The room was absolutely quiet for more than a full minute.

 

The silence was broken, however, by the scraping of his chair as Dumbledore slowly stood. By the point, his hands were actually trembling with suppressed rage. Hermione wanted to crawl under her chair and hide. A sideways glance at Severus showed that he probably would have gladly joined her.

 

“I am shocked,” Dumbledore said in a low voice. “Shocked and appalled. In all my years at this school, I have never heard of such inexcusable behavior,” he spat. Both Severus and Hermione flinched.

 

“First, you both deliberately disobey me concerning Harry Potter,” he continued in that same paralyzing voice, “And now you tell me this. Severus, how could you?” Dumbledore said, pinning him to his chair with a fiery glare. “She’s a student! And for that matter, Miss Granger, I would have thought you would be capable of showing better judgement.”

 

Hermione winced at the criticism.

 

“It would serve both of you right if I tossed you out of this castle today,” he said.

 

Something inside Hermione snapped. Yesterday, he'd chastised them for daring to save Harry's life, and today for something he didn't even have the complete details behind. She leapt to her feet, ignoring her side, mouth working furiously to come up with a response. “But you can’t!” she cried, agonized. “Headmaster, we’ve done nothing wrong!”

 

“Enough!” Dumbledore shouted--the first time she’d ever heard him raise his voice. “You will sit down, Miss Granger!”

 

She closed her mouth but remained defiantly on her feet, daring him to punish her for it.

 

“You will be confined to your quarters,” he said levelly. “Both of you. You may attend meals, but otherwise you will be in your respective rooms. Professor McGonagall and I will perform bedchecks. This will be effective until you, Miss Granger, have left Hogwarts at the end of the week. There is to be no contact between the two of you. You will not speak at meals, you will not speak in the hallways, and you will not, under any circumstances, behave in a manner that does not bespeak an appropriate student-teacher relationship. Do I make myself clear?” He glared alternately at a fuming Hermione and a more or less recalcitrant Severus.

 

Hermione shot her headmaster a glare of pure venom. How dare he punish her like a wayward child? Her lip curled upward into a snarl.

 

His eyes came to rest on her and he gave her a grim smile. “And I believe that a hundred points from each of your Houses would be appropriate under the circumstances,” he said off-handedly. “And Miss Granger, you will calm down immediately or it will be five hundred.”

 

With a great deal of effort, Hermione slowed her breathing and forced her face into a blank mask. “Yes, Professor Dumbledore,” she said through clenched teeth.

 

Dumbledore pointed to his fireplace. “You will Floo back to your rooms immediately.” He returned to his paperwork without a second glance and Hermione’s fingers itched to throw the box of Floo powder at his head.

 

Giving her one last glance, Severus tossed his handful of powder into the flames. “Severus Snape!” he shouted and stepped into the fireplace.

 

As soon as the flames died back down, Hermione fixed Dumbledore with a baleful glare. "I am unable to use the Floo network due to my injuries," she said.

 

"Minerva, escort Miss Granger to Gryffindor tower, please," he replied.

 

Wordlessly, fury bleeding from every pore in her body, Hermione walked beside a stern McGonagall all the way back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Ignoring Harry's concerned look as she entered the room, she continued past him and up the stairs to her dormitory. Only once she was laying on her bed, curtains firmly shut, did Hermione permit herself to cry.

 

 

 

Chapter Nineteen

            Conditions of complete reality---

 

 

Righteous ire mixed with liberal amounts of self-pity made poor fare, Hermione reflected. And she wasn't only considering her physical appetite. In fact, she currently was quite disinterested in food; she hadn't left her dormitory since Dumbledore had sent her there two nights ago and still had no real desire to.

 

It had become painfully clear how closely McGonagall intended to observe her the previous day, when she brought a stack of exams along when she showed up at Hermione's bedside. She'd stayed until Parvati came into the room and departed only when it became obvious that Parvati was retiring for the night. Not a word had been exchanged--a cold, tangible silence rested between them.

 

For her own part, Hermione was content to lay on her bed listlessly, focusing on the dull ache that had taken up residence in her left side. She'd changed the dressings the day before, noting dispassionately that they were blood-spotted. The wound itself was quite ugly, the surrounding skin red and angrily puffy, muting the black stitches and purpling edges of skin pulling at their bindings. Not knowing if that was to be expected, she just put on a fresh bandage, like Madam Pomfrey had shown her in the Infirmary.

 

The pain, however, had only really resumed in earnest some time in the night. Hermione dimly suspected that was not normal but, in the end, let it pass. Somehow the pain made her feel more real--she'd been suspended in this laconic, unanimated state for nearly two days. No one had spoken to her in that time and, apart from a few initial tears that were more fury than sadness, she had not made a conscious sound.

 

If Dumbledore was bent on punishing her like a small child, she would be damned if she wasn't going to act like one.

 

What irritated her above all things, though, now that she'd had ample time to give it consideration, was his blind presumption. Other than allowing them to confirm the existence of a potentially questionable relationship, he had not permitted them a defense of any sort, preferring his on conclusions, drawn in the absence of the facts surrounding the circumstances.

 

She had attempted to convince herself that it didn't actually matter, from a rational standpoint, whether or not Dumbledore was aware of the complete situation. She and Severus had broken an important rule, regardless, and ought to be punished.

 

But every time she tried to tell herself this, Dumbledore's accusing face flashed in front of her eyes and she became upset all over again.

 

All of a sudden, Hermione's line of vision was flooded with blinding light as someone tore her bedcurtains open so violently the rings rattled. Blinking, she tried to see who it was.

 

"It's been forty-eight hours since I last saw you," a woman said. "And I distinctly recall requiring daily visits as terms for your release."

 

Squinting, Hermione made out the tip of Madam Pomfrey's hat and sighed. "Sorry," she said remorselessly. Was it possible the mediwitch wasn't aware of her confinement? "I have not been allowed to leave the tower," she continued cautiously.

 

Pomfrey clucked, mercifully blocking some of the bright sunlight as she moved closer to Hermione, stripping off her pajama top with ease and skillfully ignoring her protests. "Nonsense," she said with a gentle prod at the dressing. "I told you to take it easy, dear. That doesn't mean you have to restrict yourself to bed. If I'd wanted that, I would have kept you in the Infirmary."

 

Hermione was incredulous. She really didn't know what had happened. "Um, Madam Pomfrey, have you spoken with the headmaster recently?" she asked, unbelieving.

 

Quickly, Pomfrey pulled off the dressing, face sharpening upon seeing the actual wound. "Not lately," she said in clipped tones. "What on Earth have you managed to do to yourself, child?" She placed a cool hand on Hermione's forehead, frowning further. "You're feverish. Miss Granger, you've worked yourself into a fine low-grade infection. Why didn't you come to me as I requested?"

 

"I'd forgotten in all of the rush," Hermione admitted, her utter shock at the fact that there was still one person in the castle that didn't know what had happened transcending her impulse to be recalcitrant and uncooperative. "Professor Dumbledore said I couldn't leave my rooms and I was just so mad..."

 

"Why did Albus say that?" she inquired mildly, pulling a jar out of her sleeve somehow.

 

Wincing at the sting of the gel Pomfrey was smearing over her wound, she shifted unconsciously, giving the mediwitch better access to her side. "Well, when he found out about...that is...you really don't know?" she asked.

 

She shook her head, coming up with a bottle out of nowhere and uncapping it. "Drink that. All of it--it should take care of your fever and a fair amount of that infection. I can guess, Miss Granger, that you must have somehow made the headmaster quite angry. Although from what I've observed as of late, he has been none too pleased with your behavior. Yours or Professor Snape's for that matter."

 

The potion Hermione was sipping gingerly was surprisingly un-medicinal, even going so far as to have a rather pleasant fruity undercurrent. She thought briefly about inquiring as to its ingredients but rapidly decided she would probably be better off not knowing. "Funny you should mention..." she began in an ironic tone.

 

With a little frown, Pomfrey started applying fresh dressings to Hermione's side. "Now, dear, it's none of my business, I'm sure. I'm sorry you're in trouble, of course, but I confess it makes me feel a little better knowing that you're not permitted to run around the castle like you normally do. I'll be by tomorrow to check up on you," she said, taping the gauze down and helping her back into her pajama top. "Get some rest, Miss Granger."

 

She offered the mediwitch what she hoped was a reassuring smile as Pomfrey pulled the bedcurtains closed once more, leaving Hermione again alone with her thoughts.

 

----------

 

The house-elves must have cleaned his office last night, Severus thought to himself. Running a finger perversely along the surface of his newly polished desk, he smiled grimly at the smear it left. He resisted the sudden urge to spill a glass of water on the old wood and wondered briefly at the recent onslaught of destructive impulses he'd experienced.

 

True to his word, Dumbledore had spent the last two nights in Severus' quarters, drinking tea and watching him like a hawk. Dumbledore showed up at his office after supper--Severus was not attending meals as he couldn't bear the thought of sitting in the same room with Hermione and not being able to speak with her--and walked with him down to his rooms, where a steaming pot of tea and a plate of the headmaster's favorite treats were inevitably waiting.

 

The first night, he'd attempted small talk, asking Severus about his students' finals, Slytherin's Quidditch prospects for next year, and such banal things that it took every fiber of Severus' self-control not to throw his teacup at Dumbledore's smiling face. Perhaps, however, Dumbledore had realized this and subsequently treated the situation with the gravity it deserved, content to merely watch Severus scowl at the rug in silence.

 

But the final indignity was one that Severus had only discovered by accident. Awaking last night around two in the morning and stumbling to the lavatory, he'd nearly knocked over the headmaster hovering in the hallway. Dumbledore was actually performing bedchecks, above and beyond merely seeing Severus to bed every night. He was slipping back into Severus' rooms to make sure he did not leave.

 

The wave of raw fury that washed over Severus in that moment had left him shaking, but he'd simply given Dumbledore a tired look and continued on his way to the loo, feeling something deep inside him break even further.

 

His relationship with the headmaster had always been of a complex nature, or, at least, Severus had always considered it as such. Dumbledore kept him under his protection here at Hogwarts, as safe from Voldemort and the Death Eaters as he could be, and in return, Severus offered him what little he could. He had thought that, through the years, they had developed a sort of friendship, a sort of mutual regard for each other.

 

Apparently that was simply not the case. Dumbledore clearly regarded himself as Severus' employer and nothing more. In that light, the headmaster's ire and punishment were not only understandable but acceptable to Severus. Harsh, perhaps, but Severus had been breaking some fairly significant rules as of late.

 

But to be on the receiving end of such a thing from someone he considered a more or less close friend...that was unforgivable. Severus may have entrusted the headmaster with his life, but Dumbledore clearly didn't trust him one whit. Not about Voldemort, not about Malfoy, and now, not with Hermione. Maybe Dumbledore really did see him as nothing more than a useful traitor, after all. And now that his usefulness had run out, where did that put him, really?

 

In a dungeon, alone, with only an old man to babysit him, it seemed.

 

With a disgusted sigh, Severus stood and stalked out of his office. Enough of this. If he wasn't going to actually finish up his marking, he could sulk just as well in his comfortable armchair in his sitting room as the hard wooden desk chair in his office. Maybe if he didn't look down at the chintz design on the upholstery, he wouldn't hear Hermione laughing about it in his head.

 

"Memento mori," he growled at his armor impatiently.

 

Oddly, nothing happened.

 

"Memento mori," he repeated, louder and more distinctly.

 

Again, the armor remained stubbornly in place.

 

Rolling his eyes, Severus turned and walked down the hallway. "Wonderful," he grumbled under his breath.

 

Fortunately, Argus Filch was in his office, grooming a Mrs. Norris who was purring like a rusty motor. He looked up, startled at Severus' entrance. "What can I do for you, Professor Snape?" he asked with a wide grin.

 

Inwardly, he sighed. Of course Filch knew what had happened. "Something's wrong with the entrance to my quarters."

 

The grin widened. "I believe that's between you and the headmaster, Professor," he replied, definitely smirking now.

 

Not choosing to reply, Severus simply left Filch to his cat and made his way up to Dumbledore's office. "Ice Mice," he said tightly, willing the gargoyle to move faster.

 

The headmaster's eyes narrowed upon seeing who had just entered his office. "What are you doing up here, Severus?" he asked, a warning clear in his tone.

 

"I cannot access my quarters," he replied.

 

"I have taken the liberty of changing your passwords," Dumbledore said. "I think it best if I escort you to your rooms in the evenings."

 

Opening his mouth, Severus realized he didn't know what to say to that, and he closed it once more. Inwardly, he was screaming.

 

"Do you have something to say, Severus?"

 

He willed himself to calm down, breathing deeply through his nose and digging his fingernails into his palms. "I would like to retire to my rooms now, Albus, if that's not too much trouble," he said through clenched teeth.

 

With one last glance at the papers liberally scattered across his desktop--Severus saw yesterday's edition of the Daily Prophet among them, headlines about Voldemort's death in stark black capitals--Dumbledore rose and walked around his desk. "I don't see why not," he said blithely. "In fact, I could do with a cup of tea right about now."

 

----------

 

Yesterday had been the first day Hermione had left her bed. Madam Pomfrey had all but ordered her to on her morning visit. "You've only got three more days to enjoy Hogwarts, Miss Granger, and I would take advantage if I were you," she'd said.

 

And now she only had two more days. Well, one and a half, really, she thought, watching the afternoon sun cast shadows on the floor of the Common Room.

 

Gryffindor Tower was fairly empty as of late. Harry Potter was off giving interviews and meeting with Ministry officials, giving out the official story of the death of Voldemort (leaving Iustus' ritual out, as per Dumbledore's instructions) which now involved a duel to the death and fighting off more than twenty Death Eaters alongside the brave Professor Snape and Hermione Granger. She wondered occasionally if anyone had questioned Harry's tale, but she hadn't seen him so wasn't able to actually ask. Most everyone else seemed to be permanently outside, out by the lake or on the Quidditch pitch, celebrating in general. Voldemort was dead, finals were over--what on Earth was there to be unhappy about?

 

She folded her hands behind her head and stared out the window, watching a laughing Ginny Weasley coach a rather nervous-looking Neville as they flew around carefully on broomsticks. For all that Neville had matured and grown, he was still nearly as anxious as Hermione herself was about flying. The more things change, she thought with a slight smile, the more they stay the same.

 

Her side was much better today. Madam Pomfrey had actually smiled upon seeing it this morning. Apparently, Voldemort's hex was fading--her wound might respond to magical treatment in the near future. And Pomfrey had informed her stiffly that the second she could, she was going to seal it magically, regardless of the scarring. "After seeing how well you take care of yourself, I want to get this shut as soon as possible," she said tartly as she redressed it. "Maybe as early as tomorrow."

 

That would be nice, at least. Hermione was sick of being hurt. She'd spent more than a month back in November covered in crusting, disgusting scabs and she was already so irritated with her current injury that the possibility of complete health in less than a day from now made her downright ecstatic.

 

As if on cue, there was a scuffling noise from the vicinity of the portrait hole and Professor McGonagall climbed into the room, straightening her hat and tugging at her robes. "Miss Granger," she greeted.

 

Ah, yes. It was time for McGonagall's daily check-up. Hermione glared and stood carefully, walking out of the room and up the stairs to her dormitory. Once settled on her bed, she pulled the curtains firmly closed. It generally took McGonagall less than an hour to go away and she hadn't actually come up to Hermione's room for at least three days now. She highly suspected that the professor had enlisted either or both Parvati and Lavender in Hermione's punishment. It did not signify, really--Hermione had no intention of allowing them to punish her further by trying to break the rules once more.

 

She waited patiently, pulling out a novel from under her pillow and beginning to read. But ten minutes later, the door flew open with a bang and Hermione jumped as her curtains were yanked open by a clearly irate McGonagall.

 

"This has gone far enough, Miss Granger," McGonagall said icily. "You have proven your point, I think."

 

"What point?" Hermione retorted, briefly glancing up from her book.

 

McGonagall looked genuinely surprised--after all, she hadn't actually spoken to her professor in five days at least. "Miss Granger," she said more softly, "I am sorry. Truly, I am."

 

Hermione looked at her impassively, waiting for elaboration and actually putting aside her novel.

 

"I do not like to see any of my students...suffer," she continued. "Especially not those that I've grown particularly fond of." Here she offered Hermione a rare smile that went unreturned. "But you must understand our position, Miss Granger."

 

"I don't see why," she sniffed. "You've made no attempt to understand mine."

 

"Unfortunately, Miss Granger--Hermione, your position is unacceptable irrelevant of any potential understanding," McGonagall replied, sitting uninvited on Hermione's bed but keeping a respectful distance. "You must see that."

 

"Regardless, that doesn't make me any more content with it," she said, unyielding.

 

"Such observations on your part are to be expected," she said carefully, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle on Hermione's quilt. "Professor Snape has taken advantage of you in ways that you cannot yet understand."

 

Laughing shortly, Hermione drew further away, resting her back against the headboard and tucking her feet under herself. "Taken advantage?" she echoed. "Respectfully, Professor, you've just demonstrated your utter ignorance of the situation. He has done nothing of the sort."

 

"As I've said," McGonagall said scornfully, "there is no possible way for you to realize what he has done to you."

 

"I will not discuss this any further," Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest and injecting as much dismissal in her tone as she could.

 

McGonagall gave her one last pitying look that made her jaw tighten and left the room, closing the door gently in her wake. After a few moments, Hermione rose and went back to the Common Room, taking her novel with her.

 

----------

 

Mornings left the Gryffindor Common Room rather cool and dim, even in the spring. But Hermione was prepared, dragging the quilt off her bed with her as she made her way down the stairs. Wrapping it around her, she sat down on the sofa, settling back with her book yet again, delighting in the silence that resulted from everyone else in her house attending breakfast. Her last day at Hogwarts. The train would take her back to London tomorrow and Hermione couldn't really say she was sorry to leave all of this behind. Not anymore.

 

Now completely unable to concentrate, she laid her book to the side, choosing to turn on her uninjured side and watch the small fire the house-elves still lit dutifully every morning. The cheerily flickering flames did nothing for her sudden foul mood. And besides, students were beginning to trickle back after breakfast. For the most part, they ignored her, intent on their own tasks and not caring about that batty seventh-year girl being punished for carrying on with their awful Potions professor. Her novelty had simply worn off and Hermione was glad of it.

 

“Uh...Hermione?” Ron asked as he entered the room, putting a cautious hand on her shoulder.

 

She turned her face into the back of the sofa, not wanting to talk to him right now. “Go away, Ron,” she mumbled into the fabric.

 

“It’s just...you haven’t eaten anything that I’ve seen in the last few days, and all you do is lay around the Common Room. I’m worried about you, love,” he said, not letting her run him off. “And Harry is too, I think, for all that he's not been around to talk to you about it.”

 

Flipping over to look at the carvings in the ceiling, Hermione patiently ignored him.

 

“I thought Dumbledore said you could go to meals,” he continued hesitantly. “He didn’t lock you up here, you know.”

 

She sniffed. “He’s treating me like a disobedient child and I'm therefore exercising the right to behave like one. I’ve got no interest in going anywhere--everyone stares at me like I've got another head.”

 

“You should go, though,” Ron said. “If nothing else, to see the little crook in Malfoy’s nose. Madam Pomfrey couldn’t get it perfectly straight, you see.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink that she didn’t return. “Hermione...”

 

“Ron, I’m fine,” she replied with an exasperated sigh. “Well, mostly. I’m not going throw myself out the window, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

"Thank you for bringing it to mind," Ron said with a wince. "Actually, I was more worried about you endangering someone else. I saw that look you gave Lavender last night when she came over to talk to you."

 

She snorted. "She wanted me to kiss and tell. Can you believe that?"

 

"I can, actually," he said mildly. "This is Lavender Brown you're referring to, after all. She'd offer to give Hagrid a pedicure if it occurred to her."

 

Wrinkling her nose at the mental image, Hermione pulled herself upright, allowing Ron to sit beside her. "I don't want to talk about Lavender."

 

"What do you want to talk about?" he asked. "Seriously. I'll even talk about the blasted NEWTs with you if you'd like."

 

"You must be worried about me, then," she replied with a ghost of a smile.

 

An owl swooped in through the window suddenly, perching on the arm of the sofa and cocking its head at Hermione. With a soft hoot, it held out a leg at her, letter tied carefully with blue ribbon.

 

She took it and smiled at the sight of the familiar seal. "Edoras," she said to herself, half a question. Why was he sending her an owl now? Their second paper had already passed review. "I'm sorry," she said to the owl, stroking its feathers cautiously, "I don't have anything for you, but there's an Owlery on the grounds, if you'd like to rest a bit."

 

With a quick ruffle of its feathers, the owl flew off. Ron regarded her letter with frank curiosity. “Edoras?”

 

“Edoras Griffiths. He’s the editor of Magical Review Letters. It’s an academic journal,” she explained with a flap of her hand.

 

“I know what it is,” Ron said complacently. “Percy spent his whole third year pretending he was reading it. But why is someone from there writing to you?”

 

In response, Hermione pulled out her wand and swished it through the air. “Accio MRL, issue eighty-two,” she said, not even bothering to look down as the roll of parchment thwacked into her outstretched hand. “Here...page ten.”

 

“’The Magical Energy Field, A Quantum Mechanical Description,’” Ron read slowly. “By H.G., submitted October 1996. You wrote this?”

 

She nodded. “That was my second published paper. Actually, sometime next month the newest issue should come out with our latest one.”

 

He was silent and she assumed he was skimming the article. “Hermione...most of this is gibberish! What’s that upside down triangle thingy you keep putting in here?”

 

“It’s a differential operator,” she replied absently. “Muggle calculus, Ron. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Cor...” Ron breathed. “You’re a genius, Hermione. Why didn’t you tell anyone about this?”

 

“The theorists would all be furious if they knew they’d been one-upped by a sixteen year old brat,” Hermione said with a grin. “Not to mention they wouldn’t have taken me seriously in the first place. You’re the only one who knows, apart from Severus, of course.”

 

“Of course,” he echoed. Hermione looked over at him, finally, to see the dazed look in his eyes. “When did dearest, darlingest Sevvie find out?”

 

“He’d hex you to the ends of the Earth and back if he ever heard you calling him that, you know,” she replied. “And he found out back in November, for your information. We were working some equations together and I let it slip.” Slowly but surely, Ron was making her feel all sorts of degrees better.

 

“No wonder you stopped caring about schoolwork,” he said. “I wouldn’t either, if I were you. ‘Course, if I were you, I’d have to kill myself--no Quidditch, no girls...”

 

“Sometimes, Ron, you’re a right wanker,” Hermione replied, sitting up.

 

“And that would be why you love me,” he said with a cheeky grin, handing her the parchment. “Hey, Hermione?”

 

She hummed, stretching and suppressing a yawn.

 

“If I went down to the kitchens and brought you back a sandwich or something later, would you eat it?” he asked hesitantly, worry back in his eyes.

 

“I guess,” she grumbled. “If you insist.”

 

“Excellent,” Ron said, brightening as he bounded out of the room, leaving Hermione to break the seal on her letter, reading it quickly.

 

Skimming the letter once, twice, a grin slowly spread across her face and ill temper disappearing completely. She was feeling better than she had in days.

 

----------

 

Severus was in his office once again, making a rather pitiful attempt to finish up his last few exam papers. It was rather poor planning on his part to put off his third year exams--they seemed to be an utter disaster and Severus was unclear on how to handle that fact. He'd already promised himself he wasn't going to fail every student in that year, but it didn't seem feasible at this moment that many of them were going to pass on their own merit. Oh well...he had the entire afternoon to worry over it.

 

There was a sharp rap at the office door and Severus sighed, twirling his quill in his fingers. “Enter!”

 

A surly Ron Weasley walked in and plunked down in one of the chairs, uninvited.

 

“What do you want, Weasley?” Severus asked, irritated--he wasn’t up to righteous Gryffindor indignity at the moment.

 

“I say one nice thing to her and she turns me into her bloody post owl,” the boy grumbled in an undertone. “Here you go, Professor,” he continued, flinging a small roll of parchment onto the desk. “From Hermione, of course. Be careful--she charmed it to catch fire as soon as you’ve finished reading it.”

 

Severus was absolutely stunned. He’d expected Weasley to start throwing around insults and shouting to the heavens. But not this. “Um...thank you, Weasley,” he said after a moment. "I, uh...I confess I cannot understand why you've done this for me, for her," he amended quickly. He would have thought that Weasley would want nothing to do with the situation.

 

The boy shrugged, shaking his head some. “Professor, Hermione’s one of the best friends I’ve got and I’d do anything for her. Including accepting her decisions. But don’t think I want to be your friend, sir,” he said in a rush.

 

Smirking, Severus also shook his head. “The feeling is heartily mutual, Weasley. I think you’re an ignorant idiot with a nary an independent thought in his head that doesn’t involve a broomstick or a female.”

 

“And I think you’re a sadistic old bat who gets his jollies from tormenting children,” Weasley retorted. Already trying to take advantage of the fact that he was no longer his student, Severus noted.

 

“Twenty points, Mr. Weasley,” Severus said mildly.

 

“See...just like that,” Weasley replied.

 

There was another tap at the door and Dumbledore stuck his head into Severus’ office. “Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Weasley,” he said pleasantly. “I’d wondered who was in here when I heard the voices.”

 

Weasley nodded and Severus wondered for a horrible moment if Dumbledore had overheard any part of their conversation. The boy must not be as stupid as he’d previously thought--he’d actually whispered for the most part. “Afternoon, Professor Dumbledore, sir,” Weasley was saying.

 

“Might I ask what you’re doing here in Severus’ office?” the headmaster asked, losing a fair amount of the pleasantness in his voice.

 

Weasley smiled openly, widely, at Dumbledore and Severus was rather startled at his easy dissembling. “Oh, I just wondered if Professor Snape had received our results yet. I was particularly worried about my Potions NEWT--Aurors have to have top-notch grades, you know.”

 

Dumbledore relaxed visibly. Apparently he hadn't heard anything amiss.

 

“I wouldn’t worry, Weasley,” Severus replied acidly, tucking the small scroll up his sleeve as he spoke. “I’m sure you made as spectacular a failure of yourself as you always do. Now get out of my office.”

 

Bouncing to his feet cheerfully, Weasley made his way to the door. “A pleasure as always, Professor. Headmaster.”

 

“The seventh years are always pestering me about their grades,” Severus said to Dumbledore’s raised eyebrow. “They never manage to remember that their final marks are sent to them personally as soon as they are completed.”

 

“It is difficult to ask them to wait for such important results,” Dumbledore replied. “Well, I think I’ll leave you to your marking. Oh, and don't forget that supper tonight is being held in honor of Voldemort's defeat. You have a seat of honor at the High Table, you know.” And he went back out the door, closing it behind him firmly.

 

With a sigh, Severus pulled the parchment out of his robes as soon as he was sure Dumbledore was really gone. Breaking the wax seal, he read it as carefully as he could, Weasley’s warning echoing in the back of his skull.

 

And sure enough, as promised, the little scroll began to smoke and flame as soon as he read the last couple of words. Quickly, Severus flung it into the fireplace to complete its destruction safely. Mind whirling, he mentally poured over the letter again, hanging on to it as one would a comforting lifeline.

 

With one last glance at his desk, Severus tossed down his quill. For all that he was concerned, he could give the third-years all perfect marks for the entire year, despite their terrible exam scores. He strode down the hall to his quarters with a spring in his step that hadn’t been there before.

 

----------

 

“You owe me for life,” Ron said, nudging Hermione in the ribs with his foot. “I fully expect you to name your firstborn child after me.”

 

Hermione laid her novel to the side and gave him a questioning look. “What spectacularly good deed have you done today?”

 

He grinned. “I lost twenty points from Gryffindor to play post owl for your darlingest Sevvie. Are you sure he's nice?”

 

With a minute shrug, she returned his smile. "When he wants to be. Twenty points, eh? What did you do?"

 

"I called him a sadistic bat," Ron replied. "But he called me an ignorant idiot," he continued defensively.

 

"Ron, he calls everyone an idiot," she said. "I wouldn't take it personally if I were you." She sobered momentarily. "But I really appreciate you taking that note for me. You don't know--"

 

He raised a hand in protest. “Yes, yes, I know. You’re the best friend in the world, good ol’ Ron, and I can’t believe you’d brave evil old Snape for me, and so on and so forth.”

 

Chuckling, she whacked his shin with her bare foot. “You’re also the most modest friend in the world.”

 

“That’s me,” Ron agreed cheerfully. “Now come on, up you get. We've got a special supper to attend tonight and I'm not letting you out of it. I promise you can spend the entire evening glaring at old McGonagall, just like usual."

 

"That reminds me," she began, "Madam Pomfrey is due in a bit. She said she's going to take my stitches out today. Now that the hex has run its course, she can knit everything together magically."

 

"Won't that scar?"

 

Shaking her head, she allowed him to help her to her feet. "I don't care. I'm already a roadmap of scars. What's one more?"

 

"That's the spirit," he told her with a grin.

 

----------

 

Severus' good mood disappeared the instant he walked into the Great Hall, clothed in one of his nicer sets of robes. Nearly immediately, Dumbledore was at his side, directing him to a seat between a fairly stunned Potter and Dumbledore himself. Without ceremony, Severus plunked down, alternating between glaring at the headmaster and scanning the room for a glimpse of Hermione.

 

"I don't know if she'll be here tonight, Professor," Potter said quietly, watching Severus' eyes flicker about.

 

He was taken aback. "What?"

 

"Hermione," Potter hissed. "She hasn't come to a meal in a week."

 

What was the world coming to? First Weasley coming to his office bearing messages and now Potter attempting to be consoling? Everyone had gone mad and there was no other explanation for it.

 

"So, Severus," Dumbledore said jovially from his left, "have you completed your marking?"

 

"The third form performed exceptionally well this year," Severus replied with a small smirk. "All of the final grades are on my desk, Albus, if you wish to pick them up. I find that I am quite unable to deliver them to your office personally."

 

Taking the jab in stride, Dumbledore just poured Severus a goblet of juice and turned to speak with Hagrid, on his other side.

 

"I, uh..." Potter stammered, nearly making eye contact with Severus. "I was wondering if you'd received our NEWT scores yet, sir."

 

Severus sighed. "Potter, as I'm sure you were at one point made aware, your scores are sent to you before they are sent to Hogwarts for archiving. But I wouldn't worry. I'm sure you performed to your usual substandard."

 

The boy scowled, but there seemed to be little heart in it.

 

The Great Hall suddenly went more or less silent as tall Ron Weasley all but pulled Hermione into the room and all eyes were either on her or on Severus himself. Weasley propelled her toward the head table and made his own way to the Gryffindor table, seating himself beside his sister and keeping a careful eye on the still Hermione.

 

Dumbledore nodded a bit at her, Severus noticed, and waved his hand at the other side of the table, beyond Hagrid, where there was presumably an empty seat. An empty seat where there was no way Severus could potentially catch a glimpse of her.

 

Apparently Hermione noticed this as well. Sneering a bit at the headmaster, she shook her head at him and deliberately walked over to the Gryffindors, sitting across from Weasley and in Severus' direct line of sight. He breathed in sharply, able to see her for the first time in nearly a week.

 

She was pale, he saw, and looked rather tired. Of course, she was still recovering from a life-threatening injury, he reminded himself. Her eyes remained firmly locked with his and the tiniest of smiles crossed her face. Severus permitted himself to return it and saw Potter out of the corner of his eye, watching them both curiously.

 

With great deliberation, Dumbledore chose that moment to stand and wave his arms for attention. Both Hermione and Severus more or less ignored him, content to watch each other for the moment.

 

"I'm sure you all know, by now," the headmaster began, "about Harry Potter's recent victory over Lord Voldemort." He paused for the inevitable roar of applause that followed his statement--Potter blushed and fiddled with his fork. "And it is my great pleasure to award two hundred points to Mr. Potter for his outstanding bravery and courage!"

 

Another cheer. A slight shadow crossed Hermione's face, but she managed to applaud with the rest of the students. Severus did a bit of mental math. Two hundred points to Gryffindor put them fifty over the current leader, Ravenclaw. Dumbledore had just given Gryffindor the House Cup for the seventh year in a row. No, he'd just given it to Harry Potter for the seventh year running. How terribly surprising, Severus thought sarcastically.

 

"Thus I believe that the House Cup goes to--"

 

But Dumbledore's little speech was interrupted rather rudely as a neat little man came walking into the Great Hall with a bit of confusion written on his face. He was dressed in pressed robes and his grey beard trimmed expertly and somehow managed to look important in spite of his clear apprehension.

 

He looked back and forth between the high table and the wide-eyed students with an apologetic smile. "I've just interrupted the Leaving Feast, haven't I?" he asked with a slight Welsh accent.

 

To Dumbledore's credit, he didn't look as completely surprised as most of the other staff. "What can I do for you, sir?" he asked pleasantly.

 

The man coughed and tugged at his earlobe in a nervous gesture. "I've actually come to have a word with someone," he said. "Unfortunately, I'm not entirely sure who it is I need to speak to."

 

Interest piqued, Severus found himself actually leaning forward in anticipation.

 

"I need to talk with someone who goes by the name H.G.," the man continued, smiling self-deprecatingly.

 

Severus' eyes widened and it took a great deal of effort for him to not leap out of his seat.

 

Dumbledore was clearly confused. "H.G.?" he echoed.

 

Apparently Hermione could contain herself no better than Severus. Her chair scraping preternaturally loudly against the floor in the silence of the Hall, she squinted at the man. "Are you...Edoras Griffiths?" she asked hesitantly.

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty

            Things as they might be---

 

 

The man turned from the High Table to look curiously at Hermione. "Why, yes," he replied, clearly startled. "Yes, I am. How did you know?"

 

She grinned. "My name is Hermione Granger, you see."

 

"Oh," he said. And his eyes widened. "Oh! But you're just..."

 

"A student," she finished for him, nodding once.

 

Cocking his head, Edoras Griffiths examined her more closely. "You're H.G.," he said dubiously. "I confess I find that hard to believe. I had envisioned someone, well, to be frank, older."

 

"Probably male as well," Hermione said, smirking a little. "But I can assure you, Mr. Griffiths--Edoras, we've been corresponding for the better part of two years. I received your owl this morning. I confess I haven't written a reply yet. Come to think of it," she said, curious, "why are you here?"

 

"A fair question," Dumbledore said irritably from the High Table. "And one I think many of us would like to hear the answer to. Edoras, would you like to join in our supper?"

 

Griffiths smiled and shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't stay long, Headmaster. I just came up to have a quick word with H.G.--with Miss Granger, it appears."

 

"At least have a cup of tea, then," he replied in a tone that suggested it would be best to comply.

 

"That would be nice," Griffiths conceded, walking over to the Gryffindor table and sitting down beside Hermione, eliciting a raised eyebrow from the headmaster, who immediately came walking over and seated himself across from the pair.

 

"If I recall correctly, Edoras, you were a Ravenclaw," he said with a wry smile.

 

"Ah, yes, but my brother was a Gryffindor," Edoras said smoothly. "So I found myself at this table rather often through the years. Miss Granger," he continued, turning to a still rather confused Hermione, "how are you doing?"

 

"I'm fine," she replied, mystified. "And it's Hermione, by the way."

 

"Hermione, then," he agreed, taking a sip from a cup of tea the headmaster had just placed in front of him and sighing contentedly. "From what I understand," he said conversationally, "your latest work has been received rather well."

 

She hummed into her goblet of juice. "Yes, actually," she replied. "To be honest, I was rather surprised at the lack of backlash."

 

"Your proofs were wonderfully rigorous, my dear," Griffiths said, taking a longer draught. "And elegant as well, I rather thought."

 

Grinning, Hermione resisted the urge to wink up at Severus, still sitting at the High Table and looking torn between confusion and anger. "I'm afraid I can't take all the credit for that," she said smoothly. "My collaborator is a very thorough sort and insisted on poking holes at every turn."

 

"Oh, yes," he replied. "The other one. Is he or she a student as well? I don't know if we're ready for a pair of precocious adolescents running roughshod over the entire community."

 

With a little snort, Hermione tried to picture Severus in that light and failed miserably. "No," she said. "No, he's not a student."

 

"I'd love to meet him, if he's here, of course," Griffiths said. "I suppose I ought to speak with him as well."

 

Throughout their conversation, Dumbledore watched them both carefully, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm not going to be surprised by this, am I?" he asked Hermione.

 

"Probably not," she agreed. "Actually, Edoras, Severus is sitting up there beside Harry Potter."

 

Blinking, he looked up at the High Table, focusing on a startled Severus and grinning widely. "Wonderful," he said. "Perhaps he wouldn't mind..."

 

Hermione was delighted as Dumbledore's face registered the fact that he couldn't refuse Edoras' request without being rude. "Why certainly," he said pleasantly, standing up and giving Severus a pointed look. "Professor Snape, would you join us for a few moments?"

 

The hall fell rather silent again as Severus slowly stood and made his way over to the table. Hermione thought she heard him sigh, "Gryffindors, of course," as he sat down in between Dumbledore and a smirking Ron Weasley. "What do you want, Albus?" he asked briskly.

 

"Mr. Griffiths here would like you to join in his cryptic little conversation with Miss Granger," Dumbledore answered. "I personally would like a very thorough explanation as to what is going on here."

 

Edoras' eyebrows rose. "He doesn't know?" he asked Hermione, clearly delighted. "Oh, that is a fine trick, Miss--Hermione. How did you manage it?"

 

"There have been other rather pressing concerns," she said.

 

"Ah, yes. That Dark Lord business," Edoras said. "Rather nasty, that. But from what I've heard, your Harry Potter up there has taken care of it quite nicely."

 

"You could say that," she replied with a slight smile.

 

"Well, then, Headmaster," he said, turning to an increasingly baffled Dumbledore, "allow me to illuminate you. Miss Gr--Hermione here is perhaps the finest mind in the wizarding world to date."

 

Dumbledore blinked once and breathed in sharply. "What?"

 

"She's been publishing papers in various journals for the past two years," Edoras told him with a grin. "Some rather brilliant work on Magical Field Theory to start out with that I admit I don't even fully understand, but lately she, and apparently your Professor Snape here," he continued with a nod at Severus. "They've managed to determine the origins of magical energy manifesting within an individual. It's fascinating work, really, and quite possibly the most important discovery since the first use of wands."

 

Mouth hanging open in an uncharacteristic gesture, Dumbledore was clearly flummoxed. "You mean this has nothing to do with your...ritual? With Voldemort?" he asked Hermione.

 

"What ritual?" Edoras asked, perking up with interest. "What about You-Know-Who?"

 

"Oh, just something I dug out of an old book," she said with a flap of her hand. "Nothing important, really." Nervous, she met Severus' gaze and read the anxiety in his eyes.

 

"You don't read the Daily Prophet, do you, sir?" Ron asked from across the table, smirking at Hermione. She longed to smack him.

 

Edoras looked startled. "Of course not," he replied, distaste evident in his voice. "It's ignorant rubbish."

 

"Only Hermione was there the night You-Know-Who was defeated," Ron continued, smirk widening. Severus growled warningly, but Ron managed to ignore it successfully. "She helped Harry."

 

"You did?" Edoras asked, turning back to Hermione with shock written on his features. "How remarkable."

 

"And apparently beside the point," Dumbledore said, looking at first Hermione and then Severus with new interest dawning in his eyes. "When has all of this been going on?"

 

"Nights, of course," Severus told the tabletop. "We've got a lab set up on the fourth floor. Not much as far as labs go, but it has served its purpose."

 

"And you, Miss Granger," he continued slowly, choosing his words carefully, "I would have thought that your devotion to your coursework would have made this a particularly complicated pastime."

 

Surprisingly, it was Severus who answered. "Really, Albus," he said with a dry chuckle, "you've just been told that she's brilliant and you think she still has to worry about her schoolwork? She probably worked her way through the entire Hogwarts curriculum before she even sat her OWLs." Hermione inwardly laughed at the startled look on Ron's face as Severus offered her a warm smile.

 

"Forgive me if I am dubious, Severus," Dumbledore said.

 

Edoras laughed shortly, draining his teacup and setting it aside. "I'd no idea that our new theory wunderkind was still a student. How old are you, anyway, Hermione?"

 

To her credit, she only rolled her eyes slightly. "I'm seventeen," she said. "I've just finished up my NEWTs last week."

 

"Oh, good," he replied. "I'd hate to think I'd offered a job to someone who couldn't take it because she hadn't finished school yet. You have, of course, had time to consider my offer?"

 

"A job," the headmaster echoed fairly incredulously. Hermione almost forgave him for it--he had just found out, after all.

 

"Standard offer, really," Edoras told him. "We're always in need of good editors. I'm afraid the pay is not very high, but that's academia for you."

 

Dumbledore turned to regard a reactionless Severus with suspicion. "You don't seem as surprised at this recent development as I might have expected," he commented.

 

"I received a message somewhat to this effect myself," Severus replied dryly, eyes flicking briefly to Hermione's face.

 

"I'd love to work for you, Edoras," Hermione said hastily, giving him her brightest smile. "In fact, I was planning to owl you tonight, after supper. Although I don't see why you needed to come all the way up to Hogwarts just to repeat your offer in person," she said doubtfully.

 

Edoras fairly beamed. "Actually, Hermione, I needed to talk to you in regards to a certain correspondence you sent me a few weeks ago. I was so excited that I just had to tell you in person."

 

"A few weeks ago?" she asked, trying to remember. So much had happened recently that Hermione was hard-pressed to recall anything from before much more than a week ago.

 

"You'd sent me that unfortunate note explaining your financial difficulties regarding your research," he explained upon seeing her confusion.

 

"Oh, yes," she replied. "Now I remember."

 

Severus gave her a questioning look, but she ignored it as Edoras continued. "It's most exciting, Miss Granger. As soon as I could, I began making a few inquiries on your behalf, you see, and today I just received the final word. A private, anonymous donor has come forward offering to fund your research fully!" he cried.

 

With a highly undignified, very girlish squeal more properly belonging to the likes of Parvati Patil, Hermione threw her arms around a startled Edoras' neck and gave him a quick hug. Immediately, the hall fell silent again as all eyes swiveled toward the Gryffindor table. Severus snorted and Ron laughed outright as she released Edoras and blushed deeply upon realizing what she'd just done. "Brilliant!" she said, attempting to recover her dignity.

 

"Yes, and you can resume your efforts immediately," Edoras said. "We're all very interested to see what you come up with."

 

"Oh, Severus!" Hermione said, forgetting her surroundings. "We can start adapting one of those cameras Muggles can insert into the bloodstream. Oh, what are they called...?"

 

"I have no idea," he replied. "But I think they involve radioactive injections as well. You'll enjoy that, I think. There are lots of needles involved."

 

Wrinkling her nose at him, she rolled her eyes. "Maybe I'll need a few marrow samples. I hear that's an awfully painful procedure," she threatened.

 

"All I ask is that we obtain an electron microscope," he said with a smile. "Feel free to poke and prod 'til your heart's content, Hermione."

 

Coughing to catch their attention, Dumbledore fixed Severus with a curious look. "We?" he asked.

 

Severus glanced around the Great Hall, filled to the brim with eagerly listening students and professors alike. "Would you like to continue this conversation in private, Albus?" he inquired quietly.

 

Eyebrows raised, he folded his hands complacently on the tabletop. "I don't see why," Dumbledore answered.

 

Hermione was only partially surprised as Severus began to speak. "Albus," he said. "I've never made a secret of the fact that I dislike my job. It's tedious and repetitive, but at your insistence, I've continued, telling myself that it's somehow for my own good and that in some miniscule way I'm contributing something to the lives of my students." He permitted himself a small snort at that. "But recent events...well, suffice to say I've been forced to reconsider my role here. Damn it, Albus!" he cried, frustration finally showing. "You've been all but tucking me into bed these past few days, treating me as if I'm your wayward son who doesn't know any better."

 

The hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop on the opposite end. Hermione saw Harry's round eyes fixed on Severus' face, a surprising amount of compassion showing in his expression.

 

"I see," Dumbledore said softly into the silence.

 

"I can't do this any more, Albus," he said heavily. "I'm not going to let you do this to me any more. I quit. Effective immediately."

 

And without a backward glance, he stood and walked out of the hall. Immediately upon his exit, a veritable cacophony arose as everyone began chattering at once. Swiftly, Dumbledore stood and followed Severus.

 

Apologetically, Hermione turned to a rather stunned looking Edoras. "I'm sorry," she said. "You've walked into a bit of a mess."

 

"So I gather," he replied, stroking his beard agitatedly.

 

"May we meet with you tomorrow concerning our research?" she asked, rising herself. "At your offices, of course."

 

"I thought the Hogwarts Express didn't leave until tomorrow morning," Edoras said.

 

"Oh, I think it might be best if both Severus and I left tonight," she replied vaguely. "Tomorrow, then?"

 

"All right," he said.

 

"Good night, then, Edoras," Hermione told him with a distant smile. "It was very nice to meet you."

 

"Likewise, Hermione." He kept his eyes on her as she exited the Great Hall.

 

----------

 

He found his quarters mysteriously unlocked, the suit of armor marking the entrance fading as obediently as ever. Not questioning it, Severus packed up his possessions quickly and efficiently, reflecting with a fair amount of self-mockery that he actually had relatively little to take.

 

The furniture and all of its trappings belonged to Hogwarts, of course. Severus had no real attachment to any of it, besides. His clothing was sparse and he had very few personal mementos, as it were. Most of his potions supplies even belonged to Hogwarts, purchased on the teachers' account. A few of the nicer cauldrons (including a smaller silver one that had been a gift from his father upon his leaving Hogwarts as a student) and a handful of the more rare ingredients belonged to his personal store, but otherwise Severus left his office much as he'd found it as a first-year teacher, taking a childish sort of delight in putting up the most impenetrable wards he could think of on his exam archive.

 

All in all, Severus had little more than a mere trunkful of belongings to mark his entire life. He was wondering what to do with the rather large piles of books scattered about his already full trunk when he heard someone clearing a throat in the doorway.

 

Dumbledore looked tired and faded. His usually powerful aura of calm was completely shattered and his face was worried as he gazed down at Severus. "I can have someone bring you another trunk, if you need it," he offered quietly.

 

"No, thank you," Severus replied tightly. He wasn't going to take another thing from Dumbledore ever, if he could help it.

 

"Severus," Dumbledore said in that same quiet voice. "I've hurt you, haven't I?"

 

He laughed bitterly. "You might say that."

 

"I'd no idea..." he trailed off.

 

"Obviously," Severus said. "But you didn't want to, Albus. You preferred to draw your own conclusions. On everything."

 

"I just thought--"

 

"Albus, have you ever trusted me?" he interrupted, jabbing his wand at the air fiercely, shrinking the books into a more manageable pile.

 

"Severus..." he protested, pained. "Of course."

 

"No, Albus, I don't think you have. Don't misunderstand me," he said, scooping up double handfuls of miniature books and dropping them into his trunk. "I am well aware of the fact that I have violated a significant number of your rules as of late and I am probably quite undeserving of your trust, but," he said wistfully. "But it would have been nice to think that I had it regardless."

 

Dumbledore's discomfort increased and he shifted uneasily in the doorway. "Severus, I am headmaster of this school and I cannot let certain actions go unpunished."

 

"Of course not," he agreed mildly. "But even before that, Albus, you made it very clear that you do not trust my judgement. Draco Malfoy deliberately and willfully sent Potter to his death almost one week ago. I know it as I live and breath, Albus. And I think, on some level, you do, too. Yet he sits comfortably at the supper table, laughing about it with his friends, I'm sure." Severus rejoiced in the slamming noise as he shut his trunk and locked it.

 

"Draco Malfoy is a child, Severus. He's not fully responsible for his actions and may very well come to repent of them. Would you wish me to turn him away in such a case?" he asked pointedly.

 

With a sigh, Severus shrank his trunk with a wand flick and pocketed it. "I am not going to argue this point with you, Albus. And I am no longer under your employ, besides. You can do whatever you wish with Malfoy. He is not under my control any more, if he ever was." He made as if to walk past Dumbledore and out the door.

 

"Severus..." he tried one last time, calling down the dungeon corridor after him.

 

"What?" Turning around, Severus regarded Dumbledore dispassionately.

 

"I cannot express to you how sorry I am for all of this," he said wretchedly. "For everything."

 

He continued to stare at him for a long moment. "Good," he finally said, turning to walk up the stairs and leaving Dumbledore behind.

 

----------

 

"What?" Hermione called irritably at the brisk knock on her door.

 

"Miss Granger," McGonagall said, poking her head around the door. "What are you doing?"

 

Looking down at her hands full of clothing, Hermione shook her head slightly. "Clearly, I'm packing," she replied. "I have every intention of leaving here tonight."

 

With a frown, McGonagall came fully into the room, practically radiating disapproval. "Nonsense," she said. "The train leaves tomorrow morning at nine. Surely you can wait another night."

 

"I could," she said by way of agreement as she shoved the last of her clothing into her trunk. "But I'm not going to."

 

"You're being ridiculous, girl," she scolded.

 

"Probably," she said complacently. Her books were next, followed by her few remaining school supplies. Idly, she put Unbreakable Charms on her inkpots.

 

"What do you think you're going to prove?"

 

Shrugging, Hermione started trying to fit a few rolls of parchment into her already-full trunk. "I'm not trying to prove anything, Professor. I just don't want to be here any more."

 

"Miss Granger," McGonagall began in a more or less even tone, "everything we've done has been to protect you."

 

"From what?" she asked absently, lowering the lid carefully and clamoring on top of the trunk so that she could successfully latch it. "Oh, that's right," she said sarcastically. "You're under the impression that Severus--Professor Snape, I mean--has used me for his nefarious purposes and manipulated me in ways that I cannot even conceive of. Because he couldn't possibly be human enough to care about me. I am, after all, only an annoying little know-it-all student."

 

She sighed heavily. "Hermione..."

 

"Did you ever stop to consider, Professor, that perhaps I love him?" she asked. "Or is that too far-fetched for some reason?"

 

"No one wanted to hurt you, child," she said.

 

She shrank her locked trunk and tucked it away in a robe pocket. "Oddly," she told her professor, "that's not as helpful as you might think. Good-bye, Professor McGonagall."

 

Narrowing her eyes, McGonagall continued to study her for a few minutes, but Hermione stood her ground, clearly expecting her professor to leave the room first. With a loud huff, McGonagall stormed out, robes swirling in a fashion that reminded Hermione unexpectedly of Severus.

 

After a few moments, she deemed it safe to leave herself and made her way down the dormitory stairs. As it was, she didn't actually see Harry or Ron standing in front of the stairwell until she'd nearly run into them.

 

"So, you're leaving, then," Ron said without preamble.

 

"I'm leaving," she agreed, expressionless.

 

"It would have been nice to ride the train back home together," he replied, "but I guess I understand."

 

"This is good-bye, I guess," Harry said, gazing at her sorrowfully.

 

With a sigh, Hermione punched his shoulder. "It's not as if I'll never see you again, Harry," she said, exasperated. "In fact, I'm sure we'll have luncheon or something next week. Unless, that is, you're planning on dropping off the face of the Earth?"

 

"Oh, no," he told her, managing a small smile, "we've got NEWT scores to agonize over. Ron and I don't have jobs like you do, apparently. Our acceptance into the Aurory is strictly dependent on our final marks. You've got to console us, you know."

 

"And Neville, too, I expect," Ron said. "He's applied as well. Ginny's all excited. Apparently having an Auror for a boyfriend is a thrilling prospect. Maybe there's hope for our Harry yet."

 

Grinning, Harry cuffed the back of Ron's head cheerfully. "You great prat," he cried.

 

Looking back and forth between her friends, Hermione was suddenly holding back tears. "I'm going to miss this," she confessed.

 

"What?" Harry asked, looking up from their scuffle.

 

"This," she replied, waving her hand at them. "You two, me, just, you know..."

 

Ron smiled at her widely. "Aw, don't worry, Hermione. We'll make sure to show up totally unannounced at your and your darlingest Sevvie's doorstep every now and again, just to insult each other and berate Harry for being short."

 

"What did you just say, Weasley?" a deep voice asked incredulously from the portrait hole.

 

The trio turned around to regard an unbelieving Severus standing right beside the entrance to the Common Room. Immediately covered in a deep blush, Ron's mouth fell open. Harry's grin widened into an evil smirk and even Hermione could not contain her sudden mirth. "I told you not to call him that," she said, clearly amused.

 

"I don't think I ever will again," Ron muttered, eliciting a sharp bark of laughter from Severus. Both boys jumped at the sound.

 

Choosing to ignore them, Severus looked at her with a quirked eyebrow. "Are you ready?" he asked.

 

"Nearly," she replied. Turning back to Ron and Harry, she felt herself tearing up again and tried rather unsuccessfully to control it. "So I'll see you both later, then," she said, her air of affected nonchalance ruined with a sniffle.

 

"Yeah," Ron said, looking rather watery-eyed himself all of a sudden. "And you'll have to come to the Burrow for supper some time, you know." Giving her an awkward one-armed hug, he hovered by her side, as if unwilling to let her go.

 

"I'll send Hedwig by with a note as soon as we get back," Harry told her, throwing his arms around her waist and resting his chin familiarly on her shoulder.

 

"Now go on and give those quantum blood whatsits hell, love," Ron cried, prodding her in the back.

 

Laughing through her few tears, Hermione walked over to Severus, who was lingering rather awkwardly beside the portrait hole. "If you say anything about overly sentimental Gryffindors, I swear I'll hex you," she threatened.

 

He looped an arm around her waist casually and gave her a playful smirk. "I wouldn't dream of it," he replied airily.

 

She was fairly certain she heard either Ron or Harry snort as she and Severus climbed through the portrait hole.

 

----------

 

"Why did you come up to Gryffindor Tower?" she asked him curiously once they were on the other side of the Fat Lady.

 

Severus shrugged. "Why not? Although I confess I had a fair amount of difficulty convincing your portrait to let me in."

 

With a little giggle, Hermione nodded. "Yes, the Fat Lady does tend to be a bit of a gossip. I'm sure she was one of the first to hear about...well, everything, I suppose."

 

"That certainly explains the dirty looks she kept giving me," he replied.

 

They continued through the hallways mostly in silence, her arm bumping comfortingly into his every so often. Severus hadn't realized quite how much he'd missed her simple presence, really, until he was able to see her again. The mere fact that she was walking beside him made him feel confident about their latest mad venture.

 

"I think I know a commercial firm that might be willing to take me on as a brewer," he said thoughtfully into the quiet. "We won't be rich, you know."

 

"I don't care, Severus," she told him with a smile. "As long as it's 'we,' I figure we'll manage to muddle through."

 

Uncaring of who saw them, Severus stopped walking and wrapped a hand around her upper arm. "I love you," he mumbled, pulling her into a brief kiss and grinning rather foolishly at her seemingly pleased reaction.

 

"Good," she told him, returning his kiss with one of her own. "I'd hate to think I was in this alone." They resumed their short journey once more.

 

Not fifteen seconds later, Flitwick passed them in the hall, walking in the opposite direction. Apparently flustered, he picked up his pace and continued past them without a word.

 

All of a sudden, Hermione tugged on his arm, picking up her own pace. "Come on, Severus," she said. "I don't want to be here any longer than I have to."

 

"What about your side?" he asked worriedly. "I thought you weren't supposed to--"

 

"Oh," she cut him off with a wave of her hand and a cheeky look. "Madam Pomfrey closed it up with magic this afternoon. She said she wasn't going to let me run myself into gangrene by letting it heal on its own."

 

"Gangrene?" he echoed, immediately concerned.

 

She rolled her eyes. "Apparently I am an appalling patient. Hurry up--we're almost at the entrance."

 

The large doors were looming in Severus' vision before he could blink. He'd spent the better part of his life living within these walls and now he was leaving forever. If he'd been more of a sentimental sort, he might have felt a bit maudlin at that.

 

But then he looked down at Hermione and she squeezed his hand gently, giving him a warm, loving sort of look. In the end, Severus just pushed the door open, letting her walk out in front of him and closed it carefully behind them. "I feel like we ought to be riding off into the sunset or something," he admitted. "Although we are sadly lacking both a horse and a sunset."

 

"Are you absolutely sure you don't read those novels you confiscate from the girls?" she asked playfully.

 

She fell quiet nicely when he kissed her. Of course, that bit was probably in those awful novels as well.

 

 

FINIS

 

 

 

Endnotes:

 

First of all, let me credit all of my chapter titles, just so I can confirm your suspicions (you know that you read every chapter heading going “Wait a minute…that sounds familiar…”).

            1.    From The Te of Piglet, by Benjamin Hoff.  An excellent book.

            2.    Not from anywhere.

            3.    The 23^rd Psalm.  I can’t remember which verse number.

            4.    Again, not from anywhere.

            5.    Again, not from anywhere.

            6.    Again, not from anywhere.

            7.    <<hangs head in shame>> You remember that old Eighties flick, Adventures in Babysitting?  Yeah…it’s true…

            8.    Again, not from anywhere.  I would also like to note here that the French sadist, Delacroix is also from nowhere in particular,

                   other than my own head.

            9.    Again, not from anywhere.

            10.  Yeah, yeah.  Romancing the Stone, another Eighties flick.  So I watch a lot of movies…

            11.  The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot. 

            12.  Federalist paper number 9, I believe.

            13.  Would you believe me if I said that Severus gave me this title?  Honestly.

            14.  Title of a Flogging Molly tune off their first album.  It’s this fabulous blend of Celtic music and hard rock.  Go listen to it, now!

            15.  Isaac Newton, I apologize with every fiber of my being.  A corruption of his famous Third Law of Motion, of course.

            16.  Second half of the verse from the title of chapter three.

            17.  The Rubaiyiat, by Omar Khayyam, the twenty-sixth stanza.

            18.  Jabberwocky, by Lewis Carroll, from Through the Looking Glass.  The second half of the first line of the second stanza.

            19.  The Haunting of Hill House, by Shirley Jackson (one of the best books ever written, imho).  Part of the opening paragraph—a

                   truly chilling bit of literature.

            20.  The Te of Piglet again.  Coming full circle.

 

Concerning a sequel:

 

Several reviewers have asked about a sequel to OP and I haven’t really responded to them.  Truth is, I’ve given it some thought, even went so far as to sketch out a second novel, scrapped it, started a short little follow-up story, and scrapped that one as well.

 

In short, then, I’ve decided to let OP stand alone, as it is, warts and all.  I’m fairly proud of this little tale and I know that anything I added to it would fall short of my own expectations, let alone anyone else’s.

 

So I leave it up to you, dear Reader, to determine what fates await our Severus and Hermione.  Truth be told, your imaginations will probably do a better job of wrapping up any and all loose ends I’ve left better than any effort of mine would.

 

I will say one last time, then, thanks so much for reading.  I hope you’ve had as much fun reading Ordinary People as I did writing it.

 

 

hayseed

7 February 2004

 

 

 

Footnotes:

 

(¹)        For interested parties, Iustus is pronounced "Yoo-stus, (all right, if you get extremely technical it’s “Ee-oo-stus...” but the ‘y’ sound is the ‘ee-oo’ dipthong anyway in the English language and now I’ve managed to bore you completely)” and the Claudian family was a fairly significant patrician clan in pre-imperial Rome. They came into further prominence when Livia, wife of Augustus and a Claudian herself, placed her eldest son Tiberius on the throne. He was followed by three more Claudian emperors (although they were also adopted Caesars, but that's getting overly detailed). If this is at all interesting to you and you'd like to read more about the subject, I highly recommend Robert Graves' "I, Claudius."  It doesn’t mention the intricacies of ‘y’ versus ‘ee-oo’ once!

 

(²)        Just what you wanted, another Hayseed Book Plug!! Chapter title is apologetically taken from the twenty-sixth stanza of Omar Khayyam's Rubaiyat (I prefer the Ed. Fitzgerald translation). It's absolutely beautiful and one of my favorite works of literature, ever. Shoo--go and read it!