Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

"Morning, Bill," he said over the tinkling of a bell as he entered the cramped shop. "What's new in the world today?" The man behind the counter had a face crumpled with experience, a smile as crooked as his flat cap and blue eyes that sparkled behind his bifocals.

"Morning to you and all," he slapped the Daily Mail onto the counter and pointed to the headline with a blunt finger, the nail cracked and yellow with age. "Bloody 'Tories are at it again, never get anything right. It's a disgrace." Severus gave the front page a cursory glance and nodded in sympathy. Bill never wanted to actually discuss the inner workings of British politics, he just liked to grumble. "I suppose you'll be wanting your usual?"

"Naturally," Severus responded with a wry smile. He'd been coming to Bill's corner shop every Saturday morning since he'd been old enough to get away with buying cigarettes. At first, it had merely been a rebellion against the restriction of his school years but, as time went on, he found himself craving the familiarity and the contact with the muggle world. It was his touchstone, it kept him grounded.

"'Ere, we are then. I picked out a goodun for you. One packet of Luckies," he placed it on the counter, "one packet of prawn cocktail crisps," the pink packet joined the cigarettes, "and one novelty lighter," it was powder blue and covered in kittens.

Severus chuckled as he handed over a ten-pound note. "An admirable choice, I'm sure." Bill gave him his change and, as always, Severus dropped it into the charitable collection tin on the counter. Bill was currently collecting for a local youth centre. "What happened to the animal shelter collection?"

"'Ad to stop, even with donations there isn't enough money to keep the place open. An 'ealth inspector found asbestos in the roof and that was the straw that broke the back." He pointed to a flier that read ALL ANIMALS MUST GO and sighed. "It's a damn shame. They do good work, 'ardly ever put an animal down." Severus squinted at the address, it was only a few streets away. Maybe there was something he could do to help? He'd always had a soft spot for animals.

"It's a shame indeed," he said as he made for the door. "I'll see you next week, Bill." He left to the sound of the tinkling bell and Bill grumbling into his cuppa.

It was cold for August. A thick fog hung over the town, more than just the usual smog from the nearest city. It was almost as chilling as the creatures causing it. He lit a cigarette with his ridiculous lighter as he strode through the quiet streets, eyes downcast and on the look out to avoid stepping in any … undesirable substances. Although it would only take a simple scourgify to clean them, he would prefer to avoid the mess in the first place. There was nothing less dignified than stepping in dog poo, no matter who you were. Terraced houses lined the pavement on his left and a scraggly row of trees, planted a few years ago as part of a "revitalisation project" that was never completed, was on his right. They were supposed to brighten up the small and vandalised play park behind them.

He saw a few people he recognised as regular Saturday-morning-routiners. The two older ladies at the bus stop he imagined to be on their way for a blue-rinse. A dog walker or two. A young woman he'd seen running almost every Saturday in the last year, come rain or shine. He didn't acknowledge any of them. He never did. The Cokeworth Animal Shelter was a squat looking building with a small, gravel car park. The paint was cracked and weather-worn. The windows were in desperate need of a wash. Another bell tinkled as he pushed the stiff door open.

"Good morning, sir." The woman behind the counter gave him a bright smile and stood up to greet him. "You'll be here to see the animals, then? Planning on taking one home?" He opened his mouth to reply that he was merely here to have a look, but she didn't give him a chance. "Follow me, and I'll take you straight through. Lucky for you, we've not been so busy this morning!" She lifted up a hinged part of the counter and gestured him through a door. A quick trip down a shabby hallway led to a large room, not dissimilar to a warehouse, filled with large kennels. It was surprisingly quiet but the smell was definitely one that Severus recognised.

"As you can see," the woman gestured to the entire room with a sweep of her arm, "we've managed to home most of the animals we had in. The smaller ones, rabbits, hamsters and such, went to the big shelter in Manchester, but they just don't have extra room for dogs and cats. Are you looking for a dog or a cat today, Mister …?"

"Snape," he supplied automatically.

"Stacey." The woman grasped his hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Snape. So, which is it then? Are you a dog person or a cat person?"

"I honestly don't know. I've never had either."

"That's alright," she smiled warmly at him, "lots of folk come in here without knowing what they're looking for. Just have a wander round and see who you connect with. I'll be just over here." She pointed to a kitchenette in the corner.

"Right then, I'll just …" he mimed walking around, felt stupid and let his arms drop to his side. Stacey beamed at him and trotted off towards the kettle, no longer paying him any mind.

Severus started to wander along the aisles. A lot of them stood empty. The first occupied kennel housed a tabby cat proclaimed to be Miss Marple. He cautiously approached the wire mesh and crouched down to get a better look. Miss Marple hissed at him. Much the same thing happened every time he approached an occupied kennel. A dog called Pixie backed away from him as he neared. A black cat, imaginatively name named Smokey, ignored him completely. And a tiny terrier barked at him aggressively. It happened over and over again, until he came to the kennel of a black and white border collie. The dog pressed its nose right up to the mesh to meet him. Severus extended his hand and was rewarded with a wet, warm tongue. Later, if asked about how he chose his dog, he would neglect to mention the warm, fuzzy feeling that filled him from head to toe as the dog licked at his fingers. He looked to the sign on the door and read Hello, my name is Butch. I'm 3 years old and a female Border Collie.

"Butch?" he asked the dog. She looked him in the eye as he spoke her name. "Is that your name? Do you like it?" He felt a little silly talking to a dog, but she licked at his fingers encouragingly. "Well, I don't. It's going to have to go." The shuffle of shoes behind him had him standing up quickly, he nearly drew his wand before seeing that it was only Stacey.

"Yes!" She was grinning rather manically. "This is your dog, I just know it."

Getting home had been an education. Butch stopped to sniff everything – trees, lampposts, people – and tugged excitedly on her lead to try and chase after anything that moved. It didn't matter to her whether it was a squirrel, a leaf, or an empty chip shop wrapper. She did her … business … twice on the short walk home and, though he was used to dealing with a multitude of disgusting potions ingredients, he couldn't quite bring himself to use the plastic bags Stacey provided for him. A discreet evenasco solved this.

Within moments of getting through the front door to his small end-terrace, she had knocked over a stack of books and upset the floo powder from its place on the mantel piece. It was clear that dog-proofing would have to be his first order of business.

Severus was so wrapped up with Butch that he forgot all about Wormtail until the vermin in question burst through the concealed door and let out a yelp of fright.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Wormtail," Severus drawled, instantly back in what he liked to think of as "big bad Death Eater" mode, "it's only a dog. It's not going to bite, at least not whilst you're in human form."

"B- but what is it even doing here?" The rodentesque man cowered against an over-stuffed bookshelf. "I didn't know the D- Dark Lord required a dog."

"It's not for the Dark Lord, Wormtail. It's mine. And it is a she." He crouched down to talk to her, pointing at Wormtail as he did so. "Butch, this is Wormtail. He's going to be here for a while. I'm sorry about the smell, but there's nothing I can do about it. We just have to deal with it."

"If the Dark Lord heard you ta-" Wormtail started.

"But he's not going to hear, is he?" Severus fixed the animagus with a stare that had been known to make even the bravest of Gryffindors cry. "You wouldn't dare bother him with something so trivial. We all have our crosses to bear, Wormtail, this is yours and you are mine. Now, get out of my sight."

"Bu-"

"Now!" His shout was punctuated with a sharp bark from Butch and Wormtail jumped before beating a hasty retreat back to his bedroom.

Severus spent the remainder of the day making the house suitable for Butch. Liberal use of temporary sticking charms soon had the kitchen and living room sorted. Butch became more restless as the day went on, eventually prompting Severus to change into a ratty old t-shirt, a pair of jogging bottoms and the beat-up trainers he kept for gardening. They were going for a run.

He hadn't run for years but the endless stairs at Hogwarts kept him in pretty good shape, how hard could it be? Famous last words. He was gasping for breath after the first mile, clutching a stitch after the second, and collapsed on the living room floor after the third. Butch didn't seem to have the same issues. She practically bounced into the kitchen to lap up water from a bowl Severus had laid out for her earlier that day before coming to nuzzle at him as he lay clutching his side. He threw a locking charm at the concealed door that led to the upper landing. It would not do for Wormtail to see him like this. He didn't want anyone to see him like this for the rest of his days. He couldn't quite believe the things he was doing for a dog he hadn't even known existed when he'd left that house that morning. Oh, what a difference a day makes.

Over the next few days, he developed a new, rather dog-centred, routine. He'd awake to Butch licking his face. He'd try and get her to answer to a variety of other names. Akela, Juniper, and Calliope were his current favourites. He'd give up after barely an hour, reverting to calling her Butch as it was the only name she would answer to. They would go for a run and Severus gradually started to feel less like he would collapse each time. He actually decided to give her a bath one afternoon. He found the old metal tub he'd been forced to bathe in as a child and filled it with a casual wave of his hand. He'd always been able to produce water from seemingly nowhere; it was a family gift, much like his Occlumency. Butch seemed to have other ideas and point-blank refused to get into the tub. After about half an hour of wrestling, pleading and barking, he gave up and settled for a well-cast scourgify instead.

And then, when evening came, they would … snuggle. He hated to admit it, but it was definitely snuggling. She would climb into his lap when he read on the couch and bury her nose into the crack between his waist and the armrest. He'd read until he was so tired that his eyes began to itch, and then she would follow him up to bed.

It was almost perfect. If Wormtail hadn't been there and Severus couldn't feel the war looming over him, it might have been just that. He was happier than he had been in years and he had Butch to thank for it. All too soon, the realities of an imperfect world came crashing back when he felt his dark mark sear painfully. Perfect was for dreamers.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling

"Ah, Severus," the cold, high voice he had grown to loathe greeted him, "how nice of you to join us."

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes beneath his mask. Nice. A picnic was nice. A forced meeting with a megalomaniac? Not so much. He focused briefly on his mental shields; it wouldn't do to slip up just because he was feeling snarky.

"My Lord," Severus murmured, bowing low and touching the mouth of his mask to the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. He waited the requisite few seconds before rising gracefully and backing into his position within the circle. It was about twenty minutes until the last position in the circle was filled. Twenty minutes of standing to attention. The Dark Lord didn't tolerate weakness, fidgeting was an invitation to a quick bout of cruciatus. Severus had learnt that particular lesson the hard way. It had been one of his first meetings - in his eagerness to serve he'd been carrying his mask and robes around with him everywhere. Naturally he'd been one of the first to arrive and, after nearly an hour of waiting for everyone, his mind had wandered, and he'd started tapping out "Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" against his leg. The song had been played practically non-stop on the Wizarding Wireless Network that week. The only thing he remembered of the meeting after that point was pain and a cruel laugh. He hadn't let it happen again in the intervening twenty years.

When the circle was complete at last, the Dark Lord launched into his usual tirade. Severus only listened with half an ear, he'd heard it all countless times. Muggles are a scourge. Magic is might. Harry Potter was nothing but a stupid boy. Instead, Severus focused on the reactions of his fellow Death Eaters. Dolohov was standing particularly proud and Bellatrix lent forward whenever her lord approached, she was barely resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. Pathetic. The empty space that Lucius usually occupied sent a brief pang through him; the man may be a bastard, but they were friends, had been ever since Severus was in school. He missed the easy banter and brandy they would share after each meeting, missed unwinding with his friend. He wouldn't feel it so much when the school year started up again but, until then, the only company he really had was a rat and a dog. Neither of whom was known for their prowess in witty repartee.

The meeting dragged on. Severus listened carefully as each member of the inner circle gave their reports; any small detail could make a difference. His was decidedly shorter than usual. The only piece of real news he had was that Albus, or "the old fool" in present company, had managed to injure himself doing Merlin-knows-what.

"Excellent." The snake-like face split into a loose approximation of a smile. "Or duel has clearly weakened him. He is nothing more than an old man and it's good I've reminded him of that." This was the response Albus had been hoping for, his general philosophy on life being play the "doddery old man" card for all it was worth. It worked like a charm because people habitually see what they want to see instead of what's actually there.

As the meeting began to wind down, Severus had gleaned little information of actual importance. The Dark Lord left to retire into his own wing of Malfoy Manor and the tension in the room palpably relaxed. Masks came off, the liquor was opened, and the Wizarding Wireless Network filled the previously oppressive silence. It was in this more laid-back atmosphere that Severus tended to gather the most useful information. He plucked a brandy from the tray of a passing house elf and sank into one of the fussy armchairs by the enormous fireplace. He'd always loved the library of Malfoy Manor, it put his own collection to shame. The room was filled floor-to-ceiling with books on every subject imaginable, or at least every subject imaginable for narrow-minded, magical supremacists. The Malfoys guarded their collection fiercely, but Severus had figured out the warding system well over a decade ago and made a point of stealing a book or two every time he visited. Today, he had his eye on Arithmantic Arcana; definitely an area he needed to brush up on.

No matter the room, listening unobtrusively from a corner always yielded gossip. At any given time, he knew who was dating whom, which staff members had overindulged the night before, and the popular opinions on articles in the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly. Most of the information appeared trivial or benign until it wasn't. He knew which students were struggling, where to look when people went missing, and which staff members should not be trusted with the children in a crisis. This information gathering was even more useful when it came to his extracurricular responsibilities. Within half an hour of settling into a chair with a drink in one hand and a book in the other, he knew that Dolohov was currently out of favour with their lord, that Avery had almost been caught muggle-baiting, and that Greyback was growing restless. He listened, and he learned.

Hors d'oeuvres had just made an appearance, Severus was selecting one of the minuscule beef wellingtons when he became uncomfortably aware that someone was staring at him. With an unhurried grace, he rose from his chair and began to peruse the shelves. Dolohov's eyes followed him as he moved. He wanted something, Severus was sure of it. He'd seen that greedy but apprehensive look in the eyes of too many people not to recognise it for what it was. Dolohov wasn't usually afraid to speak his mind. Severus walked towards a more secluded end of the room, dragging the pads of his fingers along the spines that rose and sank in delicate crests. He selected a random title from the magi-archaeology section, opened it up, and waited.

"Severus?" He was rewarded with Dolohov's greeting in less than a minute.

"Antonin," Severus nodded to his ‘comrade,’ "What can I do for you this evening?"

"What makes you think I want something from you? Can't I say hello to a friend?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes for the umpteenth time that evening, Severus contented himself with arching a dark eyebrow and stared at Dolohov unblinkingly. He watched as the man before him seemed to droop slightly.

"Fine," Dolohov sighed, "I was hoping that you would be willing to help me with a … special project of mine?"

"Indeed?" Severus's voice was at his silkiest. "And what sort of … project … would that be? The Dark Lord usually asks me directly when my expertise is required."

"Ah, well … you see … the thing is …"

"I don't have time for this." Dolohov's mouth snapped shut. "Your project hasn't been approved by the Dark Lord, correct?"

"Not exactly …" Dolohov hedged.

"It either has or it hasn't. I'm assuming the 'not exactly' means the latter." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "But you're sure he will approve once you're finished." It wasn't a question.

"Erm … well, yes. If this works, I could lead him to someone of great importance to the Order of the Phoenix." He grimaced as he spoke the name of the Order, Severus was sure that he'd have spat on the floor in disgust had they been outside.

"I see …" He'd have to help him, an incompetent Death Eater fumbling around blindly was far more dangerous than one Severus could keep an eye on. He wasn't going to make it easy, however.

"So … you see …" Severus stared at him, face a blank slate, while Dolohov fidgeted with his sleeve. "I need to find something that will track my … err … my magic."

"Trace your magic how? That's a little unspecific."

"Well, just … you know, trace it," Dolohov mumbled.

"Do you want to trace any magic you've ever done? Over what distance would you like to trace it? You must have something specific in mind," Severus prompted.

"I cursed someone recently, a pretty dark spell. Lingering. I want to trace the person I cursed." Dolohov was smiling triumphantly, pleased he had finally managed to figure out what he wanted.

"So, you want to trace other people bearing your magical signature?" He strode over to the library's potions section, running his fingers along the spines until he came to what he was looking for. He plucked an old book bound in deep red leather from the shelf, Ancient Potions with Practical Applications was printed in gold leaf across the spine. It looked as though it had never been opened. Typical Malfoys, knowledge many people would kill for at their fingertips and they'd never bothered to use it.

"What you need, Antonin," he presented the book opened to a page near the middle, "is the Tracing Tincture. You brew the potion, add one of your hairs, and paint it over a map. If it's brewed properly, traces of your magical signature will glow blue. It's a relatively straight-forward brew, any third year at Hogwarts could manage it," heck, even Longbottom would have been able to brew it, "so, I imagine you'll have no problem with it." A pink flush crept up Dolohov's pale neck.

"Umm … I thought that maybe –"

"Maybe what?"

"Erm … right. Nothing, nothing. I'm sure it will work just … fine. Thank you, Severus." Dolohov inclined his head slightly and snapped the book shut before tucking it into his black robes.

"Anytime," he said as Dolohov began to head towards the door. "And Antonin," the other man paused, turning back slightly, "be sure to send me an owl if you require any … assistance." Severus allowed himself a smirk as Dolohov beat a hasty retreat, his blush disappearing into his blonde hair.

Severus haunted the chair by the fire for another few hours, making his way through several of the delicious miniature pies circulated by the house elves. He stored away the small hints dropped carelessly into the conversations surrounding him, cross-referencing everything he was learning with what he already knew. Albus would expect a detailed report come morning. He had to suppress a yawn more than once, Butch had kept him up most of the night, snuffling her unpleasantly wet nose into his ear every time he managed to fall into sleep. He'd tried ousting her from his bedroom, but she whimpered when he closed the door on her. He'd managed to remain strong for only a few heartbeats before giving in and letting her climb back into bed with him. Hopefully he'd sleep better tonight.

People were leaving in dribs and drabs. Severus followed suit, making sure not to leave too early and not to be one of the last ones in the library. Drawing as little notice as possible was an art form, and one he had perfected over the years. He stepped out of the manor and into the unseasonably cold air. This was his favourite part of every gathering. The grounds of Malfoy Manor were truly stunning. Neatly manicured lawns littered with aviaries and topiary swept downward into thick woods rife with game. Butch would love it here, she could chase peacocks to her heart's content, investigate the low shrubs and elegant flowerbeds, and run as far as she dared. Severus gave the place a final once over as he reached the wrought-iron gate decorated with delicate scrollwork, before twisting into nothingness with barely a pop.

It was hours later when Severus sat bolt upright in bed, startling Butch from where she was curled up over his feet.

How had he missed it?

Dolohov was going to try and capture Hermione Granger.

He jumped out of bed and began pulling on yesterday's robes. The question was, should he visit Miss Granger first or Albus? It was probably best to ascertain whether she was, in fact, carrying Dolohov's magical signature before he bothered the headmaster. He was pretty sure he could apparate to her house, he'd visited it the summer before her first year to deliver her Hogwarts letter after all. He snuck silently out of his own house (Wormtail was going to be the death of him) and disappeared into thin air on the corner of Spinner's End.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

It was three AM and Hermione Granger should have been in bed hours ago. She'd promised to join her parents for Mass the next morning. Her dad had come in to say goodnight at around eleven and she'd promised herself that she would finish the equation she was working on and then get into bed. She was always breaking her promises to herself. One more equation, one more chapter, one more minute. She had green ink on her fingers from the drywipe marker she was clutching and a matching green stain on the cuff of her dressing gown. Keeping her hand at a pace with her brain meant she hadn't bothered to grab the board eraser when she'd made mistakes, using her once-pink sleeve was by far the easier option.

She'd had a very productive summer so far. Her homework was completed in the first fortnight, so she had been able to devote weeks on end to a pet project of hers. She'd found herself reading about the use of arithmancy during the Napoleonic War and it had got her thinking. She hadn't been able to stop thinking, or calculating, since. Her room was covered in whiteboards. Three large boards were supported tree-like from poles that rooted into a copy of a large, hardback book which lay open on the floor near her wardrobe. She was going to miss the set up when she was back at Hogwarts.

She blew at the hair tickling her nose and wrangled her hair tie free from the bun she had twisted it into hours earlier. Her scalp tingled as her blood made its way back to the surface. Her neck cracked twice as she tilted her head first to the right and then the left. She was shattered but filled with the deep sense of satisfaction that only ever accompanied a job well done. She finally had all her key matrices in order, neatly aligned on her central board. Double and single lines connected various sections and her variables were defined neatly on the board's left-hand-side. Her framework was in place and, tomorrow, the real work would begin in earnest.

She was about to turn out the light and get into bed when she heard a tapping at the window. Who on Earth was sending her an owl at this time? She pulled back the curtains and peered into the murky darkness. There wasn't an owl in sight. She glanced down at the driveway and was shocked to see the distinctive outline of her Potions professor. What in the world? He gestured towards the front door, eyebrows raised in question. Hermione motioned that she would be there in a moment and, brows furrowed, she crept out of her brightly lit room and into the gloom of the landing. She'd silenced the stairs at the start of the summer, so they were predictably quiet as she made her way to the cherry red front door. She unlocked it with a tap of her wand and opened the door for Professor Snape.

"Miss Granger," he nodded slightly in greeting, "tell me, what animal did you partially transform into during your second year of school?"

"How on Earth do you know about that?" She'd planned to ask why he was here. "Madam Pomfrey swore that it would be kept confidential."

He arched one disdainful eyebrow. "Do try to use your brain, Miss Granger. Who do you think brewed the potion to help reverse the effects?"

"Oh, I had no idea," she paused before remembering herself. "Thank you, sir. I can't imagine how long it would have taken to wear off naturally. But why are you asking me about that at," she looked at her watch, "three fifteen in the morning?"

"Come now, Miss Granger, surely you've read, and no doubt memorised, the pathetic pamphlets the Ministry has been owling out over the last few weeks?" He stared at her imperiously. It didn't matter how hard she tried or how old she was, he always managed to make her feel like a stupid little girl. She swallowed the petulant reply that jumped to mind.

"Right, of course, sir. I partially transformed into a black cat." She opened the door wider. "Would you like to come in?" He just stood in the doorway, starring at her. "Ummm … or not?"

"You haven't bothered to verify my identity, Miss Granger. I could be anyone." His voice was low and filled with loathing.

"I seriously doubt that there is a single person on this planet that can make me feel both young and stupid with nothing more than a sentence and a look. Who else could you possibly be?" Shit. She'd spoken without thinking. Nothing to do now but stand her ground. Did the corner of his mouth just twitch? That could be either good or bad. Was it an angry twitch? The beginnings of a smile? It couldn't be. She waited, he stared. And then …

"Touché, Miss Granger, touché." If she squinted, she thought he might be wearing what could pass for a smile. Possibly. The right side of his mouth was upturned. And was that the beginnings of a dimple? What on Earth was happening?

"Well, now I'm not sure it is you." She was pushing her luck and she knew it. "I was expecting something along the lines of 'twenty points from Gryffindor for cheek, Miss Granger.' Maybe I should ask you something?"

"Enough." He strode past her and into the house. "We need to talk. Is there somewhere we can go?"

"Let's go to my room." She led him along the dark corridor, lowering her voice as she reached the stairs. "It's warded, so we won't wake my parents."

"That will be acceptable."

She fought the urge to look behind her to see if he was following. He moved unnaturally quietly, she couldn't hear the expected tell-tale rustle of robes or the shuffling noise booted feet should have made against the carpet. He followed her into her bedroom and stood in the centre of her pink, heart-shaped rug, a relic from her Groovy Chick days. She tried to focus on him, but her eyes were drawn to every little embarrassing thing scatted throughout the room. Her bed was distinctly dishevelled, she was wearing fluffy bunny slippers, and her Rick Astley poster was unevenly faded, had one corner hanging down and, well, it was a Rick Astley poster. If Professor Snape noticed any of this, he pretended not to.

"I have something of great importance to discuss with –" He stared at her whiteboards, eyebrows drifting slowly up his forehead. "You're due to start your sixth year at Hogwarts in September, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you didn't start Hogwarts late?"

"No, sir …" What on Earth was he getting at?

"Then enlighten me, Miss Granger, as to how those whiteboards are growing from a book when underage witches are wizards are not permitted to use magic outside of Hogwarts. Did they simply start growing of their own accord? Or do I need to give a detention? And how did you ward this room?"

"How do you –" Now was not the time to question his knowledge of muggle culture. "I mean to say that … well, you see, sir, though my seventeenth birthday is in September, I'm biologically seventeen already. Almost eighteen, if my calculations are correct." Of course they were correct, they were accurate to the nearest minute.

"And how do you figure that exactly?" His voice had become dangerously smooth, the kind of voice he usually reserved for Neville or Harry.

"Ah, well I'm sure you've noticed that I've always been a bit of an overachiever?" He titled his head in agreement. "Well, I may have taken that a little too far in my third year."

"How far is that exactly?"

"I decided to take all the subjects available and so errm …" she was just going to have to say it, it seemed so ridiculous to her now, but she supposed hindsight was 20/20. "Errm … professormcgonagallgavemeatimeturnersoicouldtakeallofmyclasses." His eyebrows shot right up his forehead. They were weirdly expressive for a man that portrayed himself as cold and unfeeling.

"Say that again. But slowly. It almost sounded as though you were given a potentially dangerous magical artefact when you were barely a teenager." His eyebrows were back to normal now. "But that can't be it."

"I'm afraid it is, sir. I was given a Time-Turner to allow me to attend all of my classes. I used it three or four times a day for the entire year." She cringed internally, he was going to think her more ridiculous than he undoubtedly did already. "I dropped Divination and Muggle Studies at the end of that year and handed it back to Professor McGonagall. I kept track of all the hours I gained and tried out some magic at the beginning of the summer. A cushioning charm, to be exact. If it alerted the Ministry, I'd planned on telling them that I had fallen from the top of the stairs and that the cushioning charm was merely instinctive to save myself from injury. I didn't hear from the Misuse of Magic office, so I tried a few more spells with alibis. I didn't hear about those either. I assumed that my theory was correct; the Trace is connected to biological age rather than … well, I've been calling it solar age."

"I see." She couldn't tell what he was thinking. "A logical conclusion." He was silent for almost a minute before he spoke again whilst she just stood there awkwardly, unwilling to interrupt him. "And did you ever use the Time-Turner for extracurricular activities?" Shit. How had he figured it out that quickly?

"Well, I'd sometimes use it so that I could study and attend the Quidditch matches simultaneously. That kind of stuff." She gave a small, and hopefully innocent, shrug.

"So, you didn't happen to use it to rescue a hippogriff and an escaped convict, then?" Double shit. All she could do was stare at him. How could she tell him that she'd sat silently by whilst he thought he was going mad? Whilst the Minister of Magic thought he was unhinged?

"I see." His mouth had briefly tightened in anger but was now as stony as it usually was. "We have far too much to discuss tonight to dwell on this any longer. Tell me about your encounter with Antonin Dolohov in the Department of Mysteries."

Hermione didn't know what she'd been expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn't that. Why on Earth did he want to hear about it from her? Surely Professor Dumbledore had filled him in on everything of importance.

"He hit me with some kind of slicing curse, sir. It still hurts occasionally," she offered uncertainly. "It gave off a kind of sickly purple light. Kind of like that, actually." She pointed to the lava lamp that was glowing from the right side of her bed. He gave the lamp a cursory glance before returning his stare to her. It felt like he was looking through her, gazing into her very soul. Unnerving.

"Show me." It clearly wasn't a request.

She unfastened her dressing gown – how had she forgotten that she was in her pyjamas? – and pushed it from her shoulders so that he could get a clear view of the puckered pink scar that ran from her left collarbone, disappearing beneath her strappy top. He had his wand out in a flash.

"May I?" he gestured with his wand and she nodded. He gave it a delicate little twist and Hermione felt a tingling warmth flood over her, as though she had been suddenly bathed in warm sunlight or had sunk into a hot bath. His wand-tip traced her from head to bunny-slipper-clad-toes before it made a sharp severing motion.

"It is as I suspected." He tucked his wand back into his sleeve and produced a small vial from seemingly nowhere. "Drink this."

"You seem to have confused me with Alice. Wonderland or not, I don't just drink things because people tell me to." When had she developed this rebellious streak? Just last year she would have blanched at the notion of disrespecting a teacher. It seems despite her terrible teaching skills, Hermione had learnt something from "Professor" Umbridge. There was that twitch again, the almost-dimple inducing one.

"Under ordinary circumstances, I would applaud your circumspection; however, given the current situation, I suggest you do as you're bid and ask questions after. It's holy water. Drink." He offered her the vial again.

"I'm going to need more of an explanation than that I'm afraid, sir."

He rolled his eyes at her, she couldn't quite believe it.

"Dolohov approached me with a specific request earlier this evening. He wished to know if there was a way to trace a person's magical signature. Can you guess why?" He gave her curse scar a significant look. She gasped and covered the visible wound with her hands.

"Does my wound still carry his magic? Will he be able to find me?"

"Very good, Miss Granger. Now, if you wouldn't mind?" He held the vial out to her a third time. She took it, popped the snug-fighting cork from the opening and downed the contents in a single swallow. It was icy cold, its chill spreading through her insides, sinking deeply into her scar. She shuddered, thinking of the dementors that haunted the school in her third year.

"So, is that it then? Is that all I need to do?" She pulled her dressing gown back on, but it did nothing to combat that chill inside her.

"I'm afraid it's not going to be that simple." He pulled the office chair from its niche beneath her desk and sat down on it, gesturing for her to take a seat on her bed. "You're going to want to be sat down for this. I want you to think of Dolohov's magical signature as a dye. It transfers through touch and bleeds into your surroundings. It's easy to remove the taint from living things but holy water doesn't work on inanimate objects."

"So that means my parents, Crookshanks," at the sound of his name, the large ginger cat emerged from his hiding place beneath her duvet and came to sit in her lap, "this house, even, are covered in his signature? He'll be able to find it?" Professor Snape nodded. "But what are we supposed to do?"

"The potion I was forced to recommend him will take at least a day to brew, so we have some time. But this house isn't going to be safe for you … or your parents … until the signature decays naturally."

"So, we all have to leave?" Her mind was running rapidly through possible contingency plans. She was going to have to leave her parents again, it felt as though they never saw each other.

"Yes, you will all have to go. I thought that you could tell your parents what was happening in the morning – there's no need to wake them at this time, it will only panic them – and I could come back to dose everyone with holy water and ward the house against damage. You can go to Hogwarts, but is there anywhere that your parents will be safe? Somewhere you haven't been since the incident?"

"Yes …" Hermione said slowly. "My aunt and uncle live in France. My parents could close up their practice for a little while and head to stay with them. I could really do with a letter explaining everything from Professor Dumbledore, they trust him."

"That could be arranged." He glanced at the digital alarm clock that stood on her bedside table. "It's late. I'll be back at ten AM. That should give you enough time to explain everything to them. Good night, Miss Granger. I can see myself out." She nodded vaguely, still thinking about everything he had told her. When she looked up, he was gone.

Severus strode into the headmaster's office at eight o'clock sharp. Albus was sat behind his desk, still wrapped in a fluffy purple dressing gown and clutching a cup of tea.

"Severus, my boy," Albus beamed, his customary twinkle present and correct. "Come in, come in and have a seat." Severus sank into the Chintz armchair opposite the throne-like number Albus was sat in. Severus had always found the chair behind the headmaster's desk to be more than a little bit ridiculous. Though designed to be grand and imposing, it generally left him with the feeling that the headmaster was playing dress up. Bathrobe and bed-beard didn't exactly help with this image. "What can I do for you, child?"

As though Albus would ask a child to do the things he required of Severus. It would be rude to roll his eyes, so instead he engaged in an eye-roll of the soul.

Severus took a deep breath and told him everything that had happened the previous evening. First the intricacies of the meeting itself, and then his worrying conversation with Dolohov. He described the predicament in detail and explained that he saw no reason not to give him the information he sought.

"But who could he mean?" Albus asked, tapping his lip with a long, burnt finger. "But, of course, he's talking about Miss Granger."

Severus nodded in acquiescence. "That was my conclusion as well." Never mind that it had taken him several hours to arrive at it. "And so, I went to visit Miss Granger at home. I thought it best to ascertain whether Dolohov was right about the lingering nature of his curse as soon as possible. She was covered in his magic. Naturally, I gave her some holy water and explained the situation. She should be telling her parents that they'll need to leave their home as we speak. She requested you write them a missive explaining the situation. Apparently, they trust you."

"Of course, I will, my boy. I'll do that in just a moment. Is there anything else I need to know?" Albus fixed him with a penetrating stare, all trace of the twinkle gone. It was the same every time, Albus always assumed he was holding back. Severus would've been offended if it wasn't a suspicion grounded in fact. He thought about Miss Granger's magic, about the arithmantic calculations that covered her room, about the fact that he was in her room at all.

"Just that I've arranged to meet Miss Granger in little over an hour. I'll see to it that her parents get on their way and I will bring her to the castle. You can do whatever you want with her once she gets here." And, just like that, the twinkle was back.

"Excellent, Severus. You did good work last night! Help yourself to tea or coffee," he gestured toward the sideboard with his blackened hand, "whilst I sort out this letter for Dr and Dr Granger."

A strong cup of tea sounded perfect. It had been a long night. Severus lit a flame under the teakettle and started filling the teapot with the meticulous care of a potioneer – he could have set it boiling with a flick of his fingers, but he much preferred to do it the muggle way. Albus always had an excellent selection of tea available. He mixed together a blend of white tea, quenching the fire before the kettle came to a boil. It wouldn't do to embitter the brew. Merlin knew he had enough bitterness to deal with as it was. He let it steep and explored the office he knew so well. There was always something to catch his eye, something he hadn't seen before. Always a new trinket to marvel over or a new book to delve into.

"Here you go, my boy," Albus handed him a crisp white envelope, the Hogwarts seal stamped into green wax on the back. "Give my best to the Grangers and I'll see you for dinner." And just like that, the visit was over.

Severus had some time to kill before he had to return to Miss Granger's home. He'd planned to check in on his quarters, see that the house elves had been keeping everything in order, but instead he found his feet taking him to the castle's west wing and knocking on a door he'd visited many times before.

"Sev! Do you have any idea what time it is?" The woman who opened the door was dressed in an elegantly cut witch's robe that hung open to reveal her pyjamas. Why was nobody dressed today? Miss Granger had an excuse in the unreasonable hour of his visit, but he could see no reason for both Albus and Bel not to be wearing proper attire. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Do I have to have a reason for visiting a colleague? Can't it just be a social call?" he asked sardonically.

"Colleagues? Really, Sev, surely, we're friendly acquaintances by now? It's only been … what? Fifteen, sixteen years?" she teased, her drawling American accent somehow making her sound more playful than she would have otherwise.

"Fine … can't it just be a social call with a friendly acquaintance?"

"It's never 'just' anything where you're concerned, Sev." She opened her door wide to reveal a comfortable but cluttered living room. "'scuse the mess!"

"I always do."

She laughed a throaty kind of laugh.

"D'you mind if we go out on to the balcony? I'm dying for a smoke."

"Tut tut, Professor Bagshot, that's a filthy habit." He followed her out onto the balcony and they both removed their vice of choice.

"How can you smoke those things, Sev?" She indicated the delicate packaging of the clove cigarillos she favoured. "These are so much better." He just shook his head - they had this conversation every time. "What lighter do you have this week?"

He lit the ludicrous kitten lighter and offered her the flame. She lit her cigarillo with difficulty, trying as she was to suppress a chuckle.

"That has to be the most absurd one I've seen yet!" she said in delight. "Give it here for a proper look." She tried to snatch the lighter from him, but he held it high above his head. This wasn't as effective as he had hoped. Standing at only a few inches shorter than him, she could almost knock it out of his hand.

"You may have a look just as soon as I'm finished with it." He relit the lighter with a flick of his thumb and drew deeply on the cigarette, exhaling a small cloud of smoke in a slow stream. "That's so much better." He chucked her the lighter.

"I'll never understand why you continue to buy these," Bel said, flicking the wheel with her thumb. "Why not just use your wand?"

"That, my dear, is simple," replied Severus. "I started buying cigarettes before I turned seventeen. I needed the lighter then, it would look weird if I stopped buying them now."

"Couldn't you just buy your fags elsewhere?"

"Ah, but then I wouldn't get to see Bill every week, and hearing Bill grumble about politics is one of my favourite past times. It's really quite simple."

"Ahhh, well now I get it. You're simply mad." She elbowed him in the side with a grin.

"You're one to talk. Mad as a box of frogs," Severus mock-grumbled.

"All the best people are."

Severus was sorry to leave, but duty called. He appeared with a barely pop on the Granger's front doorstep at precisely ten o'clock and rapped smartly on the door. It opened almost immediately - Miss Granger had obviously been hovering.

"Good morning, sir." He was about to reprimand her when she asked, "What comment did you leave on my last Potions essay of last term?"

"I didn't leave one. There was nothing to criticise." It was annoyingly true. The essay had been perfect. He hadn't been able to think of a single way to improve it within the essay restrictions he had given the class. He'd spent hours poring over the thing. He made to move into the house, but Hermione stopped him.

"Aren't you forgetting something, sir? I could be anyone." By Merlin, the girl had been cheeky over the last day. Possibly a remnant of what he liked to think of as the "Umbridge Rebellion." She wouldn't be the first student to push back since the toad's interim as headmistress.

"Quite right, Miss Granger. I'm glad you took last night's lesson to heart. What, precisely, does Spore have to say about mistletoe in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?"

"Mistletoe is a parasitic plant that can often be found in hardwood trees. If the mistletoe takes root in a magical tree, it is imbued with that magic and can then be used in fertility potions. The leaves are the most potent parts of the plant for potions use."

"Well, if that's not a satisfactory identity test, I don't know what is." She was still standing in the doorway. "May I come in now, Miss Granger? Or would you like to ask me about my favourite variety of drinking chocolate?" The sarcasm seemed to shock her back into motion and her cheeks flushed a warm pink.

"Right, sorry, sir. Do come in." In the light, the house appeared to be decorated far more tastefully than her bedroom. The walls were painted an unobtrusive cream with a few monochromatic photographs hung at intervals. It was pleasantly warm inside after the bitter chill of the day and the aroma of strong, sweet coffee filled his nostrils. She led him into a kitchen lined with welcoming terracotta tiles and a large farmer's table.

"Professor Snape, I presume." A large but plain man offered Severus a hand. His shake was firm and his eyes were narrowed. "We've had a mixed review about you from our daughter. I hope she was exaggerating at times."

"Dad!" Miss Granger's voice did that shrill thing he had often observed, normally when she was telling off Potter or Weasley. "Professor Snape, this is Paul Granger, my father. And, this," she gestured towards a woman who, with that hair, could only be her mother, "is Helen Granger, my mother."

"A pleasure to meet you, Professor Snape." Her handshake was as firm as her husband's. "I only wish it were under better circumstances. Please, have a seat. I'll pour you a coffee."

The coffee was as rich and sweet as it smelled, Severus sipped it appreciatively. He saw no real reason to beat around the bush so, once everyone was seated, he laid the letter from Albus onto the scrubbed surface of the table and pushed it towards the Grangers.

"I believe Hermione has told you what happened last night?" They nodded. "Good. Here is a letter from Albus Dumbledore to explain the incident in greater detail. The upshot of this is that it's not safe for either yourselves or your daughter to continue living here." They nodded again. "I will be taking Miss Granger back with me to Hogwarts, and from there she will most likely be going to The Burrow to stay with the Weasleys. Is that acceptable to you both?"

"It sounds reasonable," Paul Granger conceded, Helen nodding next to him. "What will happen to us?"

"Miss Granger said that you would be welcome in France for a time. You will need to leave as soon as possible. Try not to take too many belongings with you. It would be best to make it look like you were merely on holiday. As you leave, drink one of these each." He placed two vials of holy water on the table. "It will expunge any remaining traces of the curse Miss Granger was attacked with and stop you leaving a trail of magic behind you. I gave one to your daughter last night and she will drink another after she leaves. As will her cat."

"What will happen to the house, sir?" Miss Granger asked from where she was quietly sipping her coffee. "What will happen if the Death Eaters come calling and don't find us here?"

"They will likely be angry." He gestured around himself. "I will ward the entire house as we leave with both a calming charm and several protection charms." Miss Granger nodded appreciatively.

"So, they will be less angry when they find we've gone? Less inclined to damage the place?"

"Precisely, Miss Granger."

"Well," said Helen Granger, standing up and rolling up her sleeves, "there's no time like the present! Hermione, go and pack yourself and that cat of yours up. Paul, get anything we'll need from the study and call the office. Have them book locums for the foreseeable future. And don't forget the travel dentistry kits, this could be an excellent opportunity to take part in Doctors without Borders." Miss Granger and her father filed out of the room with no complaints. "Professor Snape, see that everything is left tidily in here and pack up all the perishables for my daughter to take to the Burrow." She nodded briskly and hurried out of the room and up the stairs.

It never occurred to Severus to ignore her instructions. He had everything clean and away with a long swish of his wand and found a canvas bag hanging from a hook on the back of the door to the pantry. He emptied all kinds of foods into the bag, shrinking them as he went and, in the case of the refrigerated foods, placing them under a stasis charm. Task completed, he sat back in his vacated seat to wait. Miss Granger's ginger monstrosity of a cat head-butted the door to the kitchen open and sat by his feet, staring up at him malevolently.

"What do you want?" he asked it. The cat stood and turned away from him, whipping his leg with its tail, and sauntered back out of the kitchen. "Bloody cats."

When everyone was packed and ready (he had discretely scanned everyone to ensure their belongings didn't hold enough magical residue to be traceable), Severus stood awkwardly at the edge of the drive way whilst the family said goodbye. He was holding a wicker basket filled with disgruntled cat. Crookshanks, he'd been told that was the beast's name, had not taken kindly to being force-fed holy water. Even if it was for his own good. Severus tried to ignore what was happening by the front door, but, try as he might, he couldn't help but hear the sniffles and the kisses being exchanged. Far too much sentiment if you asked him, it wasn't like they were being separated forever. Miss Granger eventually came over to stand beside him and they both watched as her parents drove away in a sleek but practical car.

"Right, Miss Granger," he put the carrying case on the floor, "you may as well learn something today. Pay careful attention to the warding process." She was attentive as always, silently watching as he cast charms for both calming emotions and protecting the contents of the house. If someone managed to destroy the objects inside, they would repair themselves in less than twenty-four hours. It was a cunning little spell, difficult to detect, and left the attacker feeling as though they had exacted their mindless revenge. Death Eaters would arrive, take out the little anger they had on the Grangers' personal effects and then leave again. Once the magic did its thing, it would be as though no one had even been there.

"Have you apparated before, Miss Granger?" Severus asked her.

"No, sir," she looked a little sheepish. "I have read the theory though, so I think I know what to expect." Severus suppressed a smirk. Miss Granger was about to discover that not everything could be learnt from a textbook.

"Very well," he replied curtly. He picked the carry case back up with one hand and offered her the other. She grasped it uncertainly, her hand cool and dry. "Hold on tight." He thought of Hogwarts and they disappeared with barely a sound.

Severus had used side-along apparition a number of times, but he never got used to just how uncomfortable it was. It was one thing to squeeze yourself through time and space, it was quite another to take another person, a malicious cat, and luggage with you. He could feel Miss Granger being squeezed against him and was relieved when they popped back into the dimensions he was more accustomed to. If she hadn't been grasping his hand so tightly, Severus was sure that Miss Granger would not have been able to stick the landing. Once they were both steady, she let go hurriedly and looked remarkably pale.

"Do try not to puke, Miss Granger. I'm in no mood to play nursemaid." He strode off into the grounds, not bothering to check if she was following him. If they were quick, they'd make it to the Great Hall in time for lunch. As much as he loved being away from Hogwarts, he really missed the house elves' cooking. He could hear Miss Granger's breathing behind him and smirked a little. He really did enjoy making people rush to catch up to his pace.

"Back again, Sev?" Bel's throaty voice greeted him as he walked into the Entrance Hall. "And you have a little lion in tow." She chuckled to herself. "I didn't have you pegged as a babysitter." He rolled his eyes.

"Now, now, Professor Bagshot, behave," Severus said, his voice low and silky. Miss Granger trotted up the stairs and stood puffing in front of them.

"Miss Granger, this is Professor Bagshot. She teaches NEWT level Magical Theory. You've probably seen her around." Predictably, Miss Granger's hand shot out to shake the professor's.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor Bagshot." Miss Granger was practically wringing Bel's hand. "I've read your book, Magic Re-imagined. I found it wonderfully insightful. It changed my whole perspective on magical innovation."

"That's good to hear, Miss Granger. You'll be starting your sixth year in September, correct?" Miss Granger nodded enthusiastically. "And will I be seeing you in my NEWT class?"

"Absolutely! I've been looking forward to this class for years!" Severus suppressed a snort of derision. "That is … if I get the appropriate grades." She could not pull off modest.

"I seriously doubt that that will be an issue, Miss Granger," he said, unable to help himself, "know-it-all that you are."

"Miss Granger!" came Albus's voice as he descended the stairs to join them. "Come, my dear, and we'll have a spot of lunch." His arms swept wide as he ushered her into the Great Hall.

Hermione was having a weird day. Professor Snape had seen her in her pyjamas, she'd been warned of an evil plot, she'd seen a hint of a dimple, she'd had to say goodbye to her family and say hello to another one. She was crawling into the spare bed in Ginny's room and Crookshanks was curled up on her pillow, refusing to budge. She didn't need the pillow anyway. She was staring into the dark, sleep hovering just out of her reach when she was struck with a sudden burst of inspiration. Why hadn't she thought to give Professor Snape his own matrix earlier? She ran through a few mental calculations. How hard could it be to weave him into her foundations in a more significant way? He was already there, after all, she just needed to expand on it. Satisfied that she could make it work, she sighed and nuzzled her face into Crookshanks's fur.

Yes, it had been a weird day, but those were the best kind for thinking outside of the box.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

The new term was not shaping up the way she'd hoped. She was struggling with non-verbal spells, Harry was outperforming her in Potions, and Professor Snape refused to acknowledge the good work she was doing in Defence Against the Dark Arts. The only thing keeping her going was the knowledge that she had her first Magical Theory class that afternoon, four hours of a brand new, fascinating subject. She had practically devoured the required reading at The Burrow, taking note upon note and practising breaking down simple spells into their raw components. It was the subject she'd been waiting for her whole life. It made use of everything she had previously studied – even, much to her chagrin, Divination – and, in return, added to all the fields it pulled from. It drew everything together; it was the thread that held the magical world intact. She could barely eat on Friday morning, excited as she was for her class.

"You're looking peaky, 'Mione," Ron said through a mouthful of bacon sandwich. "You've not been using a Time-Turner again, I hope." She knew it was a joke, but she just wasn't in the mood to indulge him.

"Of course not, Ron," she snapped. "Even if I wanted to repeat that ghastly experience, I wouldn't be able to. We smashed the Ministry's entire stock of Time-Turners when we were … well, during … umm …"

"During the debacle that was the rescue mission?" Harry supplied.

"Well, yes." She watched him carefully. Thankfully, his expression was light, and his mouth upturned at the corners. She was still walking on eggshells around him, worried that any small slip or ill-considered question may send him into a towering temper. She really didn't want a repeat of last year, she had enough to worry about without being continuously snapped at.

"I just didn't sleep a lot last night, Ron," she said, spreading honey over her toast. "I was re-reading sections of the text for my Magical Theory class and I couldn't put it down. I think I fell asleep thinking about syntax and semiotics."

"Semi-what-ics?" Ron's brow was furrowed. "What's that got to do with making up a bunch of spells?"

"Oh, never mind," Hermione sighed. She poured more of the dark coffee that only appeared on the table around those students who were fifth years or older. It had been such a relief to reach for the coffee pot at the beginning of last school year and not have it scoot away from her. Despite being dentists, Hermione's parents had practically raised her on coffee. Strong and sweet. She plopped two sugar cubes into her mug and, after giving it a stir, brought it up to her nose and inhaled deeply. Nothing fixed a sleepless night like the Hogwarts roast. She had no idea how the house elves brewed it, but it was nothing short of, well, magical.

The morning passed in a rush of notes, wand movements, and dashing through crowded hallways. She wolfed down her lunch, barely acknowledging the quidditch conversation surrounding her, and left as soon as she was finished to find her classroom for Magical Theory. It was in the west wing of the castle, tucked between what looked like a disused workshop and a stunning little courtyard she'd never visited before. She was the first to arrive in the small classroom. The desks were arranged in a U-shape around the teacher's desk, and blackboards covered all the available wall space.

There was a tapping noise coming from behind the door. Hermione peered around to see chalk scrawling calculations and runes that she didn't recognise across its dusty, black surface. It wasn't the only board doing its own calculations. She could see one board, near the front of the classroom, running variations of the same word through a series of efficiency equations she recognised from Arithmancy. Another appeared to be solving what Hermione could only suppose was a complicated mathematical problem, and a third was drawing an intricate series of wand movements.

"Welcome, Miss Granger." The low, accented voice, coming from behind her, made her jump. "I'm glad you found the room without difficulty. Please, feel free to take a seat whilst we wait for the others."

"Thank you, Professor Bagshot. It's a pleasure to be here." She took the seat on the right nearest to the teacher's desk. "How many students will be in this class? The requirements were very exacting!"

"And so they should be," Professor Bagshot said, not unkindly, "We're going to be dealing with the very fabric of magic, I expect a dedication to academics from all of my students. But, to answer your question, there are nine of you taking this NEWT. Although I expect about half of you will choose to drop it after a year and not continue on to do the full NEWT."

Hermione sat up straighter in her chair. "I see …" she hedged. What if she ended up in the half that couldn't cut it? She searched around for something else to say when Blaise Zabini and Malfoy walked in. Professor Bagshot greeted them politely and turned to the large blackboard behind her desk. A flick of her wand had a long piece of chalk in mid-air and tracing the words: Professor Belinda Bagshot, (No Relation), Mastery in Magical Theory and Phenomena onto the board in the same elegant script that covered the other active boards. Hermione stifled a giggle at the joke. As she was pulling out her textbook, notes, and quill, Mandy Brocklehurst, Terry Boot, and Padma Patil came in chatting, followed closely by Ernie McMillian, Hannah Abbot, and Justin Flinch-Fletchly. As the Hufflepuffs sat down, the door behind them clicked shut and Professor Bagshot turned to face them with a sly smile.

"Right! Who's ready to forget everything they've ever learned?"

"Why have you never told me how brilliant Hermione Granger is?" Severus was sitting in his usual chair in the empty staff room when Bel burst in, her dark bob awry, her eyes alight and her usually pale skin flushed pink.

"I believe I've called her an 'insufferable know-it-all' within your hearing," he said sardonically. "What's got you so excited? I mean, she's good, but she's not that good."

Bel sat down in the chair opposite him, crossing her booted feet on top of the coffee table.

"She's like no one I've ever taught before. She came at things from angles even I haven't considered," she cocked her head to the side, "and you know how brilliant I am."

"It's true, you do astound me with your brilliance." He lifted a long-fingered hand to partially cover his eyes. "In fact, you're practically radiant with brilliance. I can barely look at you." He received a cushion to the face in response.

"Seriously, though," she continued, "I set them a little exercise to begin with, you know, the usual. Break this down into its components blah blah blah. Not only did she complete the task in record time, but she just started working on one of the arithmantic problems on my blackboards. You know the one, I've had up there for about three years now because it's so bloody complicated and I never have the time to figure it out?" Severus knew the one. He was intimately familiar with her frustration over it. "Well, casual as you like, she scribbled it down, added a variable I'd never even considered before, and started to solve the bloody thing."

"Bested by a child," Severus smirked.

"Oh please, Sev, they're hardly children at this age. In fact, Hermione seems more grown-up than most." Bloody Time-Turner. "Anyway, are we going to the pub later? I always need a drink after the first week back."

"You need a drink?" His eyebrows shot upwards in incredulity. "You've what, taught three classes this week? I'm the one who needs a drink."

"You know very well that I have to do a shit-tonne of admin at the start of term, and … well, I have to do research."

"Get to do research, more like, don't pretend that research isn't dearer to you than your future children would be." He took a long swig of his tea, wishing it was beer. "I would kill to be able to spend more time on research instead of teaching hormonal, over-zealous, dim-witted teenagers."

"Literally or metaphorically?"

"Either, I'm not picky."

The rest of the staff soon started wandering in for their weekly, pre-dinner staff meeting. They were all a little dishevelled looking. Minerva, in particular, looked like she'd had a rough day. He watched as, instead of her customary cup of tea, she poured several fingers of whiskey from a flask straight into a teacup and took a long sip.

"Really, Minerva, was it that bad?" He asked her. She froze for a moment but quickly regained her composure.

"I have the first year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins last thing on a Friday. They're all, obviously, incompetent and the Slytherins have somehow got it into their heads that their house is for bullies. You're going to have to talk to them." He would do no such thing. "You're looking very … what do the children call it? Chillaxed? Who did you just have?" The smirk that had been playing on his face ever since Bel walked in grew more pronounced.

"Free period."

Minerva didn't disappoint, her lips thinned, and points of colour appeared high on her cheeks. He wasn't about to tell her that it was his only free period a week.

"And you, Belinda?"

"As you can tell from her rapturous expression, Belinda just had the inestimable Miss Granger." Bel, who hated her full name, looked as though she was going to throw another cushion at him.

"Thank you, Severus, but I'm perfectly capable of answering questions myself." She mock-glared at him. He was about to reply when Albus walked in, his purple robes billowing and twinkle glinting behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Good evening, everyone. I'm sure you've all had an excellent first week back. I know I have."

It was her birthday. Hermione Granger was sat in the quietest corner of the Gryffindor Common Room scribbling away in a spiral-bound notebook with a ballpoint pen. It had been an astoundingly normal day. Harry and Ron had forgotten it was her birthday, which they did every year. This year, she hadn't bothered to remind them. Crookshanks had prodded at her for some food but had otherwise been absent. Her classes were challenging, but not unusually so. Harry had outperformed her in Potions yet again, reading from the scrawling in the Half-Blood Prince's old book. He clutched that thing like it was something holy, wondering who it could possibly be. It never even occurred to him the Prince was most likely someone like her. Half her textbooks were filled with ideas, modifications, and suggestions. If she was being honest with herself, she was jealous. Not of Harry. Jealous of the Prince's flair for potion making. He understood it on an artistic level, whereas she was stuck on the intellectual level. She understood them well and appreciated the subtleties of potion creation, but she could not make the leap herself. At first, she thought that she simply hadn't studied them enough, but now … now she wondered if she just lacked an intuitive grasp of the subject matter. She was lacking the spark and connection she felt with other areas of magic.

She was currently trying to apply the technique's she was learning in Magical Theory to creating defensive spells. Running equations for various elements. Every time she tried something new, she got the same result: fire. It seemed counter-intuitive to use fire for defensive spell work; it had always been something she thought of as either purely practical or offensive. She wasn't sure how to make it work. But arithmancy didn't lie. Or at least it had never lied to her.

The more she worked, the more she realised she missed her whiteboards. There was nowhere in Hogwarts that had both enough space and the privacy her sensitive calculations would require. She could, of course, wipe them clean and set them up in an empty classroom, but that seemed risky. She could lose all her work if she didn't transcribe it properly. But maybe there was somewhere she could go. Inspiration struck, and she hurriedly packed up her satchel and made to leave the Common Room.

"Oi! 'Mione!" Ron shouted from where he and Harry were playing chess by the fire. She didn't understand how Harry could stand losing every time. It would have driven her crazy. "Where you off to? Don't you want to come and watch us play? I'm creaming him." She snorted a little at his poor word choice.

"I have to go to the library," predictably, they both rolled their eyes, "but I'll be back a little later. I'll watch you play then." Or at least read a book in a chair next to the chess set. They both grumbled a little at her dismissal but let her go. It wasn't like they'd been craving her company before she'd stood up. They could have come over to her at any point.

She made her way through the mostly deserted castle, running her fingers along the rough stonework. She was just turning a corner in the west wing when she was accosted by a barking, black and white missile. A border collie was resting its paws on her chest, tongue lolling out in a pant. She couldn't help but let out a little squeal of fright. It went back to all fours and started sniffing around her legs. She crouched down to scratch behind its floppy ears.

"And who are you then?" she asked, automatically lowering her voice and using the sing-song tone she saved specifically for animals and babies. "Who do you belong to?" The dog nuzzled its head into Hermione's hands and licked at her fingers. She found a collar that proclaimed its name as "Butch."

"Well, aren't you a handsome boy? Yes, you are."

"I think you'll find, Miss Granger, that my dog is female." Hermione stilled. Well, shit. She was crouched on the floor, cuddling Professor Snape's dog in front of him. She didn't know what was stranger, the situation or the fact that her dour Potions / Defence professor was a dog person.

"Sorry, sir," she said as she stood up, surreptitiously wiping her hands on her robes. "I didn't realise. I guess I just assumed that was a boy's name."

"Obviously." He stared at her in the piercing way he seemed to have a fondness for.

"How did you land on the name Butch, sir?" she asked, curious despite herself. "I've never heard it for a female dog or, well, any female before."

"I suggest you look up the patriarchy whilst you're in the library, Miss Granger." He raised a dark eyebrow, she was starting to wonder if there might be some humour beneath the ridicule. "As to her name, although I don't see why it's any of your business, she came with that name and won't answer to anything else. She's a rescue dog."

"Ah, I see," she replied with a smile. "Well, it was very nice to meet you, Butch." She gave the dog a final scratch behind her left ear. "Have a nice evening, sir." She nodded respectfully and carried on around the corner to the Magical Theory classroom. She was proud of herself. Before their interaction over the summer, Hermione was sure she would have panicked and made of a fool of herself when confronted by Professor Snape in a deserted corridor. She'd have probably left in tears, like the time he'd made fun of her teeth. She was definitely proud of herself. But the patriarchy remark had hit close to home. Rationally, Hermione knew that she was a product of a culture that pre-existed her, recognising her thoughts for what they were. It wasn't that easy though, she had clearly internalised patriarchal ideology to such an extent that it had her jumping to conclusions. She would probably be fighting against her preconceived notions for the rest of her life. She sighed, blowing a few fly-away hairs out of her eyes. One step at a time.

She knocked on the open door of the classroom and was beckoned inside by Professor Bagshot's now-familiar voice. She was sat behind her desk, quill stuffed behind one ear, and using another to annotate one of the biggest books Hermione had ever seen outside of a library.

"Miss Granger! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Good evening, Professor. I have a favour to ask?" She was a little nervous.

"Ask away!" Professor Bagshot always made her relax a little. She embraced the encouraging tone, shaking off some of her nerves.

"I was wondering if I could do some work in here, on the blackboards. I'm so used to using a whiteboard at home that I'm struggling to use parchment for calculations."

"I think that's a great idea!" the professor enthused, clapping her hands like a child at Christmas. "You can use the boards on this side of the room," indicating the side Hermione preferred to sit on. "Make yourself at home."

Severus Snape hated running with a passion. He'd spent too many years running away from primary school bullies, his cousins, and his angry father. When his father died, he promised himself he would never run from anyone again. Before rescuing Butch, he hadn't had to run in years, not since he'd followed Lupin down to the Shrieking Shack two years before. It was nearly October, and Severus was experiencing the sunrise, hands on his knees, gasping for breath, and glaring at the excited dog in front of him.

"You could at least pretend that this is as difficult for you as it is for me," he said to the dog. She looked at him with her annoyingly big brown eyes and licked his face. He tried to suppress a grin but didn't quite manage it, scratching Butch behind her delicate ears. "I can't stay mad at you, can I?" he asked. "Come on, Butch, let's get back inside before the halls start filling up. I wouldn't want the students to think I'm anything more than the evil bat of the dungeons."

The torches hadn't been lit yet and so the castle hallways were illuminated with the white-washed glow of early morning, softening hard edges and skimming over neglected corners. They were just about to take the stairs leading to the dungeons when Butch froze. She shifted and growled low in her chest, transforming from playful dog to a beast forcefully reminiscent of her wolf ancestry. A cat flashed past them and Butch gave chase, accelerating at a rate Severus hadn't encountered before. He took off after them and turned a corner just in time to see Butch back the frightened tabby into a corner. A very familiar frightened tabby.

"For Merlin's sake Minerva, are you a witch or not?" The tabby cat stilled, and a moment later a rather dishevelled Minerva McGonagall stood in its place.

"Is this … thing yours?" she spat, voice heavy with her Scottish brogue. "It tried to maul me!"

"She did no such thing!" Severus defended. "She merely did what dogs are naturally inclined to do. If you don't want to be mistaken for a pussy cat," her lips thinned, "then don't go sneaking about the castle looking like one. Butch, come." Unusually obedient, Butch stopped growling at Minerva and came to sit by Severus's feet.

"So, it is yours then?" Minerva asked with something akin to her normal composure. "I'd heard rumours, I just couldn't picture it."

"Couldn't picture the bastard of the dungeons with a heart?" Severus asked with a sardonic smirk.

"Well, no," Minerva admitted.

"Good." Severus turned to leave. "Have a pleasant day, Minerva."

He was relieved to get back to his quarters and collapse on the couch, clutching his thigh as it tremored. He would have to cut back on surprise sprints through the castle. Dolohov and, in turn, the Dark Lord had been displeased, to say the least, that the potion Severus recommended he use hadn't worked. The prolonged bout of cruciatus that followed had been the worst he'd endured since his master's return. Severus usually made a point of not getting caught. He'd often stood and watched as unsuspecting Death Eaters took punishments that, in a fair world, should have been meant for him. Butch climbed onto the couch beside him and lay her warm head on his leg. The heat helped to soothe the pain and the tremors subsided. He stroked her silky fur, immensely grateful that Bill had shown him that flier all those months ago.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

Hermione wasn't quite sure what she was seeing, had been seeing for weeks really. Fire consumed her equations. She couldn't avoid it. Her variables morphed into flames, her recursive loops broke without it, and at one point she was physically incapable of not including a fire rune whenever she used her personal symbol. It definitely required a trip to the library. She poured over the index, searching for anything likely, when she found a tome that dealt exclusively with elemental magic. It was called The Olde Way. She followed the filing index and spotted it on a high shelf in the History section. Instead of summoning the book, as she would've done normally, her hand reached upwards and the book floated down and into her grasp. She hadn't intended to move like that, it was almost as though the book had pulled her hand upwards. The leather binding was unusually warm to the touch, making her fingers tingle. She had never been one for gut instincts, but somehow she knew that this was a book she'd needed for a long time.

She transfigured her outer robe into a large, squashy cushion, and sat down to read beneath the small window, sandwiched between the Giant Rebellion and the Goblin Wars. The History section was always peaceful. Students hardly ever wished to look up additional sources for History of Magic assignments, and the only person she'd seen in this section for recreational reading was Percy Weasley. She cracked open the book to read, the vellum soft beneath her fingers and the binding creaking with protest.

To say she devoured the book wouldn't be accurate. It was more like it consumed her. She was enveloped in the old ways, in elemental magic. She was steeped in its history and engulfed in its usage. When she eventually reached its end, she felt like she had been reading for seconds and an eternity all at once. The library was perfectly silent, and Hermione realised the only light was coming from her wand. The sky outside was dark and scattered with stars. How long had she been reading? It was surely after curfew! Why hadn't Madam Pince ordered her out, as she so often did when she closed the library?

She shivered against the chill of the old stone, remembering herself, and tapped the cushion with her wand tip, turning it back into a robe. She shrugged it on and gathered up her bag. She lifted the book, intending to banish it back to its rightful place on the shelf, when she stopped and placed it carefully inside her bag instead. Once out in the corridor, away from the books, she doused her wand and tucked it away inside her robes. She wanted to give something a try. Cupping a hand, she concentrated on the warm, tingling sensation she had felt when she'd picked up the book. She felt heat filling her, radiating from somewhere deep inside. Her magical core, she supposed. Brilliant bluebell-coloured flames erupted in her palm, crackling merrily and bathing her in light.

"Holy cow!" she breathed.

She concentrated on the flickering fire and, imagining her parents' gas cooker at home, she dialled down the flame. It shrank to the size of a candle flame. When she dialled it back up, it roared into a blisteringly bright flame that engulfed her entire hand. It enraptured her. She stared into its depths and felt a deep belonging. A belonging she hadn't felt for a long time. This was pure magic. She eventually looked past her flames and directly into the glaring eyes of Professor Snape.

"Shit," she said, instinctively extinguishing the flame and plunging them both into darkness.

"Shit is right, Miss Granger." His voice was dangerously low. It seemed to seep from the darkness, enveloping her in the same way the magic had. "Now, would you care to tell me what exactly you are doing outside the library at this time of night and what spell you were using?" Professor Snape lit his wand and she squinted at the unnatural light.

"What time is it, professor?" she asked in earnest. She didn't have her watch on, she must have left it on the table she'd been using in the common room.

"It's a little after three, Miss Granger."

"Double shit." She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. "I'm so sorry, sir." As expected, he raised a single, elegant eyebrow.

"Believe it or not, Miss Granger, but I've heard worse. What I'm concerned about is your presence in this corridor and why you're … playing with fire."

"Right, yes. This is probably going to be an excuse you hear all the time, but I swear it's true." And there was the eyebrow flex, Professor Snape's eyebrows got more exercise than most Olympians. "I was reading a book in the History section, and I completely lost track of time. I had no idea it was so late."

"I can't say that's the excuse most people use," he replied scathingly. "Twenty points from Gryffindor. And a detention tomorrow evening. Eight PM, my classroom." She nodded, that seemed almost reasonable. "I'll escort you back to Gryffindor Tower. It wouldn't do to have Mr. Filch catch you, I don't want anything to interfere with your punishment tomorrow." That didn't sound ominous at all.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

They walked back to her common room in silence. She was hyper-aware of the noise her sensible school shoes made every time they hit the stone floor. His feet seemed to make no noise at all. No wonder he'd managed to sneak up on her like that. When they reached the Fat Lady's portrait, she spoke the password (Dilligrout) and bid her professor goodnight.

"Eight o'clock, Miss Granger. Don't forget."

Severus strode through the staff room and straight out onto the balcony, summoning Bel, who was reading in his usual armchair, with a sharp jerk of his head. Once outside, he fumbled for his cigarettes and flicked his sunset-on-the-beach lighter to life. He pulled deeply, sucking in the blessed nicotine, and exhaled slowly, blowing away at least some of his frustration.

"What's got your wand in a knot?" Bel pulled his lighter from his dangling fingers and lit a cigarillo she had already had between her lips. He ignored her and took another drag. He felt a sharp finger poke him in the ribs. "Hogwarts to Sev! Why so tense?" She grabbed at his neck muscles with both her hands, her cigarillo in danger of setting his hair on fire, and started to rub. "This is like massaging a tree," she complained. He shrugged her off reluctantly, it did feel good.

"Everything fucking sucks." Those three words seemed like a serious understatement. He had Albus pulling him from one direction, the Dark Lord from the other. His classes seemed more important than they ever had when he was teaching Potions. And now he had Miss Granger to worry about as well. "I'm not sleeping well, I have too much to do, I haven't had chance to sit and read in weeks!" It came pouring out in a way that only ever happened around Bel. "And, Butch is sick. She's barely eaten in days and I have no idea what to do for her." He slumped onto the balcony's railing and felt a warm arm wrap around his shoulders.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but you could take her to Hagrid," he groaned at her suggestion. "I know, I know, you guys don't get on. But he's the most qualified person here."

"It's not that we don't get on, I just don't know how to talk to him. He just baffles me. No matter how I treat him, he's always happy to see me, it's confusing and I'm not used to it." He checked behind himself to make sure that the door to the staffroom was firmly closed. It was, but he cast a muffliato anyway, you could never be too careful. He had an image to maintain, after all.

"I'll even go with you. We can go tonight, after dinner."

"I appreciate the misguided gesture, but I can't go tonight. I caught Miss Granger wandering the halls late last night. She's serving her detention at eight."

"That doesn't seem like her at all! What was she doing?" Bel asked, brow wrinkled.

"She claims she lost track of time in a secluded corner of the library," he said with a sigh.

"Ah, that does sound like her. She's in my classroom working on arithmancy problems at least three evenings a week. I always have to remind her of curfew," Bel said with a smile.

"I'm inclined to believe her. But that doesn't change facts." He rubbed at his temples, trying to stave off the headache he felt building.

"Why not just hand her over to Filch? If you don't have the time, I mean?"

"I want to know what it was she was reading, what had her so enraptured." Half-truths were as natural to him as breathing.

"Well, don't go too hard on her, or keep her too late. I'll need her on top form tomorrow." She shoved her shoulder playfully into his arm. "I can take Butch for you, where will you be?"

"In my classroom."

"She'll be alright in there for half an hour, right?" He nodded, both reluctant and appreciative. "Okay, I have office hours until eight thirty and then I'll come pick her up."

"Thanks, Bel," he said, pulling her towards him in a slightly-awkward, one-armed hug and dropped a kiss in her hair. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd be a sad loner, forced to smoke by yourself. Either that, or some mysterious Heathcliff type." She snorted at her own joke. He had to admit, it was pretty laughable.

They finished their respective vices, vanishing the stubs and ash, and went back into the staffroom for a fortifying cup of tea. Minerva was inside, giving him a filthy look as they entered. He knew what it looked like, they were both pink-cheeked from the cold, hair awry from the wind.

"Can I help you, Minerva?" Severus asked, coolly polite. It wasn't that they hated each other. They enjoyed a friendly rivalry most of the time. She was particularly touchy when it came to his interaction with women. She had caught him with Rosie McDonald when he'd been at school. They'd been snogging in a secluded corner, when Minerva appeared from what seemed like thin air. Rosie, a goody-two-shoes Gryffindor, had pushed him away immediately, shoving him into a wall, declaring her disgust. Minerva jumped to the logical conclusion. He'd received a week's worth of detention and she'd been escorted back to the Gryffindor common room punishment free. It still stung, though he wasn't sure he'd have reacted any differently in her shoes.

"Do you really think this is the place for chasing tail?" Her tone made her expected answer clear. Severus saw Bel's traditional eye-roll. It didn't matter how many times she professed that they were just friends, Minerva never really believed it. She just assumed he was taking advantage of her.

"That's a very apt choice of words, Minerva," he said, letting his voice carry throughout the room. Pomona and Filius became unusually still over their chess game, clearly eavesdropping. Hooch put down her newspaper with a flourish and gave them her full attention. The Hogwarts staff could practically smell gossip.

"I don't know what you mean, Severus." Her voice was stiff, her lips dangerously thin.

"You can't have forgotten, surely? Or was it not you being chased down a corridor by a dog the other week? I could have sworn it was." He sighed dramatically. "Ah well, it was dark. I must have been mistaken." He exaggerated a nonchalant shrug and sauntered out of the staffroom, ignoring the chatter that burst out behind him. Bel ran to catch up as he strode towards the Great Hall.

"Did she really?" He nodded, and she smacked him playfully on the arm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I have done now! What more could you possibly want from me?"

"Ugh … details. Now, please."

"She forgot to transform when she was cornered by Butch, she just stood cowering as a cat in the corner."

"I would have killed to see that!" Bel said through her throaty laugh. "Priceless!"

A group of Hufflepuffs came around the corner and Bel's face automatically smoothed into a neutral expression. Severus had increased the distance between them as soon as he'd heard their shrill voices.

"Ah, I see. That does sound like an excellent use of rigwort, Professor Snape. Thank you for the recommendation." Honestly, it was lucky that the Hufflepuffs in question weren't the brightest. Rigwort? To his knowledge, it didn't exist.

"Not at all, Professor Bagshot."

Hermione had been stood nervously outside of the Defence classroom for over three-and-a-half minutes. She could hear the scratching of a quill coming from behind the door, Professor Snape was clearly already ensconced in his domain but she wasn't about to inflict herself on him before schedule. One eye on her watch, she knocked on the door at precisely eight o'clock and pushed it open.

"You're late, Miss Granger." Was she heck. "Close the door and take a seat."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." She closed the door as quietly as possible and chose her usual desk at the front of the classroom. She liked this particular one because someone had carved the words of Carroll's "Jabberwocky" into the wood. It seemed particularly appropriate that this was now Professor Snape's classroom.

"What will I be do-" she was cut off as something black, white, and fluffy launched itself at her lap, licking at her face. "Hello, Butch! How are you doing?" she murmured to the dog.

"Butch," Professor Snape's tone demanded obedience. It was the same one he used with the students. "Come." Giving Hermione a final lick, she trotted over to her master. "Sit." She did, on top of an old, folded blanket. "Stay." With each command, Hermione found herself correcting her posture and focusing all her attention on the professor.

"This will not be a typical detention, Miss Granger. I have no cauldrons for you to scrub, no leeches to disembowel. As I'm no longer the Potions instructor at this school, I have had to find more … creative ways for students to serve detention." He unfolded from the chair behind his desk and stalked towards her, coming to a stop right in front of her desk. She looked up at him, almost afraid to make eye contact. She rooted around inside herself, searching for the much-lauded and currently-absent Gryffindor courage. What was he going to make her do?

"With this in mind, we will start off your detention with a series of questions."

"Yes, sir." Questions. She could do questions.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you, Miss Granger, that the consequences of lying will be … severe." She tried to suppress a shiver at the last word. It was low and quiet, sending an odd tingling sensation down her spine.

"No, sir." She wiped her sweaty palms on her robes and tucked them beneath her thighs. The urge to fidget was strong.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, what exactly have you been doing in Professor Bagshot's classroom these past few weeks? In the evenings, specifically."

"Oh, I err …" She'd been expecting him to ask about last night. "I've been working on a side project, sir."

"I gathered as much, Miss Granger," his voice was thick with derision, "would you care to elaborate."

"Well, you see, sir, I've been using some of the spell creation techniques – diagramming, inflection, lexography, morphology –"

"I also happened to do a NEWT in Magical Theory, Miss Granger. Get to the point."

"Right, of course you did, sir. Well, I've been working on arithmantic projections for potential defensive spells."

"And have you had much success?" His voice was still demanding but Hermione thought his gaze was curious.

"Umm, some." She slumped a little in her chair. "I've had trouble with the equations. Every time I've tried something, and I've tried a lot of things, the equations morph and change on their own. I've never seen anything like it. I mean, I've read the occasional report about sentient equations, but I didn't think they were accurate reports! How can an equation be sentient? How?" Her voice had gradually become higher, louder, and faster. Panicked.

"Calm down, Miss Granger." His voice was annoyingly smooth.

"That never helps!" she snapped, earlier fear completely forgotten. "Telling a panicking person to calm down never helps them calm down." Her breathing was rapid and shallow. She wasn't sure when she'd stood up, but she was pacing back and forth behind her desk. "Nothing I tried worked! The equations became more and more complex and I couldn't control them." She was tugging at her hair. "How do they even do that? I wasn't even using magic!" Strong, warm hands grabbed her shoulders and she felt herself being pulled around to face her professor. His dark eyes bored into her own, his brow was furrowed.

"I want you to listen very carefully to me, Miss Granger," he was speaking in the slow, steady voice one would use to soothe an animal. She nodded. "I don't know why your equations are acting the way they are but, I promise you, we will find out. Okay?" His thumbs worked slowly back and forth across her shoulders. She stared unblinkingly into his eyes and felt herself growing calmer. "Butch, come." The border collie came over obediently. His hands pushed down on her shoulders slightly and she sank to the floor, burying her hands in the dog's silky fur. "Stay." Was he talking to her or the dog? "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Hermione leant against a desk leg, relaxing as much as was possible on a hard, stone floor. Butch climbed onto her newly-available lap and snuggled into her chest.

"So, what's it like?" she asked the dog in a low voice. Butch cocked her head to one side. "Living with Professor Snape, I mean?" She scratched her gently behind the ears. "Is he strict? Or is he … like this?" She wasn't sure why she was curious. It wasn't as though Butch could answer her.

There was a quick knock on the door and it opened to reveal Professor Bagshot. She was bundled up in a long winter cloak, a Slytherin scarf wrapped snug around her neck. Odd, Hermione had always assumed that she'd not attended Hogwarts, being American. She looked confusedly around the classroom.

"Sev?" she called. "You in here?" Sev?

"Professor, down here," Hermione called out.

"What in the name of Hecate are you doing down there?" she asked in surprise. She came over anyway and joined her on the floor, crossing her heavy boots at the ankles.

"Hey, gorgeous," she reached out to give Butch a stroke. "How're you feeling, girl? Still sicky." Hermione was relieved to know that she wasn't the only person to switch to sing-song mode when talking to Butch.

"She's sick?" Hermione asked, concerned.

"That's what Se- Professor Snape said earlier." Hermione noted the slip. It should have occurred to her before that some of the staff were friends, it would be ridiculous if they weren't. "I'm about to take her down to Hagrid so that Sev … err … he can properly focus on your detention." She gave Hermione a wry smile. "Lost track of time reading, eh?" Hermione felt heat rising in her cheeks. "Anyone would think you were one of us Ravenclaws."

"Us Ravenclaws?" Hermione repeated, glancing pointedly at her scarf. Professor Bagshot chuckled in the low, throaty way Hermione recognised from class.

"Stolen property," she said by way of explanation. "I'm waiting to see how long it takes him to notice." She didn't need filling in as to the who the "him" was.

"How long have you had it?" Hermione asked, grinning,

"Five years, nine months, and, what, two weeks?" Professor Snape replied. Professor Bagshot gave a strangled yelp and both women struggled to their feet. The professor seemed to stop half-way up and she watched as Professor Snape offered her his hand. Professor Bagshot grasped on to the support and pulled herself the rest of the way up. Hermione winced as she heard her knees crack.

"I keep forgetting that I'm not as young as I used to be," Professor Bagshot said with an embarrassed smile.

"Oh, please." Hermione watched in confusion as her dour professor snorted. He definitely had a dimple hidden under all those glares. "You're only a few years older than I am. Anyway, I keep telling you I'm more than happy to whip you up an ointment."

"I do not need an ointment," Professor Bagshot said emphatically. "Ointments are for old biddies like Min- err, never mind." Hermione had wondered how long it would take them to remember she was there. "Right, come on, Butch! Let's get you down to Hagrid … err … Professor Hagrid?" Professor Snape snorted again. "Oh whatever, it's not like she doesn't know we have first names!" She clipped a lead onto Butch's leather collar and started to leave. "It was a pleasure as always, Miss Granger. I'll find you later, Sev." She put two fingers to her lips in what looked like a malformed kiss and left the room, boots stomping all the while.

Hermione looked awkwardly at Professor Snape before ducking her head and sitting back in her seat. Her placed a cup of tea in front of her.

"Chamomile," he explained. "Although you seem to have calmed down sufficiently." She sipped at the tea appreciatively. "Really, Miss Granger? You're just going to drink it? With times as they are? I could be anyone." She sighed, not this again.

"Well, I suppose you were acting rather alarmingly out of character just now." Colour rose to his cheeks and she hurried on, eager to avoid a telling-off. "How does my mother take her coffee?"

"Dark as night, sweet as sin." He responded silkily. She tapped her cup with a revealing spell, it was just tea. She took a second sip.

"Well, that's good enough for me. Unless, you'd like to verify my identity, professor?" she asked sweetly.

"I'm not sure I know anyone who can go from terrified to cheeky in quite the same way you manage it, Miss Granger," he said, mirroring her words to him in the summer. "Shall we get on with your detention?" She nodded, chastised. "You were about to tell me how exactly your equations changed."

"They all end in fire."

"Fire? What do you mean, they end in fire?" He sounded equal parts incredulous and curious.

"I'll show you. May I?" She gestured towards the blackboard. He nodded and sat down on the desk she'd vacated. She picked up the pristine piece of chalk and began to write. She defined variables and inscribed if-statements, she plugged numbers and symbols into matrices and traced trajectories.

"Hold on a moment, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said, shocking her out of her reverie. She stopped and stood back, watching the board. Chalk was wiggling its way over the smooth surface, dispersing and coalescing to form three different runic symbols: fire, water, and trust.

"It's never done that before," Hermione exclaimed. "Where did the water come from?"

"I think, Miss Granger, that the water might be me."

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

"Wait, what?" Miss Granger asked, clearly astonished. "You think you're the water? How? Why?"

"It's elementary, Miss Granger." She rolled her eyes at his terrible pun and he felt his lip twitch upwards. He held a hand out towards her and watched her face carefully as he allowed water to pool on the surface of his palm, letting it drip from his fingers. Her lips parted slightly as she watched, her eyes widened, the ink of her pupils expanding into the hazel.

"How?" she asked.

"Oh, I think you know," he raised a questioning eyebrow. "You were doing the same thing just last night. Show me."

"I don't know if I can do it again. I'd honestly thought I dreamed the fire last night until I remembered our detention."

"Try." He grasped her hands in his own, her skin soft against his years of potions calluses. He arranged them in front of her and let go. "Try, feel the fire. Let it fill you up."

She frowned in concentration, her brow wrinkled slightly, a crease appeared between her eyebrows, and her top teeth bit down on her pink lower lip. He watched, and nothing happened.

"Come on, Miss Granger." His voice automatically falling into "teacher-mode." "What did the fire feel like last night? Describe it to me."

"Umm … I'm not really sure. Kind of warm?"

"Not good enough. Think," he pressed.

"Kind of like … err well, kind of like the opposite of a dementor. A comforting warmth that started here," she placed the flat of her palm on the area just below her navel. "It spread out wards from there, filling me up, sending tingles everywhere. I could feel it all over." Miss Granger blushed, and Severus schooled his face into a blank mask, cutting off the inappropriate line of questioning that had opened up inside his mind.

"Concentrate on that feeling, Miss Granger."

She closed her eyes and began biting her lip again, one hand still resting on her lower stomach and the other held out in front of her. Severus thought he felt the room warming up slightly when her palm burst into brilliant blue flames.

"Wow," Miss Granger breathed.

They were indeed beautiful, crackling away merrily on her skin, casting her features in an almost ethereal light. He forced himself to focus on the flames and not her face.

"Can you control them?" he asked. "Try making them smaller." She did. "And larger." They roared to life, engulfing her hand as she closed it in a fist. "Now, extinguish them completely and try again." The flames went out and Miss Granger stared at her unmarked palm.

"I can't get them to come," she groaned in frustration after a moment or two had passed. "How do you do it?"

"How do you cast a patronus?" Severus asked her in return.

"I focus on a happy memory," she responded promptly.

"When I want to use my water, I concentrate on a memory that reminds me of what I want to achieve. Something cool and encompassing." He always thought of diving head-first into his local swimming pool, the feeling of breaking the surface, the way the water cradled him. "Think of a memory that makes you feel like you're on fire."

"But I've never been on …" A pleasingly pink blush crept delicately up her neck, into her cheeks, and her eyes widened. "I can … err … I can probably do that." She closed her eyes, bit that damnable lip, and fire sprung into her palm. "Holy shit. It worked."

"Language, Miss Granger," he expected her to at least look a little chastened, she always did when he reprimanded her, but instead she looked at him, beaming.

She extinguished the fire and, a moment later, relit it in her palm. He raised an eyebrow, impressed. It had taken him weeks to learn to summon the water at will. Of course, he'd had to muddle through it by himself.

"Why doesn't it burn?" she asked. "How is this possible?"

"It's a part of you, it always has been. It can't harm you anymore than you can harm yourself."

"But I could harm myself, technically," she argued, chin up.

"You could," he conceded, "but you won't. And neither will the fire." He extended his hand, pooling water in the centre of his palm and freezing it. "When I remove the ice, my palm will feel just as warm as it normally does, see?" The ice vanished and he held his hand out to her. She stroked his palm with her soft fingers.

"Wow," she breathed. Wow, indeed. "It's so counterintuitive."

"You'll get used to it." Her eyes were sparkling, and she couldn't stop grinning. "Have you told anyone, about the fire?"

"Not a soul."

"Really?" He struggled to believe her. What one member of the Golden Trio knew, the others would soon discover. "You mean you haven't shared it with your boyfriends."

Her smile vanished.

"They are my friends." Her voice was firm. "At least, they were. I mean, I see Harry in the library but Ron …" she trailed off and he felt a little guilty, he'd only meant to tease her. "I haven't told anyone," she said, voice firm once again.

"Do you have any idea how rare this gift is? How rare the gift of fire is?" he asked, professor voice back in place.

"I mean … I've never heard of anyone with this gift before," she shrugged modestly, "but I don't know if that means it's rare. I know it's an old gift though, that's what I was reading about in the library last night."

"Do you have the book with you?" he asked, definitely curious.

She nodded and produced a book that had seen better days from her satchel. He didn't bother asking how she had checked a book out of a closed library. She placed it reluctantly in his outstretched hand. He immediately felt the soothing, cool sensation he experienced when he used his gift rush into him from where his skin was in contact from the book. "May I borrow this? I have to admit that the precious little I know about my gift has been self-discovered. It's a family gift, but my mother never bothered with it. And I never wanted anyone to spot me reading about it."

"Of course." She looked a little hesitant.

"We can discuss its contents once I've read it. Maybe we can figure it out a little." She visibly calmed. "What are you doing for the holidays, Miss Granger?"

"The holidays?" her eyebrows practically disappeared into her hair. "I've told Harry that I'm visiting my parents, he has no idea about what happened over the summer. Professor Dumbledore thought knowing would make him feel guilty. They're currently somewhere in Africa, helping people with their teeth, so I can't actually go and see them."

"So, you'll be staying here then?" She nodded. "Good."

"Good?" she asked. "Why?"

"Because, Miss Granger, you can't leave this castle until you've properly learnt to guard your mind. No one can find out about your gift - you would be kidnapped and used." She gasped, hands flying upwards to cover her soft mouth. "You need to learn Occlumency, and I don't have time to teach you until the Christmas break. I can't have you accidentally spilling your own secrets and especially not mine."

"That makes sense," she said with a tilt of her head. "And you're sure we can't start sooner?"

"Certain." She was as bad as he was when it came to learning. "But there is something you can do in the meantime." He saw her straighten, suddenly standing to attention. "You can practice with your fire. Only when you're alone. Get used to summoning it quickly, make sure your memory is always at the ready. Know it inside out."

"Yes, sir." The pretty blush made a reappearance. "Is there anything else I can do?"

Severus nodded and beckoned her to follow him over to his desk. He tapped his lower draw, thinking the password, and pulled a couple of books from it. He handed them to her.

"Ignore the covers. This one," he pointed to the small blue one, "is a book on meditation. Incorporate its teachings into your daily routine. The other," he tapped on the large, red one, "is a book about the rudimentaries of Occlumency. I expect you to read it with your usual attention to detail." She was clearly trying to conceal a pleased smile. "I will contact you at the beginning of the Christmas holidays. Do you have any more questions?" She shook her head. "This detention is over then, Miss Granger, get back to your common room." She rushed to pick up her bag and headed for the door. "Not a word to anyone, Miss Granger."

"Yes, Professor Snape. Have a nice evening."

As the door closed behind her, he sank into his chair and held his forehead in his hands. He was definitely in trouble.

For the first time in her academic career, Hermione couldn't wait for the holidays to start. She was meditating twice a day, practising with fire in the privacy of her four-poster (she still blushed a little, knowing what Professor Snape had asked her to think about), and making sure that her school work was of its usual excellent standard. All she had left to do was get through Professor Slughorn's Christmas party in the company of McLaggen. She had managed to wrestle her hair into an almost elegant twist and she was happy with her new dress robes. They were a deep burgundy and form-fitting. She'd never spent so much money on a single item of clothing before - she'd been hoping to wear them for Ron.

The party was crowded when they arrived, Cormac looking annoyingly dashing in emerald robes, and they were quickly sucked into the chaos. Cormac was pleasant company for approximately two minutes before he started talking about himself. He clearly found the topic deeply satisfying. She watched in abject horror as he stuffed canape after canape into his mouth, talking all the while. Why did she always end up surrounded by boys that couldn't eat with their mouths closed? They made a circuit of the beautifully decorated room, stopping every couple of paces so that he could introduce her to this or that friend of his father's. They all nodded politely but they clearly didn't want to spend their time talking to children.

"But don't you see, if we don't put our foot down now, we'll continue to receive shoddy Algerian imports! I've been there, I've seen the quality of the stuff they sell locally," an old warlock was holding court with anyone who would listen, "the quality is unparalleled! They're duping us, trying to make a quick galleon! And we're letting them!"

"See here, Archibald! No need to attack –"

"Oh great!" Cormac whispered in her ear, pointing to something she couldn't quite make out. "C'mon." Like she had a choice. He had one hand firmly grasping her shoulder and the other wrapped around her waist. He pulled her into a corner and Hermione realised too late that he'd been pointing to mistletoe. A brief vision of Professor Snape asking her to recite a definition came to mind and, before she could say anything to protest, he had her pushed up against the wall and was plundering her mouth with his thick, uncomfortably hot tongue. It was nauseating. She tried to push him away but he seemed to mistake her struggling for enthusiasm. She looked around desperately, hoping that someone would see that she didn't want to be there. She couldn't catch anyone's eye, but she did spot the candle sitting by Cormac's elbow. Ignoring her discomfort, she concentrated on the flame, letting the warm magic that was now familiar fill her up. The flame flared and Cormac's beautiful robes caught fire. Hermione counted one, two, three –

"Argh!" Cormac yelped. He let her go as he saw to his robes and she hared off into the crowd.

Draco Malfoy was going to be the death of him. Literally.

He headed back into the tawdry affair Horace insisted on calling a party and found the nearest bottle of anything. He preferred beer, but port would do. He tossed back the contents of a delicate little glass and poured himself another. He was draining his third when Bel found him.

"Evening, Sev," she said, a grin pasted on her thin face. She was arm in arm a witch he vaguely recognised. "This is Jenny, my date." Severus could hear the unspoken "for the evening."

"A pleasure, I'm sure," he grumbled. He poured a fourth port; he was not in the mood to pander to Bel's latest conquest. They all blurred together if he was honest, man or woman, it didn't really matter. They formed one long queue of people in his memory. Bel often said the only person she could depend on to be there was him. It was true, and he was happy to be that for her. More than happy. "Is there a balcony?"

"Yeh, just through the winter wonderland curtains. There's fairies out there and everything, "

"Goody," he grumbled. He poured himself a final glass of port, gave Bel a swift kiss on the cheek, and headed off towards the shimmery white curtains in the corner. The cold air hit him like a brick wall. His head spun, and he staggered to the balcony, propping himself up on the railing. It took him longer than usual to fumble a cigarette from his packet and several flicks to get his lighter to spring to life. This week's flavour was a tropical island. He inhaled deeply, relief flooding his system, and let the smoke drift through his nostrils.

"Those things will kill you, sir." Of course, Hermione bloody Granger was out enjoying the crisp winter air. She was slouched against the railings, her back to them, looking gorgeous in perfectly cut, wine-coloured robes. Fuck, he was drunk. He mentally ran the mantra I will not objectify students I will not objectify students I will not … by Merlin, they were good robes.

"Not if the Dark Lord kills me first." Well shit, this was why he shouldn't drink around people. She let loose a giggle, quickly stifling it with her hand.

"I'd never have thought it, but you're actually rather funny." Her cheeks were flushed, she had an empty wine glass in hand and fire in her eyes.

"Don't let anyone else hear you say that, Miss Granger, they'll think you've gone mad," he deadpanned. He was rewarded with another giggle. "What brings you out here? Not enjoying the party?"

"My date is enjoying it a little too much," she said with a shudder, exciting the few loose curls that fell against her lovely neck. I will not objectify students. "He's not used to being turned down I guess."

"Who is it? That's totally unacceptable behaviour." And it was outrageous, how dare someone treat this brilliant young woman with anything less than utmost respect. He took a long drag from his cigarette, letting the nicotine cool his anger.

"I'm here with Cormac McLaggen," she said with a grimace. "You?"

"The tall, posh one?" he asked, ignoring her question. "Bit of a tosser?"

"That's the one. But Cormac talks about himself enough already, we needn't talk about him as well. So … did you come with Professor Bagshot?"

"Merlin, no."

"Oh, I thought … well, I just assumed that …"

"You assumed that being on friendly terms with a person of the opposite sex means I'm sleeping with them." He took another lengthy drag.

"Well, yes. I guess."

"Well, I'm not. She's just my friend." She wasn't "just" anything, she was his person. His only real person. The only person who actually cared about him, about Sev. By Merlin, he was drunk. Drunk and maudlin.

"I'm sorry, you're right. I assumed - I was wrong." She flashed him a cheeky smile. "Who did you come with then?"

"Why do you think I've come with anyone? If I had a date, do you really think I'd be out here, drunk, and talking to a student." He had to remember that she was a student. He couldn't let himself forget that. I will not objectify students I will not objectify students I will not objectify students no matter how much he wanted to.

"Can we just pretend that you find my conversational skills delightful?" she asked, holding a bottle out towards him. "Top up?"

"Don't mind if I do."

She filled his glass to the brim with the dark red liquid before sinking to the floor and filling up her own. The floor didn't sound like such a bad idea. He sat with his back against the railings and fumbled for another cigarette.

"Need a light?" she asked, presenting her thumb whose tip was on fire. He let the flame engulf the end of his cigarette and took a deep pull.

"You really shouldn't do that in public," he protested.

"In public?" she asked, laughing in a half-hearted, breathy sort of way. "We're on a balcony, behind a curtain, and a silencing charm, at night. We couldn't be less in public if we tried."

"A silencing charm?"

"Are you telling me that you, Professor Snape spy extraordinaire, didn't notice that you could no longer hear the ruckus from that god-awful party?"

"No, Miss Granger, I'm telling you that I, a three-sheets-to-the-wind professor, am paying more attention to what's going on out here than in there." He really needed to stop drinking, but he was warm and relaxed, enjoying the banter, enjoying the view. Enjoying Hermione. Miss Granger. Whatever.

"Just as long as we're clear, sir."

"Crystal," he replied with a smirk. "So why did you come with the witless wonder?"

"It's silly, really. Childish."

Thinking of her as childish would really help him out right now.

"Continue," he said, his voice low and slow.

"A few weeks ago, Ron agreed to come to this party with me. But then he started … hooking up with Lavender." A look of sheer disgust wrinkled her lovely face. "He'd been sending me … this sounds so stupid … but, he'd been sending me signals, I guess. And then, all of a sudden, he was ignoring me completely, unless he wanted to be nasty. And now, he's snogging Lavender bloody Brown and still not talking to me. What the fuck am I supposed to have done?" Her eyes were swimming in tears. He shuffled closer to her and she leant her head on his shoulder. He could feel the heat of her cheek through his robes. She sniffled loudly so he handed her his handkerchief, it was a sign of how drunk he was that he found the noise she made as she blew her nose endearing. "And so, I decided that bringing Cormac to the party would piss him off the most. For my trouble, I've had my ear talked off and I've been clumsily groped under the bloody mistletoe. And, Harry told me it served me right for bringing him."

"Teenage boys are possibly the stupidest creatures on this planet, Hermi- Miss Granger." She didn't seem to notice the slip. "McLaggen needs to be taught how to act with a basic level of human decency, Weasley is an idiot, and I've never expected much of Potter. Don't waste your heartache on them."

"It's kind of hard to control heartache, you know," she said with a sniffle.

"I know, believe me."

"Who've you wasted heartache on?" she asked, wiping her eyes on a clean corner of the hanky.

"Just an old friend." He shivered. She put a warm hand to his cheek.

"You're freezing. We should probably go inside." Neither of them moved.

"Or we could have another drink?"

"Good plan," she filled their glasses and carefully placed the bottle back on the floor. "And …" she pulled her wand from the sleeve of her robes and flourished it at a glass that had been abandoned by some anonymous party-goer earlier in the evening. Severus watched as it smoothly transformed from a dirty sherry glass into a wrought-iron brazier. Intricate vine work and all. She clenched her other fist and her characteristic blue fire crackled merrily from inside. He felt warmer already.

Hermione awoke to the sound of birds cheeping. That was weird, she couldn't usually hear them through the thick hangings around her bed. Her shoulders were tight from sleep; she gave them a roll and felt them rub against something cold and hard. Her eyes shot open.

"Shit." She jumped to her feet and gave her sleeping professor a swift kick to the thigh. "Professor Snape, you've got to wake up." His eyes snapped open and he was on his feet in a flash. He smoothed down his robes and looked at his watch. She glanced at her own. It was after ten.

"Not a word to anyone, Miss Granger." And he strode through the door and back into Professor Slughorn's office. She guessed that was that then. She tapped the brazier returning it, now clean, to its original form and caught her reflection in the window of the balcony door. She looked dishevelled, sure, but she also looked happy. She couldn't help but think that a friendship had started last night, albeit a weird, destined-to-be-dysfunctional kind of friendship. She pulled the jewelled clip out of her hair and shook it out. Definitely dysfunctional.

Professor Slughorn's office was deserted and had clearly been left to the mercy of the house elves. The room was back to its usual dimensions and pristine. She wandered slowly back to Gryffindor tower, enjoying the empty castle. Harry and Ron would have left for the Burrow over an hour ago. The common room was completely empty when she got to it. The perfect place to while away the day studying. After a shower, she pulled on her comfiest clothes, piled her hair into a messy bun atop her head, and filled her arms with books. A fire crackled merrily in the grate and Hermione buried herself in her Christmas homework, the coffee cup that appeared by her side was never left empty.

It was hours later when she finally managed to pull herself away from her books. The sun was beginning to set and the hunger she had been ignoring in her study stupor was tugging viciously at her stomach. A glance at her watch told her dinner was about to be served in the Great Hall, she considered changing but discarded the idea as her stomach gave another painful twinge.

Instead of the expected House tables, Hermione walked into an almost empty hall. The usual Christmas trees glistened along each wall and a small dining table had been set up in the centre of the room.

"Ah, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore cried from his seat at the head of the table, "we thought we'd lost you."

"Good evening, Headmaster," she said politely. "I think I overdid it on the party food last night, it was really quite excellent. I couldn't bear the thought of eating anything else earlier." Professor Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes twinkling madly, and she relaxed slightly.

"Do have a seat, my dear," he gestured to a trio of empty chairs to his right. She chose the middle one, not wanting to appear rude whilst still avoiding sitting directly next to the headmaster. "And tuck in!" At his words the table filled with food. She scooped a delicious-smelling stew into a bowl and had a good look around the table while she waited for it to cool. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick were all present as well as a couple of Slytherins Hermione had seen around the castle, a pair of identical brothers she couldn't place into a house, and a solitary Ravenclaw she knew from her classes. Terry Boot gave her a stiff smile and dropped his gaze to his food. She was just taking her first mouthful when Professor Dumbledore spoke again. "Severus! Belinda! I'm glad you could join us. Come and have a seat either side of Miss Granger."

Just perfect.

Professor Snape sat down on the side closest to Professor Dumbledore without glancing at her. He sat rigidly in his chair, eating quietly as the headmaster tried to engage him in conversation. Professor Bagshot was far chattier.

"Miss Granger! I didn't realise you'd be staying for Christmas! Not visiting family?" Professor Bagshot asked, loading up her fork with a large chunk of beef.

"Not this year, Professor, I thought I'd take advantage of the library. It's never too early to prepare for NEWTs after all," Hermione lied with a smile, all too aware of the people surrounding them. "And yourself? Not visiting anyone for the holidays?" she asked politely.

"Nah, my mom lives back in the States. I have an aunt in Norfolk, but I wouldn't want to spend the whole holiday with her, nor she with me if I'm being honest. She thinks I'm a little … wild, I guess." She shrugged, nearly losing a speared carrot from her fork. "I'll just drop in on her for Christmas Eve. Stop off in muggle London on the way - she loves muggle Christmas crackers for some unfathomable reason." Hermione chuckled into her stew and Professor Bagshot's attention was captured by Professor Flitwick. She let herself drift in and out of the conversations going on around her, learning a little about her companions with every word spoken. The table was cramped, and the jostling of elbows was to be expected. Though Professor Snape was sure never to touch her, Hermione accidentally nudged his arm once or twice, each time trying not to think about the night before.

A little too full, Hermione eventually got up to leave the table but a hand on her wrist stopped her escaping completely. She turned to face Professor Snape and he let go of her hand quickly, as though burned.

"Miss Granger, you left one of your textbooks in my classroom. Please pick it up later this evening. If it stays there over night, I will have it incinerated," he said in that low, silky voice of his. Even though she knew that all her books were safely in Gryffindor Tower, she found herself worrying for the poor, defenceless book.

"I'll be there at eight, sir." She wished everyone a pleasant evening and scurried from the hall.

"Enter, Miss Granger," Severus called out when someone knocked on his door at precisely eight o'clock. She came in meekly, shutting the door carefully behind her, and came to stand in front of his desk. "Have you been practising?" he asked. Of course, she had.

"Yes, sir. Every day."

"We'll see about that," he whipped his wand from his sleeve, "legilimens." Her eyes widened and then he was inside her mind.

Memories flashed before him. She was a child, being pushed on the swings by her father. Blowing out candles on a cake, a party that nobody came to. She was a little older, sat under a tree crying into the pages of her book. She was at Hogwarts, whispering instructions to Longbottom, setting his robes on fire. She was smacking Draco. Crying as she ran from Severus's cruel remarks. She was snogging the Durmstrang champion in the library, letting his thick hands snake under her shirt. She was intimidating Rita Skeeter, lying to Umbridge. She was blasted apart by Dolohov. And then her mind dissolved into fire, blue and burning. Burning him.

"That was an adequate first attempt, Miss Granger," he said as he pulled out of her mind. "What made you think of using fire?"

"Well it's my gift isn't it? The book said to find something that you could sustain. I can sustain fire." She shrugged as though it was a simple matter of one plus one equalling two.

"Shall we try again?" She nodded. "I'll give you a moment to concentrate on your defence. Keep me out." Slowly, deliberately, he pointed his wand at her. "Legilimens," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

He dove into the fire that was her mind, armed with water. He slid through the flames, appearing on the other side of her defences. Hermione was watching Weasley mauling Miss Brown in the Gryffindor common room, jealousy eating at her. She was running from the room, ordering birds to attack him. Smoke was filling the room. Fire. It engulfed everything but Hermione herself.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this, professor," she said cheekily, looking smug.

"Really, Miss Granger?" he said with a grin of his own. He summoned every last drop of water inside him and completely smothered the flames. Mind-Hermione was stood in a wet puddle inside a disused classroom. "I think I've made my point, don't you?" He watched as she concentrated fiercely, clearly trying to re-summon her flames.

"I guess you have, sir," she conceded with a huff, he almost expected her to stomp her foot. He released the spell and they were back in the classroom. Hermione (he figured as long as he didn't actually call her Hermione out loud, it was probably fine) was leant against the desk behind her, breathing hard, gulping air in great gasps. Severus was pleased to note that he was still upright, breathing evenly. She clearly wasn't as fit as he was, despite the smoking.

"I'm going to throw a jinx at you, I want you to put as much energy as you can manage into a shield charm. Ready?" She raised her wand to chest height and nodded. "Tarantallegra."

"Protego!" she shouted. The shield that bloomed in front of her was transparent but blocked the spell well enough. It did not, however, send the jinx rebounding back onto him.

"Now, I want you to cast the jinx this time, and I will provide the shield. Nothing too nasty." She nodded, raised her wand and shouted her spell, he cast a shield charm a moment later. The shield he produced was whitely translucent, solidifying into an opaque mother-of-pearl sheen when the jinx hit it. He lowered the shield and snorted when he saw that Hermione was now sporting violently blue hair.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, what was the difference between my shield charm and yours?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment.

"They both stopped the jinx, but yours rebounded it back on the caster. Am I doing something wrong with mine?" she asked, concern twisting her pretty features. Her lip quickly found its way between her teeth.

"Technically, your spell casting was perfect," he began to explain, "your wand movements were precise, your pronunciation impeccable. As I would expect from you."

"Then why?"

"It's really quite simple, Miss Granger: you are not as powerful as I am."

"But I can't help that! How am I supposed to just become more powerful?" she asked, indignant.

"Magic," he started, "relies on two key things: concentration and power. If your incessant study habits are anything to go by, you clearly have the concentration component mastered."

"But ho-"

"If you would listen for just a moment, difficult as that may be, I will fill in the blanks." He began to pace up and down in front of his desk. "When it comes to magic, power is a physical thing. Do you exercise often, Miss Granger?" She blushed that pretty pink colour he was beginning to associate with her. A colour he wanted to see a lot more of. "I thought not."

"It can't really be that simple, can it? Power isn't just innate?" she asked, looking a little desperate.

"It's really that simple," he said with a shrug. "The fitter you are, the more powerful you will be."

"But Professor Dumbledore is one of the most powerful living wizards!"

"And how many people do you know that can still handle all these Merlin-forsaken stairs in their hundreds?" She just stared at him, mouth open. "Exactly. Anyway, Albus is the greatest wizard the world has seen in a long time, but he certainly wouldn't claim to be the most powerful."

"So, Harry's so powerful because of quidditch?" He nodded. "Then how are you so powerful? I mean, you're a smoker and I never see you exercising."

"Crafting potions takes a great deal of physical strength, Miss Granger. A good brewing session is akin to an intense workout. And besides, my magic has become even more powerful since I adopted Butch."

"Why? What does having a pet have to do with anything? Crookshanks didn't help my power levels." He raised a single eyebrow in his patented "just think" look. "Oh, you need to walk her …" she breathed in realisation. He chuckled sardonically.

"If only," he slumped onto the surface of his desk, "I run with her. Every bloody morning." Her face said exactly what she thought of that idea. "Which is why, Miss Granger, you're going to meet me in the Entrance Hall tomorrow morning in your running clothes. Six-thirty." The colour drained from her face.

"You can't be serious! I haven't done anything approaching meaningful exercise since primary school!"

"If you want to be able to occlude fully, you need to work on your power." She still looked aghast. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, Miss Granger. We'll start slowly."

Running was just as ghastly as Hermione had anticipated. They started far too early and it was dark and cold. The ice was treacherous and the snow soaked into her jogging bottoms. Five days in and she didn't feel like she was getting remotely stronger. It must have been doing something though, she was eating about three times as much at breakfast than she usually did, going for bacon and eggs instead of her usual toast and honey.

It wasn't all bad though. She would never admit it to Professor Snape, but she enjoyed the companionable silence, the only sounds their crunching footsteps and her heavy breathing. It was also nice to know that he did make noise as he moved on occasion. They had started slowly, alternating between running and, when Hermione was gasping for air, walking as they made their way around the lake. Until she'd had to run around the thing, she had never before appreciated just how large it was. The day before, the giant squid had raised a tentacle in friendly greeting and drenched them in icy cold water a moment later as it slammed said tentacle back into the water. She'd used a hasty drying spell and quickly summoned some fire to warm them; hypothermia wasn't a particularly pleasant condition.

It wasn't until Christmas Eve that she began to notice the difference the running was making. She'd had to dash up to Gryffindor Tower immediately after breakfast, the stairs had been with her and she made it all of the way up without stopping once. She would've normally been panting in front of the Fat Lady, but not this time. She'd barely broken a sweat.

Later that day, she managed to push Professor Snape off his feet with a disarming charm. Sure, he didn't defend against it, but it was still more powerful than any she had been able to cast before. He had pronounced it "adequate" and she had been thrilled. An "adequate" from him was tantamount to an "outstanding" from anyone else, at least she hoped it was.

Christmas morning dawned, and Hermione awoke to two presents and a letter addressed to Hermione Granger, Hogwarts School, Scotland and sporting colourful stamps Hermione had never seen before. She put the letter aside and started on the presents first, one was a box of rich-smelling mince pies from Mrs Weasley with a small note wishing her Merry Christmas and a desire to see her soon. Ron had clearly failed to mention what a prat he was being to the Weasley matriarch. The other present was wrapped in a sheet of violently bright paper featuring tiny fairies that flitted all over the gift. The tag read: To Hermione, Happy Christmas! I'm sure you're working too hard, so here's something for a little bit of relaxation. Love from, Harry xxx

She was instantly suspicious. She turned the present over, revealing the Weasley Wizard Wheezes logo printed into lurid orange wax. Running her nail beneath the seal, she popped it open and slowly removed the paper. Patented Daydream Charm: Fantasy Edition flashed up at her in pink letters, superimposed over the quintessential bodice-ripper image. Curious. She flipped the box over and read the description on the back. Tired of depending on novels to fuel your fantasies? Patented Daydream Charm: Fantasy Edition is here to help! Use the privacy of your bed to transport yourself into a highly realistic daydream, featuring yourself and the person of your dreams, for up to an hour! Be part of the story you want to read! (17 and up, non-refundable, do not use in public spaces.) The Weasley twins never failed to amaze her. This was seriously complicated magic. Cheeks warm from the idea of what may lay in store for her own daydream, she tucked it under the clothes in her underwear drawer. It seemed fitting to hide something unmentionable with her unmentionables and it had been effective thus far.

That just left the letter. She picked it up with shaking fingers, running her thumb over her father's handwriting. She opened the muggle envelope and pulled out a few sheets of carefully folded paper.

To our dearest Hermione,

We know you said it wouldn't be safe to write, but we couldn't help ourselves. It's Christmas after all. And nothing is missed so keenly at Christmas as absent family and friends. We miss you, darling.

We hope you're enjoying your studies and have managed to get lots of exam preparation in during the holidays, we imagine they are blessedly quiet. We keep discussing what you could be learning, we know you were excited about your Magical Theory course. Is it everything you thought it would be? It feels so weird to move through the year without your cheerful missives and we miss reading your essays. Particularly the Potions ones, they were the easiest for us to relate to. I'm sure you've made copies of everything for us to read once we are reunited.

We are doing fabulously. We won't disclose our location, just in case this is intercepted (we hope they don't open this at customs, they'll think we're spies), but suffice it to say that we are getting plenty of sun and helping a lot of people who need it. We're very glad we saved as assiduously as we did. It's nice to be able to give back without worrying about money. You wouldn't believe the fruit they have here! We've never seen such variety or quality; we're becoming healthier every day we're here. And fitter too. Plenty of walking every day (though that can be trying in the unrelenting heat).

Instead of a Christmas present this year, we have decided to make you a promise. When summer comes, we'll pick you up and travel the world. We can go anywhere you would like. Anywhere at all. You want to see the pyramids of Egypt? Done. You want to see sublime landscapes in Canada. Done. The highlands of Japan? Done. Anything you want, darling; you deserve the world.

We know you can't reply to us directly but write us letters every now and again. We'll read them just as soon as the danger has passed.

We miss you more than we could possibly say. Stay safe, stay happy. Don't forget to give yourself a break every now and again.

All our love,

Mum and Dad xxxxx

Her tears dripped onto the page, smudging her parents' kisses. She'd been ignoring the gnawing ache inside of her for months, but she missed them terribly. Sure, she was used to not seeing them, but this total lack of communication was near unbearable. She would write to them at least once a week, sharing her triumphs and tribulations. They used to read and critique her essays, asking for points of clarification and offering her advice for her next one. She was used to having them with her every step of the way, this absence was crippling.

But she had to carry on. To that end, she shimmied out of her pyjamas and into her running clothes, still in the pile on the floor where they had been discarded the day before. She arrived in the Entrance Hall a little late, Professor Snape was pacing back and forth in front of the door, an excited Butch by his side. The paradox of her intimidating professor and the love he had for this animal continued to baffle her. It just seemed so out of character.

"You're late, Miss Granger," he snapped. Not an unexpected reaction, he didn't seem to be a fan of mornings.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, genuinely sorry for making him wait. "I lingered a little too long over my post this morning." He scrutinised her face, his dark eyes boring into her skin, making it tingle warmly.

"You've been crying," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"I received a letter from my parents."

"I see. Let's go, then," and he turned on his heel and out into the snow. They walked and stretched as they always did. They ran in silence as they always did. When they returned to the Entrance Hall, Professor Snape gave her a nod before departing for the dungeons, as he always did. Hermione rushed into a nearby classroom, closed the door, and sank to the floor in tears.

Severus was not good at dealing with other people's emotions, he barely had a handle on his own. At breakfast, the sheer Christmas cheer exuded by the headmaster put him off his food. He escaped as soon as he could and marched straight to Bel's door. He didn't care that he would probably be waking her. He rapped on the door and pushed it open. She was standing in her living area, dressing gown barely closed, and holding two mugs.

"Sev! The generally accepted notion behind knocking is that you wait for a response before barging into other people's living rooms."

"I need a smoke," he said without preamble.

"Good morning, Bel. Merry Christmas, Bel. I hope I'm not disturbing you, Bel." She raised an eyebrow in an uncanny imitation of himself.

"Good morning, Bel. Merry Christmas, Bel. I hope I'm not disturbing you, Bel," he said rapidly. "Now, can we go smoke?"

"Merry Christmas to you too, Sev," she said with a grin. She seemed to take an unprecedented level of pleasure in vexing him. "I have company," she said with a sly wink, "but go out on to the balcony and I'll join you in a minute."

He helped himself to tea from the sideboard and headed out into the cold, casting every privacy charm he knew. The door opened, and Bel tried to step outside, now bundled into a thick cloak, but rebounded against the imperturbable charm he'd covered the door with.

"Shit." He flicked his wand at the door and let her through, slamming the charm back in place afterwards.

"What's the deal? Do you think I've got You-Know-Who himself in there? What's with all the spells?" Her tone was mocking but her smile was kind.

"I just don't want to be overheard." He felt stupid stating the obvious.

"No kidding," Bel muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

"I need some … advice," he started hesitantly.

"Well, colour me intrigued." And, when he didn't start speaking again, "About …?"

"What should I do to help someone who's missing someone? Someone they're used to having around. But they can't see anymore."

"I'm going to go ahead and assume that you're talking about Hermione Granger missing her parents."

"What?" he asked, nonplussed. "What makes you think –"

"First," she cut him off, "Hermione is away from her parents for Christmas. Second, you allowed her to sit on your floor cuddling your dog whilst you fetched tea. And third, I know you, Sev. You can pretend otherwise all you like, but I know you. Really know you. I've seen the way you look at her."

"I don't look at her at all!"

"Exactly. You never look at her. Ever. If there are people around, your eyes stay firmly away from her. If forced to, you'll sit next to her for an entire meal without sparing her a glance. You like her."

"I do," he admitted, voice cracked and quiet. Bel looked at him with eyes bulging out of her head and mouth flopped open. "What?"

"I just wasn't expecting you to admit it."

"I like her. I definitely fancy her." Bel nodded in agreement. "And I care that she's upset." Bel let a low whistle slide through her teeth. "I'm so fucked."

"Yep. Super fucked. I assume I don't have to remind you that she's a student?" She shrugged. "Though admittedly, she's of age. And pretty."

"What does pretty have to do with the rules?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "But don't worry too much about the rules, as long as they're of age it isn't expressly forbidden. Just morally forbidden."

"And how do you know so much about it?" he asked, curious despite himself.

"Two words: Charlie Weasley." She was blushing a little. "He filled out between his sixth and seventh year. Ding dong."

"Please tell me you haven't slept with a Weasley," he begged.

"Not for lack of trying. He didn't seem very interested." She stared off into the middle-distance for a moment but quickly came back to herself. "So, why do you need Hermione Granger related advice?"

"I want to help her feel better," he confessed. "You're a girl."

"Thanks for noticing, is it the tits or the hysteria that give it away?" she asked, her voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

"How do I make her feel better?" he asked, ignoring her derision.

"She's missing her parents, correct?" He nodded. "So, show them to her."

Hermione was sat in her dormitory, staring into a bowl of silver liquid. It was a week after Christmas and Harry would be back in a few days, despite her excitement to see him again, what she desperately desired was for the solitude of the empty tower to last forever. The liquid's surface was oddly tarnished, and it stood perfectly still, even when jostled. It had been a somewhat belated Christmas gift, she supposed.

After their run on Boxing Day, Professor Snape broke his characteristic silence and told her to report to the Potions classroom after breakfast. Curious, she obeyed. When she entered, a little unsure, he slammed a book down on the desk she used to use in his Potions class and pointed to the open page. It was headed The Scrying Potion.

"This is not a commonly made or used potion and, as such, it's fallen out of usual teaching curricula. It is, however, a very useful potion under specific circumstances. Your circumstances, for example. If made correctly, it allows the brewer to see whomever they like. All one would need is a DNA sample from a blood relative and pure intentions. It will not work if you wish the object even a modicum of harm." He looked her straight in the eye. "Do you think it will suit your purposes?"

She stared at him for a beat, confused, until it dawned on her. He was giving her a way to see her parents.

"Ye-yes, sir," she stammered, trying to hold back the tears she knew he wouldn't appreciate. "That sounds perfect for my needs." If he heard the waver in her voice, he chose to ignore it.

"It will take about a week to brew. You may do so in here, under my supervision. At the end of each session, let me know when you next need to be in here and I will work my schedule around it."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." She stared at him, waiting to see if he would say anything else.

"Well," he said, his voice low and silky, "get on with it then."

It had been a pleasant week, all in all. It was nice to get a chance to brew uninterrupted and she enjoyed the comfortable silence they maintained. The only times they would speak were when she was leaving the Potions classroom and when she practised her Occlumency, in which she was coming along in leaps and bounds.

And now … Now it sat in front of her. She placed it carefully on the rug in the centre of the dorm and sat cross-legged in front of it. The text suggested that blood would be the most effective DNA sample. Feeling squeamish, she used her freshly sanitised potion's knife to open a small cut on the pad of her thumb, she let a dribble of the scarlet liquid drip onto the speckled surface of the potion. Shoving her wounded thumb into her mouth, she watched in amazement as the surface seemed to solidify into a silver mirror. She thought of her parents, her love for them, and her desperate desire to see them again.

The surface became a dusty yellow, her parents - dressed in khaki – in the centre. They were holding hands, pointing into the distance, and smiling. She wondered what they were looking at but was content to simply watch them as they went through their day. She watched as they bought fruit, shared a meal with people, watched as they intertwined their fingers again and again. She didn't know how long she was sat there but the sun had set when Crookshanks, clawing lightly at her back, broke her out of her reverie.

It wouldn't do any good to become too attached to watching them. It was enough to know that they were safe and happy. She picked up the bowl and gave it a shake. The image dissolved, and the surface was still and speckled once more. She poured it carefully into a flask, tapped it with an unbreakable charm, and stowed it in her trunk.

She had managed to stay dry-eyed throughout the viewing and, oddly, she didn't feel the need to cry now that they were gone. She was thrilled that they were happy and, more importantly, that they were safe. She'd have to show Professor Snape her appreciation. He probably wouldn't be thrilled with an overt display of gratitude though. She'd have to be subtler. Coming up short on ideas, she focused on the why of what he had done instead. Did he want to forestall any future crying sessions interrupting their runs? Or was it something more? Who could tell?

In a strange turn of events from last year, Hermione came to realise that the one person with access to her secrets was her mysterious professor. And she trusted him to keep them. She dug around in her trunk for her copy of Simulacra and Simulation and opened it up to page seventy-eight. As the worn book opened, whiteboards, all neatly covered in numbers and runes, unfolded until she had her biggest board in front of her, the others hovering around it. She pulled down a clean board and began to write. She had assumed that her calculations in front of Professor Snape last year meant that she could trust him with her elemental magic and that he, in turn, could trust her with his. What if it was more than that?

She stood in front of her boards for hours, working things through once, twice, even thrice until, eventually, she collapsed onto her bed, satisfied.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

The new year brought a chattier Ron with it. A chattier Ron that Hermione proceeded to ignore, although she had to admit that she took a kind of perverse pleasure in him and "Lav Lav" being on the outs. She still got up early to run and she continued to practise Occlusion, even though she wouldn't be having any more lessons.

Her routine was disrupted when Harry told her about the task Professor Dumbledore had given him. She had definitely never come across horcruxes whilst reading, never seen them referenced, or heard them mentioned. She scoured the library looking for any trace of them and the only thing she found was a note that they were too evil to be discussed. She was about to give up in defeat until she accidentally mistook her copy of Simulacra and Simulation for her Spellman's Syllabary. Luckily, she noticed before she opened it. It served to jog her memory. Trust. She could trust him, had to trust him. Perhaps this was exactly the sort of thing she should trust him with.

Before she could lose her nerve, she was out of the dormitory and on her way to his office. It struck her as odd that, though his classroom was now on the third floor, he still used the office in the dungeons. Although, she supposed it made it easier to keep an eye on and be available for his house. She knocked with a slightly shaking hand and was told to enter.

"Miss Granger," he drawled in the way she was now so familiar with, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

She closed the door firmly behind her.

"I need to talk to you about something, sir." She didn't say anything else.

"Well … go on then."

"Privately, if I may?" His eyes narrowed slightly, and she thought for a brief second that he was going to refuse her.

"Very well." He raised his wand and cast spell after spell, warding the office completely.

"Think very carefully about anything you have to say, Miss Granger, that requires this much privacy. Think about whether you should be saying it at all."

"First, sir," she said respectfully, "I'd like you to tell me how many people came to my seventh birthday party."

"I believe that it was just yourself and your parents." He looked at her with something akin to approval. "I'd like you to tell me what image decorated my lighter on the night of Slughorn's Christmas party."

"A cheesy beach scene, I think," she answered after a moment's hesitation.

"Indeed. Now what was it you wished to tell me?"

"I need to start by showing you something." She pulled her book out of her satchel and opened it to page seventy-eight. Professor Snape stared, mouth slightly parted, as her whiteboards unfolded before him.

"I had wondered what had happened to the boards I saw in your bedroom. What is it?"

"It's everything I know about the war, encoded into a series of matrices with attached variables. I can change a variable and it predicts a likely outcome." She pointed to a variable on one of the side boards. "I got the idea for this variable from the calculation I did on your blackboard. It basically denotes you and I trusting each other completely. It significantly impacts the likelihood of the war resolving in our favour."

"How do you know this can be trusted?" he asked, curious rather than scathing.

"The maths never lies. Feel free to go over it yourself if you have concerns."

"I'm … confidant … in your abilities," he responded with a grimace.

"To that end, I have information that I think you need to know." He raised an eloquent eyebrow in a silent question. "Tell me, sir, what do you know about horcruxes?"

A horcrux. He should have bloody known. Only the Dark Lord could possibly be deranged enough to consider tearing apart his soul a good idea. Severus seriously doubted that he'd stop at just one. Go big or go home. The Dark Lord didn't do understated. He paced back and forth in his small living room, wearing at the poor, abused rug, already faded from years of frustration. What were they going to do? What did Albus have planned? And why in Merlin's name hadn't he bothered to clue him in? Why, just once, couldn't his mentor and confidante trust him completely? Was it too much to ask after all these years?

Once he'd explained exactly what a horcrux was, he'd left her alone in his office. She'd immediately started scribbling on those damnable whiteboards and he couldn't see her surfacing anytime soon. He'd never seen anybody with an ability to concentrate at the exclusion of all else to rival Hermione's. She was one of a kind.

He poured himself a whiskey and slammed it back. He didn't know which was worse, the horcruxes or these gooey feelings her kept having over his student. Okay, so on balance the horcruxes were probably worse. But still … He couldn't believe Bel had encouraged him and he couldn't believe that he had gone along with it. The desire to see her happy overruling his better judgment.

He shook his head, briefly Occluding to dislodge her from his mind. He had bigger things to deal with just now. He scanned his bookshelves, picking out a couple of likely volumes that might contain information on horcruxes. It was pretty slim pickings. He had another shot of whiskey, gathered up the books and went back through to his office. Hermione completely ignored his presence; her brow was crinkled in thought and she was absently chewing the end of the whiteboard marker she was holding. He dumped the books onto his desk, left a note telling her where he was going, pulled on his cloak and headed out the door. The grounds were dark, still, and cold, illuminated by only the distant light of the stars.

He arrived with an almost inaudible pop in Spinner's End. His wards were as he'd left them a few weeks ago. Though he visited the corner shop once a week, he only bothered to check in on his depressing house once a month or so. Its only redeeming features were its well-stocked bookshelves and the potion's lab he had set up in the cellar. He flicked on the electric lights and went to make himself a cup of tea, the whiskey hadn't been the best move. He took his time making it, mixing the leaves, letting the water cool, setting a timer whilst it steeped. Dragging the task out as much as possible.

Sipping his tea, he went down into the cellar to check that everything was still in order. A couple of his more sensitive ingredients had congealed in their jars. He chose to empty them by hand, cleaning the jars in the sink. He would use a sterilisation charm before he used them again anyway. He took the hand-held vacuum cleaner from its charging station on the wall and proceeded to clean away the dust and cobwebs that had accumulated since his last visit. He could have used a spell, but he found that the less magic used in a potion's lab, the better. It's almost impossible to predict how the ingredients and the potions themselves would react to residual magic. Job done, he left the cellar, warding it once more, and went to accomplish the task he'd come here to do.

Selecting the books was easy, he had tome after antique tomb detailing dark magic, most of which he'd stolen from the Malfoys at some point or other. He piled them into an old Tesco bag-for-life and heaved it onto his shoulder. He adjusted the muggle photograph of his mother he kept on the sideboard by the door, letting his fingers briefly trail over her face, and left the house, snapping the wards back in place as he did so.

Hermione was sat on the chair opposite his desk when he got back, legs crossed so that it practically engulfed her, and one of the books he had left open and resting on her knees. Severus was sure he wouldn't have been able to sit in that position for love nor money. She looked up when he came in, carefully marking her page and closing the book.

"I was wondering how long you'd be.” She looked from his face to the bag he was carrying. "Sir, if this isn't too forward," (when had that ever stopped her before?) "do you have a muggle parent?"

He supposed that she would figure it out eventually.

"Yes," he said curtly, "why?"

"I was just wondering," she said with a shrug. "I'm assuming that you grew up in the muggle world then?"

"Indeed. I even went to a muggle primary school. Why this sudden curiosity?" he asked, genuinely interested in her answer.

"I always assumed that, being Head of Slytherin, you were a pureblood. I guess I need to check myself more, instead of just putting people into boxes." She looked thoughtful. "Do you despise quills as much as I do?" He laughed at her question, the kind of deep belly-laugh he rarely indulged in nowadays. He walked over to his desk and opened a draw, piling pens onto the blotter.

"I only use a quill if I'm grading in the classroom," he began to explain, "I have fountain pens for anything related to the wizarding world. Red ink for grading, black for correspondence. And ballpoint pens for everything else." He lifted a handful of the cheap, generic brand ballpoints in demonstration.

"Amazing! I do the same," she pulled a denim pencil case from her satchel and rummaged through it. "My parents bought me a Mont Blanc when I got into Hogwarts, it seems a shame not to use it." She showed him the pen, holding it out for inspection. He took it from her, his fingers briefly brushing her own, and examined it.

"Now, that, Miss Granger, is a very nice pen." She smiled, front teeth showing. "Tea?" he asked, handing the pen back to her.

"Please."

"White, black, green?"

She looked surprised at his question.

"Green would be great."

She opened her book back up whilst he busied himself with the tea. He decided to ignore the fact that he had just had a cup. Though busy with the tea, he was acutely aware of the sound of her. The gentle shuffling noise as she turned a page. The rhythmic noise of her breathing. The small, almost silent, exclamations she made as she read. Once the tea was ready, he poured it into clay cups and brought them over to the desk, placing hers in front of her. He sat down in his desk chair, hoping the desk between them would help maintain a professional boundary, and gestured to her whiteboards.

"What were you working on?" he asked.

"Well, as you can see –"

"Actually, I can't see, Miss Granger. Though I did take Arithmancy at school, I never grasped it quite as thoroughly as you seem to. I've never really had need of it," he said with a shrug.

"But you're a Potions Master! How can you get by without it?"

"I have an intuitive grasp of brewing and potion composition," he said with an admittedly smug grin. "I have no need for running calculations to find likely outcomes. I know what will happen."

She sighed.

"You have no idea how much I want that." She looked truly wistful. "It doesn't seem to matter how much I study, I'm never able to do anything other than follow the directions."

"I've been adapting accepted recipes since I was a student here. Some things just make perfect sense. You seem to have a natural flair for just about everything else." She blushed that pretty pink colour he loved to see.

"I suppose …" A thudding noise came from the other side of the door. Cautiously, Severus opened it, careful to obscure both Hermione and her whiteboards with his body. At first, it appeared as though no one was there but a "meow" from ground level put paid to that idea. Crookshanks slinked into the room and began to sniff around.

"I'm so sorry." Hermione looked mortified. "He gets lonely when I leave him alone for too long."

"That's fine, Miss Granger, as a new pet-owner, I find I can sympathise." He sat back down in his chair and, to his horror, Crookshanks jumped up into his lap and settled there. He looked at the purring monstrosity with an ineffectual raised eyebrow. He decided that, just this once, the beast could stay there.

"Anyway, we were talking about my calculations," Hermione said, drawing attention away from her irascible cat. She stood up straighter and gestured to the board. "I added the horcrux in here," with a flick of her wand, a symbol glowed on the board, "but I couldn't get the equations to balance."

"I suspect that he may be using multiple horcruxes, it seems like the sort of thing that he would do. He is nothing if not an egotist. I'm sure he thinks he can stretch his soul further than any witch or wizard before him."

"That's what I thought," Hermione looked pleased with herself. "I created this recursive loop," another flick of her wand, and a whole section of the board lit up, "To determine how many horcruxes he has."

"And …?"

"Seven. He's split his soul seven times." She lit up one final part of the board. "And one of them is Harry."

"Well, fuck."

Hermione was sat cross-legged on her bed, curtains drawn, paging through one of the books Professor Snape had brought from home. Notes were scribbled on almost every page, the writing comfortably familiar. However, the further she got through the book, the less certain she became about this familiarity. She fished around in her bag for her latest Defence essay, unrolling it so that she could see the comment scrawled on the bottom: Adequate, but you should question the reliability of your sources. She compared it to the writing in the margins of the book. They were both clearly written by the same person, but the handwriting had changed over time. Professor Snape's current handwriting was less cramped, more legible. Clearly a by-product of years of teaching. Then why was this so familiar?

She examined the letters slowly, coming across the word "Blood" inscribed on a page describing imaginative uses for the Entrail-Expelling curse. It was the same word she had seen hundreds of times in the front of Harry's thrice-damned textbook.

Professor Snape was the Half-Blood Prince.

Once she recovered from her shock, the whole situation made sense. It explained the brilliance, and it also explained the underlying nastiness in some of the spells. They were very … Snapeish. She'd been livid at Harry beating her every single Potions lesson, but now it didn't sting half as much. She didn't mind being bested by Professor Snape; it would be outrageously presumptuous to think it could be otherwise. She felt a Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face. Harry would be mortified to know that he'd been the unwitting recipient of Professor Snape's tutelage. No longer able to concentrate, she packed up and fell asleep, dreaming of the professor's voice coming from a flapping copy of Advanced Potion Making.

Hermione's schedule of the next few weeks fell into a comfortable pattern. She would run, ignore Ron, attend classes, do her homework, and study horcruxes from the privacy of her bed. She felt a little guilty for hiding her knowledge from Harry but not as guilty as she'd have thought. It was surprisingly easy to keep things under wraps when your main company came in the form of a dour professor, a dog, and a cat.

The last week in January was proving to be incredibly stressful. She had three essays due by the end of the week, about five hundred pages of reading to do across all her classes, and Harry kept pestering her for ideas about getting information out of Professor Slughorn. Naturally, she managed to keep up with her workload, but it left her worn, tired, and a little frazzled. She thought about what her parents had said in their Christmas letter: she needed to relax a little. Friday night was her night.

She'd booked a two-hour slot in the Prefects' Bathroom that morning, and, after brushing Harry off during dinner, she collected her toiletries, some of Honeydukes's finest chocolate, and a novel from the small stack of paperbacks she kept in her trunk before heading to the bathroom. Upon entering, she immediately silenced the mermaid portrait, there was nothing more annoying mid-chapter than her incessant giggling, and turned on her favourite tap. A thick gush of lilac-coloured foam issued-forth, and the room began to smell like lavender. When the bottom of the large, sunken tub was covered, she switched to a hot tap, allowing the water to raise the foam in a thick layer to the surface. She stripped off her clothes, tossing them in a heap on a chair and sank into the blessedly hot water. Perfect.

She pressed on of the nodules on the side of the bath and a smooth, squashy bench, perfect for reading, slid outward from the wall. She used a quick flash of fire to dry her hands before snapping off a piece of chocolate and picking up her book. North & South had been a favourite of hers for a few years now, ever since she picked it up in a charity shop whilst on holiday with her parents. She hadn't been able to put it down once she'd started. She found the setting absorbing, the hardships harrowing, and John Thornton, the novel's gruff Northern mill owner, irresistible. Thornton was definitely her Mr. Darcy.

The pages melted away as she sank deeper into the novel she'd not had time to re-read since that glorious summer holiday. Needless to say, the chocolate disappeared just as quickly. She was startled by a loud rapping at the door and a muffled shout of "Hurry Up!" She looked to the clock on the wall and was shocked to see that her time was up. Sighing, she pulled herself out of the tub, vanished the water, and used a quick drying charm on herself. Her hair, piled in a messy bun on top of her head was, thankfully, still dry so she didn't need to worry too much about excessive frizziness. She dressed and dumped her stuff back into her satchel and opened the door.

"About bloody time, I had the place booked from five minutes ago. Took you –" Ron stopped speaking when he saw it was her. He and Lavender were stood with their arms entwined around each other's waists, her looking up at him in a particularly mushy fashion. Hermione could feel anger flaring in the pit of her stomach, but she tamped it down.

"Well, it's all yours now," she said neutrally and strode off down the corridor, giggling as she heard the sound of the bathroom expelling them both back into the corridor. If Ron had ever bothered listening at Prefects' meetings, he would've known that the room only allowed one person to enter at a time. Her anger almost completely abated, she made her way back up to Gryffindor Tower to read in bed.

The dorm was deserted when she arrived. She changed into a nightdress and, as she was looking for her fluffiest socks, her hand brushed against a box. She pulled it from her underwear drawer and contemplated the garish Weasley Wizard Wheezes packaging. Maybe tonight was the night. She hopped into bed, warded her curtains closed and silenced the area around her bed. She did not want a fantasy interrupted by either of her dormmates. The box opened easily and a delicate looking wristband fell out of it alongside a set of illustrated instructions. As per the directions, she pulled on the bracelet and cinched it closed. Making herself comfortable under the covers, she pictured John Thornton in her mind's eye, and said the magic words with an eye roll: "Abra Kadabra!" Her eyes grew heavy, and she felt herself falling …

She landed in a dusty classroom, rows of desks filling up the main area of the room, their chairs pushed in neatly. A large desk stood on a dais and the blackboard was dusty with use. The door banged open and Thornton stalked in, dressed neatly in a suit that looked to be some kind of half-way house between wizarding and muggle attire.

"Miss Granger," he growled, voice heavy with the rough edges of a Manchester accent, "what're you doing 'ere so late? I thought I told you to go 'ome?"

"I'm sorry, sir," she didn't really know what to say, she hadn't been expecting this kind of setting. "I thought I'd get some clarification on your lesson earlier today. I found some of the concepts … confusing." She walked towards him, her full-skirt swishing, her corset tight around her chest. Thornton watched her as she moved forwards, eyes exploring her face, lingering along the length of her neck, grazing her chest with his heated eyes. She felt a flush creep upwards, staining her exposed, and scarless, décolletage pink.

"And, what exactly did you find so confusing?"

"I wasn't quite sure what you meant by 'hypnotic attraction'?" It was as though the words had been put in her mouth but, as she uttered them, she knew she needed to know the answer.

"Well, Miss Granger," his dark eyes bored into her own, smouldering, "it's a kind of animal magnetism." He took a step closer. "Sexual tension, if you will." Another step. "The desperate need to be possessed," he was barely a foot away from her now, "and to possess in return." Her breath hitched, even at this distance, she was sure she could feel heat pouring off of him.

"I think a demonstration would be beneficial," she purred, voice low and surprisingly sultry.

"I think that can be arranged." He lifted a hand and ran a fingernail lightly down her neck. She gasped and felt her nipples harden against the tight material of her corset. "It's all about building … an … ti … ci … pa … tion," he dragged the last word out deliciously, his mouth next to her ear. He placed a large, warm hand on her waist and pulled her towards him. She could feel his hardness through her dress, feel his heartbeat in her chest, his warm breath against her skin. His other hand cupped her chin. He leant down and Hermione watched, heart in her throat, as the face of her imagination morphed into the one she saw every morning. She didn't even think to pull away as Professor Snape, and not Thornton, closed the last few inches of distance between them, and kissed her.

Hermione's eyes flew open, the canopy of her bed replacing the face of her professor. Without stopping to think about what she was doing, one hand delved between her legs, sinking into the wet heat she found there, the other snaking under her nightdress to tease a painfully hard nipple. Working on instinct, it wasn't long before she burst through the dam holding back her pleasure and sank into oblivion. Later, she'd try not to think about the name that escaped her lips as she came.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

Hermione spent her weekend deep in her work in an effort to ignore the proverbial elephant in the room. She battled her way through her morning runs by focusing on her feet. Luckily, Professor Snape tended to ignore her unless he'd had at least one cup of tea. A cold shower afterwards left her shivering in her jeans and over-sized jumper but at least it killed off any … distraction. She told herself it would be easier when she was back in lessons, that things would get back to normal.

Except they didn't. She still ran, ignored Ron, attended classes, did her homework, and studied horcruxes from the privacy of her bed, but she also squirmed her way through her Defence lessons and found it difficult to ignore her throbbing centre when she doused the lights each night. Her first lesson had been almost unbearable. He'd slammed his way into the classroom, just like the Thornton-Snape of her dreams, and commanded silence from the room. Just listening to him speak, his low voice dripping with a sensuality she'd never heard there before, raised the hair on her arms and filled her belly with a liquid heat. At one point, she'd been worried about spontaneously bursting into flame. Only the threat of people discovering her ability kept her in check.

No matter how listening to him, watching the fluid grace of his movements, or feeling the heat of his gaze made her feel, she managed to give no outward indication of what she was going through. She still raised her hand to answer any and all questions, she still paid meticulous attention to her homework, and she continued to ask questions when she deemed them necessary. All the practice she'd had of late had definitely had a positive impact on her acting skills.

Severus was pretty sure that something was different about Hermione Granger. He couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly had happened, but her eyes seemed brighter, her attention fiercer, and her gaze more intense. On one of their morning runs, he'd thought she'd carried the unmistakable scent of arousal with her. Had she made up with the Weasley brat? Was she seeing someone else? He kept his ears open for any hint of gossip and his eyes scanned the Great Hall for her at every meal. All-the-while, he kept telling himself that he was merely curious, that he didn't care a whit if she was seeing someone or not.

Encased in his fragile cocoon of denial he shuffled his way into February. Though his teaching workload was lighter than in previous years (it was remarkable how drastically reduced teaching preparation time was when you weren't teaching eleven-year-olds how to brew substances that were one slip-up away from becoming dangerous), the rest of his work was more demanding than ever. His Head of House duties had been increasing ever since the Dark Lord revealed himself at the Ministry, families, even in Slytherin, were being torn apart left, right, and centre. And, in order to do this tearing, the Dark Lord kept his Death Eaters busy. There was lots of eavesdropping and sabotaging to be done, as well as brewing the fussy and volatile potions His Evilness found himself needing. And the less said about Albus's wants and needs, the better. Severus Snape was done in.

It was the end of a very long day and he was curled up on his couch with Butch's head in his lap. He was almost falling asleep, his hand automatically rubbing in the figure eights she liked over her muzzle when his left arm jerked, and a burning pain shot up and down his forearm. Well, fuck. Did it really have to be now? He stood up from the couch, disturbing Butch as little as possible, and kicked over the empty wine bottle that had been standing on the floor. He hadn't drunk the whole bottle, but he'd made his way through a fair chunk of it. Double fuck.

He went through the motions. Digging out his cloak and mask from their hidden place in the wardrobe, winding his way through the dungeons to the little-known side door, and marching across the grounds as quickly as possible. He was still one of last to arrive as he popped into the Dark Lord's midst. He knelt, bowed, and kissed, before retreating back-first as though he was standing in the presence of royalty and not an evil megalomaniac with illusions of grandeur. It wasn't long before the circle was completely filled with Grim Reaper lookalikes.

"My faithful servants," Severus resisted the wine-fuelled urge to snort, "it's such a pleasure to see you all gathered here this evening. I would like to thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to join me." As though they hadn't been summoned by a burning brand and that not responding would mean death. "We have many important matters to attend to, the first being an initiation. Mr Zabini, step forward." A tall figure stepped from the shadows and into the centre of the circle. How in the name of Merlin had Severus not known about this? How did he get out of the castle? How did he lose another one? Zabini knelt before the Dark Lord, bowing to kiss the hem of his robes before settling back on his knees. Severus hoped the ground was soft, his knees would creak for weeks after a good bout of prostration. "Do you, Blaise Zabini, turn your back on the authorities that seek to control you, and promise to serve me in their stead?"

"I do." Zabini's voice was firm.

"Do you swear to obey me?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to devote yourself fully to our Cause?"

"I do."

"And do you swear, should it be asked of you, to sacrifice your life for our Cause?" There was the briefest of hesitations before Zabini spoke again.

"I do."

"Present your arm." Zabini exposed his dark arm to the elbow and presented it to his lord, his right hand supporting it from below. The Dark Lord touched his pale wand to the soft, unmarked flesh and began to hiss in the Parseltongue Severus remembered from his own initiation and all the intervening ones. An inky blackness spewed forth from the tip of the Dark Lord's wand and Zabini began to shake. Severus remembered his own marking like it was yesterday, he'd never felt such pain before. It had been as though there was too much blood in his body, the pressure almost unbearable. After about ten seconds, Zabini began whimpering. Severus very much doubted that the boy had ever had to face anything approaching discomfort in his young life. Severus was one of the few he knew that had managed to remain silent. The one and only time he'd been glad for his father. The whimper turned into a high-pitched moan and Severus watched the Dark Lord's mouth split into a thin, stretched smile. Eventually, the hissing stopped, and Zabini collapsed on the forest floor, stilling into unconsciousness.

"Everyone, welcome your new comrade," the Dark Lord, opening his arms wide in mock-welcome. The Death Eaters surged forward to kick or spit on their new "comrade." Severus contented himself with a quick spit, that conveniently happened to miss. He moved back into his place in the circle and watched in disgust as someone actually pissed on Zabini. This behaviour was used to discourage weakness among the ranks. The results of unconsciousness were not something people wanted to experience again if they could possibly help it.

"Enough!" the Dark Lords high voice seemed to hang in the air. "Someone move him to one side." A snivelling, hunched-over form Severus recognised as Wormtail scurried forward and dragged the boy out of the centre of the circle. The man had clearly spent too long as a rat - a quick mobilicorpus would have dealt with the problem far more neatly. "We have some business to discuss and some punishment to meet out. Corban, tell me of your progress."

"The plan is running smoothly so far, my lord," came a gruff voice from the opposite side of the circle to Severus, as Yaxley stepped forward.

"And do they suspect?"

"The dolts in the MLE wouldn't suspect a person of murder if they found them standing over a body, holding a wand." Yaxley chuckled, his voice low and gravely.

"Good, you've achieved a lot in a short time, Corban, I see the results of your work scattered throughout the Daily Prophet."

"Thank you, my lord," Yaxley said with a bow and stepped back into his place.

"Severus." He stepped forward with a bow as the Dark Lord spoke his name. "How goes it for the lauded Order of the Phoenix?"

"Poorly, my lord." Severus was sure to inject the appropriate level of disdain into his voice. "The Ministry, in its infinite wisdom, has been putting security measures in place that make it difficult for the Order to act with any kind of stealth. They are being blocked at every turn. And those who actually work for the Ministry are kept so busy that they have very little time to devote to," he nearly said "Albus," but caught himself just in time, "the old man's whims. The less … upstanding … members appear to be having difficulties as well."

"That's all very general, Severus," the Dark Lord said with a sneer. Well, fuck. "Can you give me something more specific?"

"Of course, my lord. The werewolf, Remus Lupin," Wormtail flinched, "is having very little luck with the werewolves. It would appear that most of the clans are inclined to support you, my lord, as well as the isolated werewolves."

"Excellent, Severus, good news indeed. And what of Potter's mudblood? Did the order remove her parents to safety?"

"No, my lord," Severus had been asked this before. The Dark Lord seemed curiously interested in why Dolohov's attack on one-third of the Golden Trio had failed. "I have managed to find out that the Granger's are simply travelling. The mudblood," a sour taste filled his mouth, "moved to the Weasley's once her parents had left."

"But why can't we trace them?" hissed the Dark Lord.

"I'd been puzzling through that myself, my lord. I overheard a conversation a few weeks ago that suggested that the mudblood and her parents are Catholic."

"And …?" Naturally, the Dark Lord deemed muggle religions beneath his notice.

"Catholics mark themselves with holy water on entering church. I have no evidence to confirm this, but I think it's possible that the frequent application of holy water to the skin may have had the same effect as imbibing the water, as is commonly done to eradicate the residual magic of curses."

"An intriguing thought," the Dark Lord said with a nod of satisfaction, "perhaps, once sovereignty is mine, we can test this theory." The circle chuckled, amused by the prospect of cursing others for "research." "Though you have impressed me, Severus, that does not negate your failings." What failings? "I spoke with the Malfoy boy over the Christmas break, and he told me that you have been … pestering him, interrupting his work. This is not acceptable behaviour, is it?"

"No, my lord." Once again, Albus's instructions were putting him in harm's way.

"Then why would you do it?" the Dark Lord asked with a sigh. "Crucio."

Severus knew only pain. His knees buckled, and he lay prostrate on the cold, damp ground, spasms wracking his body. His muscles rapidly contracted and expanded, his nerves were on fire. He submerged himself in the cool lagoon of his mind but couldn't detach himself completely. When, at last, the spell was lifted, Severus lay there, gasping for air. A boot connected bluntly with his chest, knocking the little air he had from him. Another drove into his kidneys, a third shattered his cheekbone. And he fell into blissful oblivion.

Hermione was a little late for their morning run. Getting out of her warm bed had been a struggle this morning. Crookshanks followed her through the castle, as he often did, frequently brushing up against her jogging bottoms (leaving his orange hairs behind him) and hissing at portraits as they passed them. When she made it to the Entrance Hall, she was surprised to see that Professor Snape wasn't there. He'd never been late before. She went to the main entrance and peered outside. No sign of him nearby. She'd expected Crookshanks to rush outside and off to the forest, as was his custom, but, instead, he sat at the entrance to the dungeons, meowing at her.

"What, Crooks?" The tomcat continued to meow at her. "Not going outside?" Crookshanks demonstrably shook his head and lifted a paw to point down the stairs that led to the dungeons. "Okay, c'mon." She followed Crookshanks down the stairs into the early-morning gloom of the dungeons. Crookshanks took her through the labyrinth of corridors, eventually turning into an unlit one. "Lumos." She followed the bushy orange tail, the only part of Crookshanks that was illuminated, trying not to worry about what could be lurking in the darkness.

She squealed as she tripped over something, catching herself on the wall. She swept her wand lower, seeing a pair of feet in familiar black boots. Acting on instinct, she lit the cold torches that lined the wall, fire arching from her fingers, and dropped to her knees near Professor Snape's head.

"Professor?" She shook his shoulder gently. "Professor, can you hear me?" He looked awful, face covered in congealed blood and bruised. "Professor … Severus? Can you hear me? It's Hermione." He stirred slightly. "Severus, you're hurt. I need to get you somewhere safe." His eyes flickered open.

"Look … at … me," he gasped. Understanding almost immediately, Hermione looked him directly in his bloodshot eyes. She felt a gentle push against her mind and opened it to him. He showed himself entering his quarters from his office, uttering the password "yellow submarine." She saw the healing potions in his bathroom cabinet. Lastly, he showed her Professor Bagshot and a familiar tapestry of a cavorting griffin Hermione assumed was the entrance to her living quarters. He broke the connection, his pained presence suddenly missing from her mind, and fell back into unconsciousness.

"Okay, Granger," she took a deep breath, "get it together." She tapped herself on the head and felt the tell-tale trickling sensation of the disillusionment charm. She did the same to her unconscious professor and cast a quick mobilicorpus. "Right, Crooks, I need you to lead the way back to Professor Snape's office, okay?" The cat raised his furry eyebrows, the derision clear even on a feline face, and trotted off down the corridor. She was on edge the whole way there, no one could find them like this. It would ruin so many things for the Order, not to mention ruin Professor Snape's reputation. She jumped at shadows and small noises, but the unusual trio didn't run into anyone. The door to his office opened as she muttered the password, she kicked it closed once they were both through and repeated the process with the door to his quarters. With barely a glance around the warm and comfortable-looking living area, she found the door to the bedroom, a somewhat smaller version of the student dorms. She levitated him onto the navy-blue bedspread and was accosted by Butch as she came charging out of the bathroom.

"Hey, Butch," she stroked her gently behind the ears to calm her down, "your dad's hurt, but he'll be okay. Come on." She grabbed her collar and corralled her into the living area. "Keep her company, Crooks." Crookshanks slunk through the door just as she closed it. Back at the bed, she checked that Professor Snape was still breathing. He was, thankfully, and he didn't seem to be actively bleeding. "Expecto patronum," she cast, letting the image of her parents alive and well swell inside her. Her silver otter burst from her wand, looked to Professor Snape in concern, and then turned to her. "I need you to take a message to Professor Bagshot, okay?" The otter nodded expectantly. "Professor, it's Hermione Granger. I need you to come to Professor Snape's quarters immediately." The otter stayed in front of her for a beat before charging at the ceiling and disappearing from sight.

The bathroom was fastidiously tidy, the white tiles house-elf clean and the blessedly-silent mirror gleaming. She opened the cupboard and took a quick inventory of its contents. She located and picked up a rack of healing potions before rushing back into the bedroom. She raised his head with another pillow and gave him a series of potions, tipping them into his mouth and massaging his throat to get him to swallow each time. She felt awful rubbing at his bruised skin but persevered. She didn't know enough about healing to do much more. She used a cleaning charm on his face, revealing the mangled mess underneath. She'd never seen someone look this hurt, not outside of television and films. Feeling awkward and useless, she removed his dragonhide boots and managed to extricate him from his cloak, making something fall to the floor with a clatter. She bent down and picked up the stark, silver mask from where it had fallen under the bed and placed it on a chair by the dresser with distaste.

"Hermione?" a voice came from the living area.

"In here, Professor," she replied.

"Under the circumstances, I think Bel is fine," her professor said as she walked into the room. "Well, fuck, Sev, you're a right mess," she said to the unconscious man. "Has he come 'round at all?"

"Only briefly when I found him, he was lying on the floor further in the dungeons for god knows how long before then." She could hear panic creeping into her voice.

"I'm going to do what I can for him, we can't take him to the Hospital Wing. What did you give him?" Hermione rattled off the list of potions she'd force fed him. "Okay, that's a good start. Go stand on the opposite side of the bed and do what I say." Hermione hopped to. Professor Bagshot, or rather, Bel started muttering under her breath, running her wand over the length of his body and leaving a trail of different colours behind it. "Blue is internal bleeding." Hermione saw there were only a few spots of blue, hovering around his kidneys. "It's good that there isn't too much, the vessel repair potion you gave him should already be helping with that."

"What's the red mean?" Hermione asked. Red was everywhere.

"Fractures," Bel said with a grimace. "We'll have to go through all of them and heal them one by one."

"And the green?"

"Ulcers, we won't worry about those, they were already there."

"Already there?"

"Sev has had ulcers for as long as I've known him - too much stress, not enough spa days." Bel chuckled at her own joke.

"And the black?" Thin black wisps were spread throughout his entire body.

"That's just damage from smoking." She pointed to the thin blue lines that hovered over him, from head to foot. "Now this is the real problem, the reason he's unconscious."

"What is it?"

"Nerve damage."

"Nerve damage? From what?" She paused thoughtfully for a moment. "This is from the cruciatus curse? But that's Unforgivable!" she said with a gasp.

"Really, Hermione, you think You-Know-Who cares about whether or not a spell is Unforgivable?"

"Of course not, you're right." Hermione was a little embarrassed. "This is all so awful, I didn't really think. Do you really think You-Know-Who was the one to curse him?"

"I know he did."

"How could you possibly know that?" Hermione asked, sceptical.

"No one else would dare." A wicked grin spread across Bel's face. Hermione could definitely see the truth in that. "The internal bleeding's stopped," she indicated to the shrinking blue, "the damage is still there but we should be able to start healing him now. She traced her wand lightly over his shattered cheek, chanting soft words that Hermione didn't recognise. The red slowly began to recede. She repeated this process over one of his temples. Nodding, with a pleased look as that area of red dissolved as well.

"Now, we need to get his clothes off, it's never a good idea to heal blind. Are you any good with a severing charm?" Bel asked Hermione.

"Yes," she replied, deciding now was not the time for modesty.

"Cut down the front and then across horizontally and continue down the arms. It should just fall open if you do it properly. Hermione concentrated more fiercely than she had probably ever done and drew a careful line along the front of his frock coat. It fell apart, revealing the stark white skin, mottled with bruises beneath. She repeated the procedure horizontally and peeled off his frock coat and shirt completely. Later, she would think about the broad, firm frame he had under his robes, but for now, she was wincing as she tried to unstick his clothing from the congealed blood. She used a fresh cleansing charm and the clothing came away more easily. Bel surveyed the damage with a practical eye.

"Okay, Sev," she narrated, "Time for the hard part. Your ribs are always a bitch." Then, instead of using her wand, as Hermione had expected, Bel began to palpate the ribs with her fingers.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, she was ashamed how little she knew about healing. She was definitely going to need to make a trip to the library later.

"I need to make sure they haven't punctured the lungs before I heal them. I did it without once and nearly killed him."

"Does this happen a lot?" Hermione asked in horror.

"This is the first time this year," she said with a shrug, "But last year was bad. He was not in the Dark Lord's good books at all. With the regulations that Umbridge bitch had in place, he had a hard time leaving the castle on time." Bel finished feeling his ribs and stroked a lank strand of hair from his forehead affectionately. "You're gonna be the death of me, Sev." She began her song once more, low in her throat and almost continuous. She moved her wand backwards and forwards until the red had faded away completely. Bel slumped down on the bed next to him and sighed. "I'm afraid that's all we can do for him for now. Nothing really helps with the pain from nerve damage but the restorative potions will do their job over time. He's used to it."

"There's really nothing we can do?" He looked so helpless lying on the bed, his battered skin turning purple in places.

"Well, you can apply a bruise salve to the nastier bits," she pointed to a few areas around his ribs, "you'll have to turn him a little so that you can get at the damage near his kidneys. I'll go take Butch down to Hagrid for some exercise, poor girl will have been trapped inside all night." She stood up and stretched out her arms and back. "And I should probably update Albus. Can you stay with him until I get back? Much as he would hate to hear it, he really shouldn't be left alone right now."

Once Bel had gone, taking a fussing dog with her, Hermione went looking for the bruise salve. It was in the same cupboard she'd found the other potions in, labelled clearly in the handwriting she was now very familiar with. Back in the bedroom, she mentally braced herself to rub her hands over her professor. A professor she'd recently fantasised about. A professor whose name she'd gasped as she came over her own fingers. A professor who was currently injured, and who she should definitely not think about sexually right now. Or ever, really, but that ship had sailed and was cleanly over the horizon.

She unscrewed the lid from the glass jar and dipped two fingers into the lavender scented salve. The face was probably the best place to start. She rubbed it into the surface of his cheek, keeping the pressure of her fingers as light as possible, and then began to work her way down. She managed to get all the way to the waistband of his trousers without any major difficulties. She wasn't entirely sure how to go about doing his back. She settled for lifting an arm above his head and rolling him towards her slightly, holding him against her chest while she used a spare hand to rub the salve on the worst affected areas and repeated the same procedure from the other side of the bed. Once he was settled on his back once more and the salve was neatly away, she turned to the problem of what to do next. He certainly wouldn't want to wake up stripped to the waist with a student in his bedroom. She used her wand to raise him above the bed a little, realising as she did so that this would have been a far easier way to apply salve to his back, and stripped back the bedclothes. She lowered him onto the newly-revealed crisp white sheets and tucked him under the duvet.

His wand had clattered to the floor as she removed the sheets. She bent to collect it and placed it carefully on his bedside table, next to a hardback copy of Dickens's American Notes. A flick of her wand transformed a small wooden stool into a squashy armchair, she didn't want to use the chair she'd placed the mask on, and she settled down to read his book, careful not to knock out his placeholder. Crookshanks eventually butted the partially closed door open and slunk into the room, jumping on to the bed and sniffing at Severus (it was going to be difficult to think of him as Professor Snape after tucking him into bed) before settling on Hermione's lap, poking and prodding at her until she was in a position he found comfortable.

Bel was gone for several chapters, but she returned bringing the smell of strong coffee and bacon sandwiches with her. She called Hermione through to the living area. She finally took a proper look at the cosy space for the first time. The couch and armchairs were of the squashy, brown leather variety. Bookshelves lined the entirety of the wall opposite the fire. There was a small, round dining table with four chairs, a muggle chessboard at its centre. There were large windows on either side of the fireplace, enchanted to look across the sloping lawns that led from the castle to the lake. A large wicker dog-basket was tucked close to the fire, which the house elves had been in to light, and it was piled high with various blankets and the occasional chew toy.

Bel was sitting on the couch, laying their breakfast on the coffee table that, judging from the scuff marks, often served as a footrest. Hermione chose an armchair with a stack of journals resting on its arm and sank into its comforting embrace. It was a much better chair than anything she had ever managed to transfigure.

"How's he doing?" Bel asked, mouth half-full of bacon sandwich.

"The same," Hermione said with a shrug.

"He'll probably be out for a few more hours."

"How did you learn to heal like that?" Hermione asked, the more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed to her that they didn't learn any practical first aid in school. It was especially ridiculous given the times they were living in.

"My mother taught me," her teacher replied quietly, her voice oddly weak. "We bounced around a lot when I was a kid and … yeh … sometimes healing came handy." Hermione thought it best to abandon that avenue of pursuit for now.

"How long have you been in the Order?" She hoped this would be a safer topic.

"Since the first war, I joined a year or so before Sev." Her voice seemed back to normal. "I was just starting to make a name for myself in Magical Theory and I was headhunted by both sides. I joined the Order and Albus wanted to make me into a spy. I flat out refused. I'm a terrible liar, I'd have been dead in an instant. Sev joined a year later - I was one of the lucky few to be told. Well, I accidentally eavesdropped so they brought me in on it properly. You-Know-Who's displeasure became particularly vicious toward the end of the war. I'd be terrified for his life each time he was called. He'd come back an absolute mess. He was much lower ranking back then, and no way near as intimidating as he is nowadays. He was just a kid, really, we all were." She trailed off, staring into her coffee.

"It must have been so hard." Hermione wasn't sure what else to say.

"No harder than it is for you guys now, I guess, I can't imagine trying to get through school with this kind of threat looming over everyone."

"It is hard to worry about your NEWTs when you're worried about people's lives, but we have to keep going, we have to carry on as though there's going to be an after. Otherwise, what's the bloody point in fighting?" Riled up and angry about the hurt Voldemort was forcing people to live through, the fear they had to deal with, and the heartbreak they had to suffer, Hermione felt uncomfortably hot. She stripped off the hooded sweatshirt she was wearing and filled a glass with water from the sideboard. She felt as though she might burst into flames at any moment.

"Where did you get that scar, Hermione?" She whirled around to face her professor.

"What scar?" He hand went up to her collar-bone, the strappy top she was wearing insufficient for keeping it covered. She hadn't let anyone see her scar since Professor Snape had examined it at her parents' house. It was puckered, purple, and angry-looking. She normally tried to ignore it, forcing her attention elsewhere when it was exposed. "Oh," she continued lamely. "This was a gift from Antonin Dolohov. Why?"

"I have one very similar." Bel unbuttoned her robes to the waist and lifted the vest top she was wearing beneath, exposing her midriff. It was covered in a delicate network of tattoos, spanning from below her belly button and creeping upwards until it disappeared under her vest. Flowers, animals, trees, and runes were woven together to form an intricate, undulating tapestry.

"Wow, that's beautiful," Hermione didn't have any experience with wizarding tattoos, but she could tell this one was exceptional.

"The skin is still warped underneath, but the art means you can't even tell if you look closely." She prodded at her stomach, pushing what looked like a hippogriff out of the way of one of the ridges of scar tissue.

"Why did you get it covered?" Hermione asked.

"I was fed up of the pitying looks I was getting from the people who saw it." Hermione flushed at thought of who would have seen it in that location. "I didn't mind the way it looked so much, it's a badge of survival, but I hated the looks I was getting. My friend's a tattoo artist in Diagon Alley, it seemed like a logical step."

"I am worried about what people will think when they see it, so far, the only people who have are you and Professor Snape. And Madam Pomfrey, of course, she was the one who healed it in the first place. Do you think I should get mine covered?" she asked, curious.

"Only you can decide that. If you feel as though it would improve your quality of life, it's worth considering." Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "If you do decide you want to do something about it, let me know and I'll introduce you to my friend."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." Bel looked at the clock on the mantlepiece and stood up with a sigh. "I have errands to run for the headmaster, are you okay to stay here with Sev? At least until he wakes up?"

"Of course," Hermione was itching to get back to American Notes.

"Send me a patronus if you need me, your otter is adorable, even at daft AM in the morning." And then she was gone and Hermione settled back in her transfigured armchair, occasionally glancing at Severus, and reading his book.

Severus was warm and comfortable, and reasonably pain-free given the night he'd had. He remembered only flashes of the rest of the meeting; he remembered apparating, and he remembered falling against something cold and hard. None of this accounted for his current position. He flexed his toes, pleased to find that they seemed to be working; his fingers were in order too, a little stiff, but movable. There was the usual after-pain from the cruciatus, but he'd been given his nerve-restorative potion. Bel had clearly found him.

Though he was aware of himself, he was struggling with his surroundings. Not a good position to be in his line of work. He heard distant sounds, echoing inside his skull but nothing coherent. He tried opening his eyes; they felt heavy like they were gummed shut. He rubbed at them, amazed that his hands and arms were cooperating properly. The sounds started again. Was that his name?

"Severus?" The echoing coalesced into a single voice. He tried his eyes again, blinking against the harsh light of the room. "Severus, can you hear me?" That was definitely not Bel.

"Her- Hermione?" he asked, unsure and voice cracking.

"Yes, sir," she responded, coming over to his bedside. She produced a glass of water, a metal straw already in place, and helped him to sip. The cool liquid flooded his mouth, tasting like life itself. He pulled himself into a sitting position and gulped down the rest of the water greedily. He slumped back afterwards, already exhausted.

"What day is it?" he asked her, voice smoother than before.

"It's Saturday, sir," she looked at her watch, "Just after lunch."

"Where's Bel? How did I get here?" he was beyond confused. "And Butch? Where's Butch?"

"Butch is fine, sir," Hermione's voice was calm and soothing, not a hint of her occasional shrillness. "She's spending the day with Hagrid and Fang, she'll get lots of exercise." He was about to repeat his first two questions when she continued. "Bel is running some errands for Professor Dumbledore, she'll be back before long."

"And how did I get here?"

"Crookshanks found you."

"That beast of yours?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yes. And he's not a beast. I'm always perfectly nice about your pet, I'd appreciate it if you'd offer mine the same courtesy." She snapped in the tone he had come to associate with the way she spoke to Potter when he was being particularly dense. He did not want to examine why he was so familiar with her habits and mannerisms because, deep down, he knew the answer was totally unacceptable. "When you didn't show up for our run, he insisted on leading me into the dungeons, into an unlit area I've never seen before. You were collapsed on the floor and unconscious. I managed to bring you round enough for you to give me some instructions; you showed me a few images of what I should do. I disillusioned us both and levitated you here, sent a patronus to Bel, and then pumped you full of healing potions. She healed the fractures and the potions took care of the rest." She finished with a shrug.

"Well, thank you, Miss Granger. It would appear that I'm in your debt."

"Forget about it," she said with a shrug. "It's not like you haven't saved my life on multiple occasions."

She did have a point there.

"Why did you stay?" he asked, her continued presence was definitely the most confusing aspect of the whole affair.

"It was fascinating watching Bel work," she replied. Ever the know-it-all. He tried to ignore the pang of disappointment. "And …" she trailed off.

"And?" he asked, a small bubble of hope expanding in his chest. She visibly steeled herself.

"And … I didn't want to leave you. I didn't want you to have to wake up alone and confused. I want you to know that I'm here for you." She said it all a little fast, but he understood. She cared … about him. It was, quite frankly, baffling. She may have none of the irritating feelings he had been developing since he visited her parents' house, but she cared.

It was enough.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

"As you insist on lingering, Miss Granger, we may as well talk about the horcruxes." Hermione sat to attention at his bedside, a concentrated look on her face, lip between her teeth. "Have you discovered anything new?"

"Well, Harry's been doing an abysmal job of getting any extra information out of Professor Slughorn." She sighed, a stray curl wafting in her breath.

"Anything else?" Severus asked her, he certainly didn't have any leads. Not yet, at least.

"Well, I've been thinking about it a lot, reading through the relevant sections in the books you lent me, and I think I might have a bit of an idea. I ran a few calculations to check on this but it's been difficult. I can't just have my whiteboards out anywhere."

"You're babbling, Miss Granger." She snapped her mouth closed. "What was your idea?"

"Well, I think it's likely that Professor Dumbledore is horcrux-hunting and that he'll continue to do so. In fact, I'd wager that is how he hurt his hand in the summer. I seriously doubt that anyone other than You-Know-Who would be able to pull the wool over his eyes enough to curse him."

Well, she was right about that. He hadn't been able to fathom how Albus had managed to get himself fatally cursed. Not that Hermione knew the curse was fatal, of course. Should he tell her? Her calculations had said that trust between them would improve the likely outcome of the war. He did trust her, he realised. He trusted that she'd taken the best possible care of him she could that morning. He trusted that she would keep his secrets. And, he trusted that she wouldn't abandon him. Not telling her about Albus didn't mean he didn't trust her, he just didn't want to upset her unnecessarily.

"You might be right there," he conceded. She smiled at this proclamation, that shy smile of accomplishment he had grown rather fond of seeing grace her lips.

"Obviously, horcruxes are difficult to destroy. Fiend Fyre is notoriously difficult to control, and other substances used to destroy things are similarly difficult to handle and lethal if mishandled. Can you imagine trying to stab something with a basilisk fang and accidentally slipping?" Severus winced, that would be an unfortunate way to go indeed. "I think we could create a potion that will destroy an object and the soul inside it. We'd need to properly charm the containers we use, but I don't think that will really be a problem. It would severely limit the risks involved with destroying them."

"Hmmm.” Severus mulled it over, fist at his chin, a single finger tapping against his lips. "That could work, I suppose. What active ingredient would you use for the potion?"

"I've run calculations for all the substances known to destroy horcruxes, and I think that basilisk venom is the best bet," she said with a confident nod.

"I'll have to order it in, it could take a while," Severus replied.

"Why bother when we have some available in the castle already?"

"Don't tell me, Slughorn knows the second son of the Minister of Patagonia who specially breeds and milks basilisks?" She didn't react for a moment before her face crinkled and she dissolved into giggles. It was a tinkling laugh, surprisingly elegant with the occasional snort. He would definitely have to make her laugh more often.

"No!" she managed, once the giggles had died down a little. "There's a basilisk carcass in the Chamber of Secrets, we can go down and harvest the fangs. There's probably a host of other ingredients you can get from the body. Isn't basilisk skin hugely valuable?" Her hazel eyes were alight, as though reflecting a crackling fire.

"One small problem there, Miss Granger."

"That we can't open the Chamber?"

"Bingo."

"I don't think that'll be a problem at all," she said, mischievous grin spread all over her face. She was going to make him work for it - he willingly obliged.

"And why is that?"

"I've spoken to Harry a lot about the Chamber, it still wigs him out occasionally, and he's pretty sure that you don't have to say anything specific in Parseltongue, you simply have to say something in Parseltongue. It's pretty ingenious really, a sure-fire way to make sure that your parameters for entrance will still be valid hundreds of years later. Anyone you want to be able to get in can without needing a specific password; it's what I would have done."

"Ingenious, indeed." This might actually have some merit, but … "You do seem to have overlooked a bit of a glaring problem."

"That neither of us speak Parseltongue?" she asked. If her eyes were alight before, they were positively blazing now.

"Precisely."

"It's simple, really. All we need is a snake, or at least a recording of its hissing. All snakes speak Parseltongue." It was simple but brilliant. "We might even be able to find one here, out in the grounds." She gestured outside with an energetic sweep of her hand.

"Or …" She looked at him attentively, all her focus directed to his face. He willed himself not to blush. "I could apparate to Manchester to pick one up for us. They have corn snakes in all the muggle pet shops, you could gift it to Hagrid when we're done with it."

"Ah, yes. That does sound easier."

"I'm not saying I wouldn't have wanted to go traipsing around the freezing grounds looking for heat-loving snakes. This just seems a touch more practical, don't you think?" he asked sweetly.

Severus Snape was not often surprised, but the tongue that darted out of her mouth at his last comment managed it. How was this happening? How did he have a woman in his bedroom, laughing at his jokes, bestowing him with her smile, and playing along with his banter? Okay, so it wasn't that unusual. Bel had been in her position plenty of times, but that was … well, that was just Bel. The Jekyll to his Hyde, the Tweedledum to his Tweedledee. She was the sister he'd never known he needed. This was different. This was … Hermione.

The trip to buy a snake was surprisingly uneventful. He dropped in on Bill, who would expect him after his absence the previous week, and they had a natter. As per usual, the whole country was going to the dogs and it was an absolute disgrace. Severus left the corner shop chuckling, Bill had no idea just how bad things were. He decided to get the bus into Manchester, apparating into city centres was inconvenient at best. Finding somewhere secluded to appear usually meant appearing miles away from where you needed to be. Public transport was better, there was no need to hide as you stepped off a bus.

Prices had risen since the last time he'd used one, but he was wandering into Pets 4 Less within the half hour. The spotty young man that met him at the door was more than happy to help him find a snake. Even said that Severus looked like the snake type, whatever that meant. Severus caught his reflection in the wall of fish-filled tanks: black jeans, a Beatles shirt, a worn leather jacket, and unnecessarily long hair. He supposed he did look like the snake type.

So as to avoid suspicion, he ended up buying not just a snake but all the recommended paraphernalia. The pimply young man, his name tag declared him to be Jerry, was beaming at him when the numbers flashed up on the till. Severus swiped his debit card and took the offered banana box to carry everything in. He'd shrink it as soon as he could hide what he was doing, but Jerry didn't know that. He turned into one of the dodgier looking alleys, shrank everything except the snake in its little cardboard carrier and popped away, reappearing outside the gates of Hogwarts.

It took a little fiddling to get everything set up without using electricity. Severus decided to set the tank up in his office. His Slytherins would love it, it would fuel gossip in Gryffindor, and it would probably creep out the first years. A win, win, win. Once the snake was busy exploring his new home, Severus sat down at his desk and pulled a sheet of parchment towards him.

It was dinner time in the Great Hall and Hermione Granger was reaching for a jacket potato when the evening post came rushing in through the windows high above them, each piece attached to the feet of owls or clenched firmly between their beaks. She wasn't expecting anything but a barn owl landed in front of her, a scroll clasped neatly in its beak. "Miss Granger" was written along the length of the scroll, in the cramped, ballpoint pen scrawl, she was becoming increasingly familiar with.

"What've you got there, Hermione?" Harry asked her, eyes flickering briefly to her letter before honing back in on his food.

"Oh, just a letter from Mum and Dad." It was becoming easier and easier to lie to her best friend.

She slit the scroll open and scanned its contents: Miss Granger, (she rolled her eyes, the formal title felt so ridiculous when she had been spreading salves over his ribs a week ago) We are now in possession of the equipment required for our harvesting trip. Would next Saturday, the fourteenth, work for you? If it doesn't, we're doing it then anyway, I don't have time to cater to the whims of students. (She felt her face crack into a grin at this, she was sure she spent more time laughing when in his presence than the rest of the time put together) I'll expect you at nine AM in the usual place. – SS. P.S. It's going to need a name.

She snorted aloud at the postscript. His proclivity for animals confused her, he really didn't seem like the nurturing type; Butch loved him though, so he must be doing something right. And she saw the way he looked at Butch, the way he'd worried when she was sick, the way she was one of the first things on his mind when he awoke after his injuries.

"What's funny?" Harry asked, shovelling a second helping of spaghetti bolognaise into his mouth.

"Oh, just my dad up to his usual antics. He's scribbled all over this letter my mum wrote. He's even crossed out full sections." God, she missed them. This evening may have to be a scrying night.

"Your parents crack me up," Harry said with a smile. "I really need to meet them properly one of these days, it seems like ages since I saw them in Diagon Alley!"

"Absolutely." Hermione felt a pang deep in her stomach as she said it. Time to change the subject. She mentioned the upcoming match against Hufflepuff and Harry was away. The people around them fell into the conversation and, appetite evaporated, Hermione slipped away from the table. Harry wore blinkers when it came to Quidditch, he probably wouldn't even notice that she'd left until he was ready to leave the Great Hall. The Entrance Hall was completely deserted. She was about to head up to Gryffindor Tower when she changed her mind and crossed from the grand stairs that dominated the space to the smaller set that led down to the kitchen and dungeons. The halls were blissfully quiet down here as well, she was outside Severus's … Professor Snape's office in no time. She knocked on the door. She assumed he was in - he hadn't been at dinner.

"Enter." His voice was curt, boardering on impatient. She straightened her spine, pushed the door open, and strode into his domain.

"Good evening, professor," she said with a polite nod.

"Miss Granger." He put down the fountain pen he was holding. She could feel his eyes burning against the skin of her face. "This is a … surprise. What brings you down here?"

"Well, I got your letter," she showed him the slightly crumpled paper she was holding, "and I thought that the matter of a name was too urgent to put off." She spotted the tank on top of one of the filing cabinets behind his desk and went to investigate. "Oh, he's gorgeous." The snake's colouring reminded her of a crisp, autumnal litter of leaves. The kind that rustles and swirls when it's windy. She opened up the lid and scooped him out with the ease of practice that came from spending a lot of time in the science lab in primary school. The snake coiled around her hand, its skin silken against her fingers.

"By all means, make yourself at home." Severus … Prof- … nope, definitely Severus said with a smirk, the long dimple in his cheek suddenly making an appearance.

"Thanks," she said, innocent smile in place. "I've had a couple of ideas for names, if you'd like to hear them?" He nodded and gestured for her to continue. "How do you feel about Boris." Grimace. "Or Salazar?" More pronounced grimace. "Kaa?" A sceptical eyebrow-raise. "You're right, that's far too derivative. How about Monty?" Neutral for a moment before a small smile blossomed.

"Monty is perfect," Severus declared. "I just hope he's up to the job."

"I am not flying down there!" Hermione said, punctuating her statement with a stomp of her foot.

It was the morning of Valentine's day and she and Severus were sequestered in the second-floor girls' toilets, staring into the black hole that was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. A content Monty was curling around her fingers, satisfied with a job well-done.

"How the hell else do you expect to get down?" Severus demanded. He looked like he wanted to stamp his foot as well.

"Well, Harry and Ron slid down?" she ventured.

"I don't care what those dimwits did." She was going to admonish him for belittling her friends but he carried on with barely a pause. "I am not sliding down an unknown tunnel undoubtedly covered in years of filth and grime. I had my share of that at Black's house."

Hermione spent a lot of time ignoring Sirius's death, but mentions of his name pulled the hurt back into her heart.

"Don't you dare bring Sirius into this, sir," her voice had become low and quiet, "it isn't fair."

Severus seemed to slump.

"You're right, I apologise." He straightened again. "But I'm still not sliding down the tunnel. Why do you refuse to fly?" Hermione looked at her shoes, she couldn't meet his eye, it was so embarrassing.

"BecauseIcan't," she mumbled quietly. A warm finger beneath her chin tilted her head up until she was looking straight into his dark eyes. Those beautiful, liquid eyes. She felt her cheeks flush at the contact.

"I didn't quite catch that, Miss Granger, care to try again?" His smirk was mocking but his eyes were soft.

"Because I can't fly, not with any kind of confidence." Her cheeks had become unbearably warm, and she glanced away.

"Okay." She hadn't been expecting that. "You can just ride with me." She looked up, meeting his eyes once more. He looked perfectly serious.

"Um … okay, sure."

"Would you prefer to go in front? Or behind?"

"Behind, I think, I really don't want to see what's happening."

"Let's do this then." He mounted his broom, leaving the other one he had brought propped against a toilet stall. "C'mon." She tried to keep her blush under control as she climbed onto the broom behind him, not quite sure where to put her hands. He solved the problem for her, grasping the hand that wasn't holding Monty and pulling it around his waist. "Hold on tight." Oh, she would be holding on for dear life. "Are you ready?" She wrapped the arm holding Monty around him loosely, careful not to crush the snake, and laid one side of her face flat against his back.

"Ready," she confirmed.

She felt her feet leave the ground and clung onto his warm body even tighter. She felt his chuckle, the oddly echoing sound reverberating from his back and straight into her ear. She smiled despite herself and they plunged into the darkness. It seemed to take an eternity to reach the bottom, the whole time a confusing mixture of pleasure and sheer dread. She wasn't sure which one won. When her feet finally made contact with the ground, she scrambled off the broom, centuries of skeletons crunching underfoot. The light from Severus's wand barely penetrated the darkness, but she did catch sight of a small sconce in the corner. Almost as soon as she'd spotted it, she had it brimming with her signature blue flames.

"You're getting really good at that," Severus said as he went to fetch the torch from the wall.

"Thanks." She tried, and failed, to suppress the Cheshire Cat grin that spread over her face. The fire cast the tunnel in ethereal blue light, the effect somewhat creepy. But at least they could see.

"What are we standing on?" Severus asked, peering at the ground. Hermione didn't have to look, she'd heard it from Harry and Ron often enough.

"Skeletons." His blue-tinted face curled in disgust. "Rodents mostly. Hundreds of years of basilisk snacks." She saw him shudder, sending the light flickering.

"Well, the less time spent in here the better." He marched off down the tunnel, wand in one hand and the torch in the other. A gentle swish of his wand had the pile of rocks Lockhart had unwittingly created swept to the side so they could continue down the tunnel's length unhindered. It didn't take them long to reach the large circular door Harry had described to her years ago. Carved snakes writhed across its surface, as much as she liked the animals, it gave her the heebie-jeebies.

"Right, Monty, do your thing." She stroked a finger along the snake's head and he stirred from his coil around her hand, hissing softly. The writhing snakes began to move even more, each slithering around the edge of the door and sliding home into grooves around its frame. When the last snake was in place, the heavy stone door swung open to reveal a marbled corridor.

"That was a little over the top, don't you agree?" Severus asked her, voice dripping in disdain. "It's nice to know that the founder of my house was just as ridiculous as everyone makes him out to be." She snort-giggled, a little horrified at the sound that came out of her. Still, it wasn't as though he hadn't heard it before. Or that he gave a toss about the way she laughed. They made quick work of the corridor, reaching the large central chamber without any difficulties. Severus rolled his eyes at the monolith that was Slytherin's sculpture. The large basilisk corpse was laid out at its feet.

"How on Earth is it still so intact? I'd have thought it would be a husk by now." Though the flesh of the basilisk appeared to have sagged in places, it still seemed remarkably well-preserved.

"Basilisks don't decay in the usual way. They live to be millennia old, normal biological break-down doesn't happen. They only decay as the residual magic they carry dissipates. Bacteria and the like can't touch them, even when dead. At Hogwarts, the background magic level is so high that it would probably take hundreds of years to decay properly. In fact, the majority of Basilisk parts used in potions come from specimens that are long-dead." Severus had slipped into what she liked to think of as "teacher mode." It was exactly the sort of answer they received in class every week. Clear and to the point. He didn't mess around when it came to their education.

"So where do we start?" she asked, eager to learn.

"Let's do the fangs and venom sacks first. They're the bits we need the most, we should harvest them at our sharpest." They made their way to the beast's mouth. "We'll need something to prop its mouth open." Hermione grabbed a pencil from her bag and quickly transfigured it into a large stick, a fork adorning one end. "Perfect." He handed her the torch, which she charmed to hover in mid-air next to them, and took the stick from her. Wedging the fork on either side of its upper jaw, he levered the mouth open, propping the stick snuggly into a gap between the marble slabs that tiled the floor. "Do you see these sections?" He pointed to large, bulging pustules that lined the inside of the creature's teeth.

"Yes," Hermione said with a grimace. "They look disgusting, like something from a bubotuber plant."

"You'll get more than sores if any of this bursts onto your hands. Get your dragonhide gloves on." He rummaged around in his satchel, pulling on his own gloves and extracting several large, crystal receptacles. "Watch closely," he said, and they set to work.

It took them most of the day to harvest what they needed. The venom sacks and teeth had been incredibly fiddley. Each had to be cut around carefully before the excess flesh that came with them could be stripped away. The hide had been easier. They used a diamond-cutter to score strips into the skin and could then peel it away, like taking the skins off of a boiled tomato. Seeing the grey flesh beneath had been a little off-putting.

Everything was stowed away into Severus's bag. Hermione guessed that it had some sort of extension charm woven into it, Mary Poppins style. Tired and hungry, they made their way back to the entrance and flew back up to Myrtle's bathroom, this time with Hermione sat in front, one of Severus's strong arms around her waist as he controlled the broom with the other. Hermione could still feel the heat from his hand hours later, long after it should have dissipated.

*

They spent the next Saturday preparing the ingredients for storage. Severus wanted Hermione there every step of the way; it wasn't every day you got to experience something like this and he felt it was important that she take advantage of the opportunity and learn as much as she possibly could. A small traitorous part of him whispered that he didn't care how much she learned, he just wanted her there. There had been a lot of giggling on her part, and he caught himself smirking rather more than was usual.

The following Saturday saw them on their daily run and Hermione promising to be in his office by lunchtime so that they could begin working up some potential formulas for their horcrux-destroying potion. Noon came and went but Hermione never showed. He ignored the ticking of the clock, the dragging minutes, and focused on grading some second-year essays. Or he tried to at least.

The clock hands had just dragged themselves to one o'clock when his fire flashed green and Albus's face appeared as a floating spectre. Floo calls always freaked him out a bit. They were just plain strange for someone who'd grown up in a mostly muggle household.

"Severus," the customary twinkle and cheery air were missing, "there was an accident this morning, a poisoning. Horace was on hand and everything is under control but, between you and me, I'd like you to come and have a look. Horace is a truly competent potioneer, but you, Severus, are the best."

"Flattery is hardly necessary, Albus," he snapped. Just seeing his mentor's face these days was trying after everything he was asking of him. "Who was poisoned?"

"Ronald Weasley." Well, that explained Hermione's absence. A swell of jealousy crashed over him before he reminded himself that when it had been him in need of assistance, she had been there. She hadn't left his bedside.

"I'll be right there, headmaster."

What had Hagrid been talking about? What was Professor Dumbledore taking for granted? What was he asking Severus to do?

It had been a rough day. She'd returned to Gryffindor Tower after breakfast, planning to get some studying out of the way before she went down to see Severus. She had a particularly difficult set of problems to solve for Magical Theory and the sleepy, weekend-morning quiet of the common room would allow her to concentrate best. She was just about to settle down at her favourite table when Harry burst into the room, panting and looking around in panic.

"Hermione!" he shouted as he spotted her, and ran over to her table. "It's Ron, you've got to come."

"I'm not interested in anything Ron has done, Harry. You know that."

"Yes, but-"

"No buts, I'm not interested."

"You don't understand," Harry insisted.

"I understand perfectly well that Ron thinks he's done nothing wrong, that he sees no reason to apologise." Hermione was getting fed up of Harry asking her to cut Ron some slack. Why should she? Ron never cut her any.

"He's been poisoned!" Harry shouted at her. She snapped her mouth closed in shock. "Listening now?" he asked, a little rueful. She couldn't blame him. She just nodded and listened to what he had to say. "He scarfed half a box of chocolate cauldrons this morning, thinking they were a birthday present. I'd accidentally chucked them out of my trunk while I was looking for …" he lowered his voice, "the map. Anyway, they were the cauldrons Romilda Vane gave me before Slughorn's party."

"Romilda Vane tried to poison you?" Hermione gasped.

"What?" Harry's face became fixed in his classic confused expression. "No! They were filled with love potion. Ron started acting funny. It took me a minute to figure out what was going on but, when I did, I tricked him into coming to see Slughorn with me. It didn't take long to whip up an antidote. It actually put him in a pretty good mood, I thought it would be the perfect time to ask him about horcruxes."

"What did he tell you?" Hermione asked, excited. She was desperate for Harry to know the truth, she needed to have an honest conversation with her best friend.

"Well, nothing." Hermione sagged. "I never got 'round to it. He poured us some mead as a pick-me-up, said it was supposed to have been a present for Dumbledore, and Ron drank his before we even toasted. He fell to the floor convulsing." Hermione's hands shot up to cover her mouth. "Thank god for the Prince, Hermione. If it hadn't been for that bezoar trick, Ron might have died." It looked like Severus had saved one of their lives yet again. She didn't bother to remind Harry that Severus had taught them about bezoars in their first year of school. "He's in the Hospital Wing now, I haven't heard much but no one sounds too grim. I think he's going to be alright."

"Can we go and see him?" she asked, genuinely worried about the boy she hadn't spoken to in months. What if he'd died and she'd never taken the step to heal their friendship? Life was too short, especially in the current climate, to waste it not forgiving people.

"We can try, I want to find Ginny."

"I'll go up and fetch her." A quick wave of her wand had her school books packed away and she rushed up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, looking for the youngest Weasley.

Hermione spent the day in a tense and frustrated silence. They'd been made to wait in the corridor, desperate for news and being completely ignored when teachers made their way in or out of the Infirmary. Harry and Ginny never stopped discussing what had happened. Hermione barely registered who was coming in and out of the doorway. She'd nearly missed the Weasley twins showing up. Her mind was consumed with blue flames and painful memories.

She was utterly relieved when Madam Pomfrey finally let them in to see him. When Ron murmured her name, it felt like an apology and a thank you all rolled into one. But their stay had been all too brief. And now she was worried again. Only, this time she was worried about Severus. The person who made her laugh and smile was being put-upon. How far had Professor Dumbledore pushed him to get him to snap like that? She wasn't sure if she was glad Hagrid had let knowledge of their fight slip or if she was annoyed. Glad because she could offer him help. Annoyed because he'd let it slip in front of Harry. The animosity on that side was at breaking point as it was.

She took the stairs up to the girls' dormitory slowly, each step a marathon. She was physically and emotionally exhausted after a day of taut nerves and worried thoughts. Thankfully, Lavender and Parvati were nowhere to be seen. She pulled off her jeans and hooded sweatshirt, replacing them with a set of flannel pyjamas and cosy socks. It was definitely a cosy socks kind of evening. She wove her hair into a braid and opened the hangings around her bed. Where she'd been expecting to find a snoozing Crookshanks, she found a tray of food and a note. I figured you haven't eaten since breakfast and the kitchens were serving your favourite ~ SS. She lifted the stasis charm from a bowl of French onion soup and cheese sandwich, a fragrant cloud of steam engulfing her. He was right, she hadn't eaten.

Cross-legged on her bed, she dunked and slurped, contemplating the enigma that was Severus Snape. The man was juxtaposition personified. Warm and cold. Caring yet severe. He was always willing to judge her, was downright cruel in classes. And yet … he was the brutally honest man she'd spent the night with on a balcony. The trusting man she'd helped to heal. The man who loved his dog and teased his best friend. The man who gave her friends detention. The man who put other people's lives above his own, the one Professor Dumbledore asked too much of. He taught her and berated her, he sent her dinner and knew her secrets. He was the man she was slowly falling in love with.

After a few months of running, Hermione could finally keep up with his usual pace. He treasured these times; the grounds took on a fairy-tale quality in the softness of the early-morning twilight and they were surrounded by the sounds of nature. Owls hooted dolefully, birds twittered, Butch barked and panted. He and Hermione would fall into a rhythm, footfall matching crunching footfall, their breathing heavy and in sync.

They were almost half-way around their usual route along the lake shore when Hermione stopped dead. He slowed and turned to face her.

"Something the matter, Miss Granger?" She shuffled from foot to foot, her left hand grasping her right elbow. Slowly, she brought her focus up from the ground and captured his eyes with her own.

"I need to talk to you."

"Oh?"

"About yesterday."

"What about yesterday?" he asked.

"Well, first off I'm sorry I missed our appointment. It completely slipped my mind."

"Understandable given the circumstances," he replied with a shrug.

"And I'd like to thank you for the soup." She paused, staring at him. Waiting for him to speak. He decided to oblige.

"You're welcome, although this hardly seems reason enough to stop our run."

"It's not the reason I stopped us."

"You don't say?" She ignored his sarcasm completely, uncharacteristic of her to say the least.

"Who is trying to kill Professor Dumbledore?" He hadn't been expecting that. "And what has he asked you to do that's too much? How is he taking you for granted?" He certainly hadn't been expecting that.

"What makes you think anyone is trying to kill Albus Dumbledore?" She rolled her eyes at him.

"It's obvious, who else would they be trying to kill? That mead Ron drank was supposed to be a present for Professor Dumbledore. The necklace had to get inside the castle, the headmaster was the only target that made sense."

"What about Potter?" he interrupted.

"Harry was behind Katie when she was cursed, even Harry figured out he wasn't the target of that attack."

"So, if someone is trying to kill the headmaster, who? Who within the castle would do that?"

"I never suggested they were inside the castle, both attacks came from outside. That narrows it down considerably." Well, fuck. She was right there. "To answer your question, I think it's Malfoy. As much as I hate to admit it, Harry's right: Malfoy is definitely up to something."

"You're right, of course, Malfoy junior has been tasked with killing Albus. A fact Albus is well-and-truly aware of." He was telling her too much, but he trusted her. Completely.

"And is he aware that you made an Unbreakable Vow to protect and help him?" How in the hell did she know that?

"Yes, he is. Have you been spying on me?"

"No, Harry's been spying on Malfoy. Obsessively. But you're dodging the other question. What has Professor Dumbledore asked you to do? Why is he taking you for granted?"

"I think I've proven that I trust you, Miss Granger. Would you agree?" She nodded. "Then I'm going to have to ask that you return that trust and let the matter be." She opened her mouth, undoubtedly to argue, but he cut her off. "I need you to let it go for now. Albus has asked something of me, and I will do it. You'll know the truth eventually but, for now, I need you to simply trust me. Can you do that?"

"I trust you, Severus."

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

I trust you, Severus.

The words echoed around his head, filling his thoughts deep into the night. She'd said them with such conviction. She'd called him Severus. They'd continued their run in silence, parting ways in the Entrance Hall as usual. He'd missed her presence since then. Felt her missing as he graded papers, wanted to talk to her as he ate lunch alone in his office, wanted to discuss the article he'd read by the fire with her. He'd been in love before, he recognised the symptoms. The longing to see her every morning, the need he felt to share the funny moments in life with her. The swooping sensation that filled his stomach every time he saw her. The goosebumps that covered his skin when she looked in his direction.

He was utterly and unequivocally in love with Hermione Granger.

And she had called him Severus.

True, she'd called him that before. But he'd been delirious with pain and she'd needed to get his attention. It was an act of necessity. This felt different, was different. But she was his student. His brilliant, brave, beautiful student. A student who gave a damn about him, a student who trusted him. But a student nonetheless. An of-age student a traitorous part of himself whispered. Taking her Time-Turner use into consideration, she was legally an adult in both the magical world and the muggle one. He wanted to talk to Bel. She would certainly understand, she wouldn't judge him. And that was the problem: going to Bel would be a get-out-of-jail-free card. She would tell him that love is love, that it's meant to be. That you shouldn't ignore fate. He needed judgment. He needed Minerva staring at him over her square spectacles, telling him that he's an authority figure. Telling him it was beyond the bounds of propriety. And it was, he was sure of that.

He may be in love with his student, but that was as far as it would go. As far as it could go. He needed to distance himself. He may need her trust, but he didn't need her to care. He was doing her a favour, really. If she didn't care, it would hurt her less when the inevitable happened. It was in her best interest. It had to be. Hermione … he corrected himself … Miss Granger had to think she was just another student. There could be no more Severus. With that thought, he downed the rest of his beer and stumbled off to bed.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for talking out of turn, Miss Granger."

"I didn't realise I was talking out of turn, Professor." She was confused to say the least.

"Did I call on you?" he asked, voice severe.

"No, sir."

"Then that's talking out of turn isn't it, Miss Granger?" She muttered under her breath - what year did he think it was? "What was that, Miss Granger?"

"I said, sir, that I didn't think we were living in the Victorian era." She heard Ron gasp beside her and Harry grasped her wrist. Severus's eyes glittered darkly. She was pretty sure she knew what was coming next.

"Detention, Miss Granger." At least now he would have to talk to her, he'd been positively cantankerous for the last week or so. It was high time he snapped out of it. They'd never get any research done as long as he remained so stand-offish. "Report to Mr Filch at eight o'clock this evening."

"What?" Hermione gasped. Filch, really? Of all the pathetic, childish nonsense! If he was mad about her questioning him the other day, he should just come out and say it. This passive-aggressive behaviour would get them nowhere.

"Are you hard of hearing, Miss Granger?"

"Not the last time I checked, sir."

"I thought not. You have your instructions, see that you follow them. The rest of you, stop gawking and start practising. Or do you think your open mouths will be sufficient defence against someone who's trying to curse you?"

The classroom became a flurry of activity as everyone got to work. She watched him turn on the spot, his robes turning it into a flourishing twirl, and strode back to the front of the classroom. Although it would have been impossible to hear over the noise of the classroom anyway, she knew his tread would be completely silent. Snarky bastard.

She practised the adaptation of a shield charm they were using with Neville. He would throw a weak curse unwilling to hurt her and she would deflect it with a thought and a jab of her wand. When it was Neville's turn to practise, she decided to send the most harmless thing she could his way, a plate-dropping curse. She threw her first spell and he managed to erect his shield just in time, muttering the incantation under his breath. She was about to throw the curse again when the hair on the back of her neck prickled and she felt a looming presence behind her. One glance at Neville's terrified face told her all it needed to.

Fury was welling up inside her. How dare he treat her like this? Her skin burned with her anger, she could hear her hair begin to crackle. She threw a curse at Neville and, without breaking stride, stormed out of the classroom slamming the door behind her. Once in the corridor, she looked left and right, checking it was empty. She checked the ceiling for Peeves, before breathing out heavily through her nose, letting loose a stream of fire as she did so. She leant her forehead against the cool stone of the castle wall and felt her temper begin to sink. No one could get under her skin like he could. She'd always had a temper, a look at her relationship with Ron could tell even the most casual of passers-by that, but he infuriated her on a whole new level.

Why was he treating her like this? It was as though he was deliberately riling her up, pushing all the right buttons in the right combination. He wouldn't look at her when they ran in the mornings, wouldn't even respond to her greetings. He'd even pushed back a branch that was normally in the way on their route and allowed it snap back into its place once he was through. He usually held the branch long enough to allow her through as well but on Monday he'd let it twang back, dangerously close to taking an eye out. And now she had detention for answering one of Neville's questions. This was the Professor Snape that Harry professed to know, not the Severus she knew. Where was the kind and thoughtful man of a week ago? She missed him.

After about five minutes, she felt calm enough to go back in. The class was just wrapping up their practice drills. She slipped into her seat and arranged her parchment and quill, ready to take the notes he always gave them about their performances, never afraid to name names. As per usual, the list of mistakes was bountiful and really quite useful. Trust Severus to provide feedback in its most insulting format. The bastard. She should not be thinking that with fondness, and she definitely shouldn't be thinking of him as her bastard.

She decided, then and there, that she wasn't going to let him push her away. Or whatever it was he was trying to do. She would accept his ire and give him only yessirs, nosirs, and smiles in return. She was not going to let his foul temper get to her. Harry and Ron were clearly disturbed with her new-found serenity. They had both ranted and raged as they left the classroom to head for dinner in the Great Hall.

"He's just doing his job," she defended. "And it's Professor Snape, Ron, not the greasy git."

"You can't deny that he's greasy, 'Mione, that's just a fact."

She shrugged.

"I can deny him being a git, though. He's a tough teacher, he always has been, but I for one have never failed to learn in his classes."

"You never fail to learn in any teacher's class," Ron retorted. Harry coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "Divination."

"Just leave it, Ron. Accept that everything he does is for a reason and that you'll never be able to do anything about it anyway. Accept it and move the hell on." Ron gasped.

"You don't swear, 'Mione!"

"What do you mean I don't swear? And "hell" is hardly swearing."

"I don't think I've ever heard you swear before."

"Don't be ridiculous, you must have. I swear sometimes." Although recently, she seemed to be saving her swearing for Severus. "I called you a fucktard a fortnight ago."

"I never heard you."

"Well, of course not. I said it at your retreating back."

"It's true," Harry confirmed, "she stuck her tongue out and stamped her foot and everything."

"Oh, I did not." She elbowed Harry in the ribs.

"I suppose not, but you looked like you wanted to." She couldn't deny that. "I have to say, 'Mione, it's nice that it's you in detention for a change."

"Harry!" she said, pseudo-scandalised.

"Well, it's true," Harry protested. "You get into just as much mischief as we do and how many times have you had detention? Once? Twice?"

"This will be my third," she said with a grin. "And I do not get up to as much mischief as you two."

"You do so," Ron said, jumping on Harry's bandwagon. "You break school rules left, right, and centre." He wasn't wrong there, she had certainly had her share over the years she'd been at Hogwarts.

"There's one big difference between the way I break rules and the way you two do, Ron Weasley."

"And what's that, then?"

"I don't get caught." She poked her tongue out at him, flashed a cheeky grin, and darted into the Great Hall. It was damn good to be friends with Ron again.

Though he was sure that his plan had been working, it appeared as though he was sorely mistaken. Hermi … Miss Granger didn't seem to be affected by his performance at all. He'd really thought he'd had her in class. He'd been completely unreasonable, and she had reacted exactly as he'd expected. He would bet galleons that she'd left the class about to burst into flames. When she came back in, she'd kept her head down and taken notes, the very image of a chastened young woman.

He'd followed them after class. Well, not followed, they were all going to the same place after all. After everything he'd put her through over the last week or so – the cold glares he'd practised in the mirror, completely ignoring her in the morning, the scathing looks in class – she was still defending him in the hallways. It warmed that small, traitorous part of him that basked in her light. But it wouldn't do. He would have to step up his game. It was time to bring in an expert.

He stopped at Bel's chair on the way to his own and leant in close, till his lips were practically brushing her ear. "My place, eight o'clock. Line your stomach." The closeness was completely unnecessary, he mostly did it to annoy Minerva, who was glaring at him in that predictably normal way she did. You could practically set your watch by Minerva McGonagall. He slid into his seat next to the stern professor and filled his plate with the creamy spaghetti carbonara that sat in a dish between them. The house elves had even provided parmesan cheese and dish of extra bacon lardons. By Merlin, but he loved the house elves, always anticipating the needs of the castle's inhabitants. If you had a good relationship with the house elves, you were guaranteed a comfortable life at Hogwarts.

He settled in the staffroom after dinner, Butch stretched out next to the fire. He liked to do his grading in here when he didn't have office hours. It was nice to be out of the dungeons, and the gossip he could overhear was well worth the occasional interruptions. Plus, Butch liked to be around people. She was fussed over by half the people who came into the room. Hooch was particularly fond of her. She would park herself on the floor when she came in, Butch between her legs, and give her a groom. Butch loved it and it meant that Severus didn't have to do it. A win-win if you asked him, which no one ever did of course.

He tended to save the NEWT level essays for when he was working in his office, but the lower-level homework was perfect for the bustling staffroom. He was grading some third-year assignments on lethifolds - Benjamin Spinnet had mistakenly called them "dark shrubs" instead of "dark shrouds" - when a topic of conversation pricked his ears.

"It's so nice to see the Gryffindor trio back together," that was Septima Vector. "I really thought they'd had it this time. Hermione always puts a bit too much effort into her homework when they're on the outs. I have to do extra reading just to keep up with her references." Severus suppressed a snort, Septima wasn't wrong on that front.

"What was it this time?" Filius asked. "I had noticed something was the matter, but I can't say that I pay much attention to student dynamics. Especially not outside of Ravenclaw."

"It was Miss Granger and Mr Weasley who fell out this time." Minerva always was an insatiable gossip. "Something about a fight over Miss Brown. I think Miss Granger had invited him to Horace's Christmas party and he threw her over for the Brown girl."

"Though why anyone would throw over Miss Granger is beyond me." He hadn't heard Bel come in. "She's pretty, intelligent, and can hold up her end of a conversation, whether academic or just banter. I've never had the pleasure of teaching Miss Brown, but she seems rather … dull in comparison."

"I heard it wasn't her conversational skills Weasley was looking for," Septima said with a snicker.

"I'm sure Miss Granger's good for more than just her conversation!" Bel again.

"Belinda!" Minerva exclaimed scandalised.

"What? Isn't she the one who dated Krum during the Triwizard Tournament? He must have been two or three years older than her! Last time I checked, international Quidditch stars don't normally date people for their conversational skills." A tightness curled in Severus's stomach, and he tried to tell himself it wasn't jealousy.

"As fascinating as I find the love lives of teenagers," he said from his chair, back to everyone, "would you mind keeping it down? Some of us are trying to do our jobs."

Embarrassed silence fell and all that could be heard was the scratching of quills and Butch's sniffling until Severus got up to leave, grading finished, at quarter to eight.

He marched out of the room and made his way to his quarters - knowing that Bel would follow him in her own sweet time - as Butch trotted along next to him. He checked briefly on Monty, who was curled up on his heat pad, and slipped the essays into his filing cabinet. Once in the privacy of his rooms, he stripped out of his robes and pulled on a pair of old, worn Levi's and a dark green jumper Molly Weasley had knitted for him last Christmas. There was a knock on the door as Severus was pulling on some thick, woollen socks and Bel let herself in.

"Why bother knocking, if you're not going to wait for a response?" he asked wryly, moving into the living area and kissing her cheek.

"If I waited, I think the shock would kill you," she responded cheekily, dropping to the floor in front of the fire. Bel never really was one for furniture. He sat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, leaning back against the couch. He hadn't been able to sit unsupported since his teenage years.

"How are you both older than me and more agile?" he grumbled.

"I get laid more than you do." She spat her tongue out at him before blowing him a kiss.

"And you reckon that's it?"

"Well, that and the fact that I'm not at the beck and call of two masters, one of whom is a torturous megalomaniac."

"Now, now, Bel. You shouldn't talk about the headmaster like that." Laughter bubbled behind her lips and they were soon laughing together. The full, belly laughs that can only be achieved with best friends.

"I may be more agile, but you're still going to have to help me up." She stretched out her legs and winced at the painful cracking noise they made.

"I guess we can call it even then. Accio tequila."

"Going straight for the hard stuff, I see."

"It's been a hard stuff kind of life," he said with a shrug. "Do I need to summon glasses?"

"Nah, bottle's fine by me." She snatched the bottle from him, unscrewed the cap and took a gulp, grimacing.

"Why is muggle tequila so much better than the wizarding kind? I don't know what we do to our variety to ruin it," she said as he snatched the bottle back and took a gulp himself, mirroring her previous grimace.

"I don't know," he took another sip, smoother this time. "I can't even drink the wizarding stuff. Any of it, really. Firewiskey is fucking awful and don't even get me started on butterbeer." They passed the bottle back and forth, taking small sips and shuddering occasionally. Bel scooted around to his side of the coffee table, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"I've been meaning to ask, how's it going with that girl? The one from the Christmas party?"

"Jenny? She's actually still in the picture, if you can believe it. I spend an awful lot of time at her place."

"Oh? A keeper, is she?"

"Possibly," Bel said with a small smile. "We're not very serious just yet, but I haven't seen anyone else in months. It's a bit weird, I'm so used to hopping between people that it's odd to stay in one place. My mom seems relieved that I'm just talking about one person in my letters now, although I think she'd have been more relieved if I landed on a guy. But I couldn't do it, not for forever."

"You reckon? What's wrong with guys?"

"Don't get me wrong, guys are great. More than great, the sex works with very little effort on my part."

"You know, just because you don't have to do anything, doesn't mean you shouldn't do anything!"

"And I do love stubble," she brushed her soft cheek against his, rasping his five o'clock shadow. "But you're the only guy I need in my life!" She kissed his cheek.

"I wish I could say you were the only woman I need in mine."

"I wondered when we'd get around to the reason we're drinking. How is Hermione Granger?"

"I desperately want to shag her," he said, out loud and unabashed.

"I thought as much."

"How?"

"How could I not? You've gone from not looking at her at all to watching her all the time. Don't think I don't see you sneaking glances at her through your hair in the Great Hall." He felt a blush creeping into his cheeks. "You stiffen when anybody mentions her name in the staffroom. You look ready to murder Ron Weasley, your only real competition." He couldn't fault her, everything she said was true. "But I see something else as well."

"What?" he asked, after swallowing a rather large gulp of tequila.

"I see the way she looks back at you."

"What, in Merlin's name, is that supposed to mean?"

"I see the softening of her face, the smiles she tries to hide, that pretty pink blush she does so well. I watched her take care of you after you were hurt last month."

"She called me Severus the other day, straight to my face."

"And that's … bad?" Bel asked, uncertainty written all over her face. "I had her call me Bel when you were sick."

"I haven't invited her to use my name, and nor would I."

"And that means what exactly?"

"It means," he paused for a long-suffering sigh, "it means that it just slipped out."

"It means that she thinks of you as Severus," Bel finished, realisation dawning on her face. "And you think that's a bad thing, correct?"

"Yes."

"You think that a brilliant, beautiful young woman liking and caring about you is a bad thing?"

"Yes."

"Oh, well, thanks."

"I don't mean you, you don't count, you're hardly a spring chicken" he countered. "And anyway, you're my person, it's different." She laughed that throaty laugh of hers and swatted him on the arm.

"I'm just messing with you, Sev. Although, I really don't see why Hermione Granger falling for you is a bad thing. A little love never hurt anyone."

"I never said anything about love." Never mind that he'd been thinking about it.

"Oh, please."

"Why should she? I've never been much of a catch."

"Oh, don't start on the woe-is-me stuff," she took a large gulp of tequila, "it doesn't suit you. Get a grip, Sev. I'm going to lay out the facts as I see them, okay?"

"Fine" There was no point trying to stop her, she'd do what she wanted regardless of anything he had to say about it, incorrigible woman that she was.

"You, Severus Snape, want shag Hermione Granger."

"Correct. At some point anyway."

"You're worried that you're not going to survive the war, correct?" That seemed like a given.

"Yes."

"Hermione Granger appears to care for you, may even be falling in love with you."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far."

"And you don't want her to hurt more than necessary should something … unpleasant … occur in the inevitable future conflict."

"More or less."

"And you clearly have never heard the expression," her fingers rose to form air quotes, "better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all."

"Oh, don't start with that nonsense. She'll fall in love with someone else. Probably the Weasley brat." Severus could hear the venom in his voice as he talked about the youngest Weasley son.

"But what if you're destined to be together?" she asked, voice an uncanny impression of Trelawny.

"We both know very well that you don't believe in that utter codswallop!" And yet … they both had been gifted with elemental magic. And he'd seen her calculations, they were supposed to trust each other. You're supposed to trust each other, you don't have to love each other he reminded himself. Trust. They had that, and it would have to be enough.

"But you want to believe it, don't you?" Bel asked him.

"Of course, I do." He'd jumped to his feet and he could feel his voice building, becoming louder. "Of course, I want to believe it! Of course, I want her to love me. I want her to be there every evening. I want to wake up next to her. I want to shag her into oblivion. I want everything!" He stood there panting, his eyes bleary. He took a deep breath and carried on at a more acceptable volume. "Of course, I want those things. But, above all, I don't want her to get hurt."

"And how are you going to stop her from getting hurt?"

"I'm going to make her hate me."

"And how are you going to make her hate you?"

"That, my dear, is where you come in."

"I'm not going to talk smack about you to her, if that's what you're thinking." She crossed her arms, giving him a really quite excellent (and most likely deliberate) view of her cleavage. He dragged his eyes back to her face and she threw him a cheeky grin.

"You, my dear, are going to make her think you're in love with me."

She didn't let him get to her. In fact, she forced her presence on him. Knocking on his office door to show him her latest calculations or run a new theory by him. He would engage on an intellectual level, but if she turned the conversation towards anything personal, he would shut her out. He used "Miss Granger" in practically every comment he addressed her with and point blank refused to talk to her in the mornings.

Gradually, she began to notice that he wasn't actually alone very often. Professor Bagshot would be in his office, or he in hers. Her hands frequently touching his arms. She noticed him opening doors for her in the halls and she was sure she saw them spring apart when she walked into his office one evening.

It was a Wednesday morning, and she had arrived in the Entrance Hall about five minutes early for their silent jog. He appeared from the dungeons with Professor Bagshot in tow, the arm around her waist hastily retracted when he spotted her. She pretended not to notice anything, averting her eyes and not acknowledging Professor Bagshot as the professor in question wished her good morning.

Did he think she was stupid? Clearly.

Later that day, she rapped on his office door and was told to enter. "Good evening, Professors," she turned to the other woman in the room. "Would you mind excusing us, Professor Bagshot? I need to talk to Professor Snape alone."

"Of course, Miss Granger," she said, giving Hermione a bright smile, and left the room with a flourish of her plum-coloured robes. Hermione sat down in the deliberately uncomfortable chair opposite her professor's desk and stared at him. He stared right back at her, barely even deigning to blink. A large grandfather clock ticked, ticked, ticked from the corner of the room, counting by the seconds and still Hermione stared.

"What do you need, Miss Granger?" Severus asked eventually.

"What do you think I need, sir?"

"I'm not a mi- … fortune-teller, Miss Granger." She suppressed a giggle at his slip; he was, of course, a mind reader. "What do you need?" he said, more forcefully this time.

"What I need, what we all need, is for you to stop acting like a numpty." It was out there now, no taking it back. She waited for the fall-out. He didn't disappoint.

"What did you call me?" His voice was raised, a vein pulsing in his temple.

"I called you a numpty," she said calmly.

"And why," he'd wrestled his voice back under control, transformed almost-shouting to low and dangerous, "did you call me that, Miss Granger?"

"It's simple really, sir. You clearly think I'm an idiot, and only a numpty would presume as much."

"You're not half as clever as you think you are, Miss Granger."

"Yet, still cleverer than you give me credit for."

"And why, pray tell, do you think that I think you're an idiot?"

"Because you expect me to believe that you and Professor Bagshot are … dating? Or whatever it is you're pretending." Time to see if she was right.

"Is it really so difficult to believe that a woman could find me attractive?"

"Of course not, sir. If you thought that I thought that, we wouldn't be here."

"What, in Merlin's good name, are you blathering about, Miss Granger?"

"Taking your status as a numpty into consideration, I'm going to lay it out for you." He looked like he was about to interrupt so she hurriedly continued. "You have clearly figured out that I have a crush on you and have come to the conclusion that you have to discourage this crush. Hence the sham that is yours and Professor Bagshot's relationship. I know you're just friends. Best friends. Besides, if you were actually dating, or whatever, there is no way that you would be so careless as to let me find out. Your first mistake was thinking you need to discourage my crush, you really needn't bother. You're attractive, brave, and intelligent, but I'm not some adoring fangirl trying to sleep with the band. Your second mistake was allowing this need to get rid of my crush to disrupt what should really be research time. We have a brilliant, potentially war-changing idea to work on and you're treating me like a child instead of letting us work together. I'll get over a crush, I won't get over being killed in a drawn-out war." Again, he opened his mouth as though to interrupt. "And so, this is what we're going to do: you're going to stop treating me as though I have the lurgy, we're going to work together to figure out this potion, and we're going to take the war effort one step closer to defeating You-Know-Who. Deal?" She held out an only-slightly-shaking hand across the desk.

"Deal." She almost melted with relief when he reached across his desk to shake. "Now tell me, Miss Granger, what in Merlin's name is the lurgy?"

Relief was coursing through his system. He had over-reacted, quite considerably. He supposed that was only to be expected when making important life-choices half-way into a bottle of tequila.

"You don't know what the lurgy is? You never caught it at school?"

"Is it some kind of illness, then?" She giggled, the tinkling sound devolving into a snort.

"Sort of. What games did you use to play in primary school? In the playground?" she asked him, that cheeky smile playing over her lips.

"I can't say that I was particularly popular on the playground." He mock-scowled. "I was a skinny kid with long hair and clothes that didn't fit. In the sixties. Kids were crueller back then."

"Not even Bulldog? Or Piggy-in-the-Middle?"

"Does runaway-before-they-smash-your-face-in count?" he asked, wryly.

"That's basically Bulldog, so sure." Talking to her like this felt right, it had been incredibly stupid to freeze her out over the last few weeks. What had he been thinking?

"And what does the lurgy have to do with Bulldog?"

"Well, nothing really," she admitted, "but I was planning to use it as a clever segue into an anecdote about how we used to play Kiss-Chase, but you ruined it by recounting your melancholy childhood."

"I apologise for being bullied as a child." Her smile twitched and he could tell she was holding back a laugh. "So, you played something called Kiss-Chase?"

"Yep."

"That sounds a bit rapey."

"Now that I think about it, it really was. It was a game where the girls would chase the boys around the playground and try to kiss them against their will."

"I think you'll probably find that most of those boys were perfectly willing," he said with a laugh. "I know I would have been."

"Well, if they were, they kept it hidden. If someone got kissed, the rest of the boys would tease him for the rest of the day and say that he had the lurgy."

"So, the lurgy is girl germs?"

"Precisely."

"So, you're suggesting that I think you have girl germs?"

"I guess I am?" she asked, uncertain.

"And you're saying that you don't have girl germs?"

"Correct."

"But you are a girl?" he asked in mock-seriousness.

"I prefer woman." And what a woman.

"And you do have germs?" he asked.

"I suppose so, yes?"

"So, you lied to me? You do, in fact, have the lurgy."

"Well, shit. That's me outsmarted."

"Language, Miss Granger."

"I do apologise, sir. I'll be more careful in future." And then she had the audacity to spit her tongue out at him. Sweet Merlin, he loved her.

"See that you do, Miss Granger." He could feel himself smiling despite trying to keep his face under control.

"I have a lot of work to do this evening. But I'll see you tomorrow morning?" she asked.

"You always do."

"And perhaps we can start on some proper research? Take advantage of the weekend?" Her voice wavered a little as she asked.

"Sounds good to me." It sounded really good. She stood up, tucking her chair in neatly and walked to the door, pulling it open.

"Good night, sir."

"Good night…" She shut the door behind her. "…Hermione."

He should have a lot to think about. Too much, really. But instead of over-analysing himself into a mess, he decided not to think about it. He, Severus Snape, meticulous planner and spy extraordinaire, was going to just go with it. He decided to let whatever he had with Hermione unfold naturally. He was also going to stop drinking when faced with major life choices. He probably should have stopped that particular habit a long time ago.

Instead, he turned his mind to their research. The bottom drawer of his filing cabinet was filled with his old lab diaries, he unlocked it and started to rifle through its contents. He liked to go over his old projects before starting a new one, it helped him slip into the right frame of mind. His fingers found the diary he had used during his apprenticeship, the dark blue leather familiar under his fingers. He flipped it open, looking over his notes for an improved version of the Wolfsbane potion. His tight scrawl filled many of the pages, annotated with a delicate, looping cursive. His master insisted on having full access to his notes, insisted on critiquing and amending his work. It was a simple charm really, just a variation of the protean charm. It allowed anything written in linked journals to appear in both.

He put it back in its slot in the drawer and left his office, heading to the staff room. He ignored the greetings from various colleagues and went straight for the supply cupboard. It was, as expected, a shit-tip. Quills, ink, and rolls of parchment were stored in no particular order. Box files were stacked precariously on one another, and a box of pencils had fallen, its contents scattered all over the floor. He knew what the next young miscreant to cross him would be doing in their detention. In the back of the room, he found a stack of wine-red lab diaries. The covers were stain-proof and acid-resistant, their pages thick and creamy. He grabbed two and left the staffroom as quickly as he'd arrived.

It took him a few tries, and he had to page through one of his more advanced charms texts, but he managed it. He wrote his name in one of them, watching as it appeared in its twin, and then wrote her name under his own in the other. Perfect. He added a series of privacy charms he'd picked up over the years, the combined effect would give a curse breaker a run for their money, and set them in the bottom drawer of his desk, ready for the morning. Yawning, he stretched out his stiff arms and aching neck, wishing he could go to bed. Instead, he fetched Butch from the basket she'd settled in (by this point, she had baskets all over the castle), and took her outside for a quick wander before bed.

Despite the success of their talk the previous day, Hermione was nervous. Their morning run had been quiet but pleasant - silence of the comfortable variety. She hoped that they would fall into the easy camaraderie of the evening before, but Severus's moods had the uncanny ability to turn like the wind. She opened the door when he beckoned her inside and was about to greet him when he spoke.

"I've got a surprise for you." Unless she was seriously mistaken, he looked almost … giddy. Not a word she ever thought she'd use to describe him.

"A surprise?" She could hear the uncertainty in her voice and hoped he hadn't noticed it. It almost felt like a trick, like she was about to become the butt of an elaborate joke. She'd felt like this when Viktor had asked her out in her fourth year, she'd been sure it was a dare. It was the reason why she out-right refused to tell Harry and Ron who she was going with, she'd been worried he would ditch her right before the Yule Ball. But she'd been wrong about Viktor, and her logical side told her she was wrong about Severus too.

"Yes," he reached into a low desk drawer and withdrew … a book. "Here." She took the book from him, fingers brushing slightly, and turned it over in her hands. The ruby leather was soft and supple.

"Is this a journal?" she asked.

"A lab diary. I thought that you'd want to keep track of everything we do whilst creating this potion. It's best practice to keep one for every project you undertake."

"It's beautiful, thank you."

"I have one too, watch." He picked up his fountain pen and began to write in an identical diary. She gasped as the leather grew warm beneath her fingers. "Now, open yours." She flipped it open and stared at the first page. Their names were etched onto the top line and as she watched, words appeared beneath them. I, Severus Snape, do solemnly swear that Hermione Granger does not have the lurgy. She burst into laughter. Gut-wrenching, cheek-aching laughter. She laughed all the harder when his velvety baritone of a laugh joined hers. Eventually, they calmed down enough for Hermione to open her eyes and wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"This is amazing! We'll be able to pool our ideas as we go! You'll be able to tell me if I've got the wrong end of the stick, and I can run proper calculations on what your gut tells you! We could even play hangman!"

"You're definitely going to have to explain that one to me."

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

Hermione couldn't remember when she'd been happier. Her relationship with Ron was fixed (for now, at least), she spent a good deal of time hanging out with the boys, her school work was practically doing itself, and she was swapping and sharing ideas with Severus Snape. Not only was she gaining insight into his mind (his annotations on her ideas were priceless), she was also getting a pretty good look into his habits. Her lab diary would warm at odd times. He'd dip into it throughout the day; she'd once felt it warm whilst she was in his class and looked up to see him scribbling away at his desk whilst they peer-reviewed each other's papers on the defensive uses of jinxes. She decided to sleep with it one evening and was awoken at about three o'clock in the morning.

The following day, she decided to ask him about it. "How much sleep would you say you get each night?" she asked as they jogged.

"Normally, four or five hours. Six on the weekends. Why?" She was surprised he answered so readily.

"I noticed you writing in the lab diary really early this morning. Had you been up all that time?"

"As touching as your concern is," his tone was dry, "I just woke up with an idea."

"That actually happens to you?" she asked, amazed.

"What? What d'you mean it 'actually happens'?"

"It's just that I've read about people who keep notebooks and the like by their beds so that they can write down any sudden stroke of genius that occurs when they sleep. That never happens to me, I just have regular dreams."

"I wouldn't call them 'strokes of genius,' Miss Granger. It was more like a stroke of 'remember to lower the temperature of the cauldron otherwise it'll curdle the potion.' But, by all means, call it what you will." He turned around to face her, jogging backwards. "If not potions, what do you dream about?" he asked brazenly. She was glad that she was already flushed, maybe he wouldn't notice her extreme embarrassment.

"Oh, you know … just silly stuff really. I rarely remember them." What was he expecting her to say? Just you snogging me on a steamy platform next to the Hogwarts Express, Mr Thornton style. This kind of dream had been hard to avoid since she'd used the Christmas present Harry gave her.

"I see," his crooked smile was annoyingly knowing. He dropped back to running beside her. They slowed to a halt when Butch stopped to sniff at a tree, both of them knowing what was about to come next.

"Looks like this is going to be a long one," Hermione said ruefully. Butch giving her surroundings a good sniff usually meant that she was planning on using them for a while. She plonked down on the grass and lay back, pillowing her head in the cradle of her hands. To her immense surprise, Severus joined her. "So," she started, "what do you dream about?"

"Why d'you want to know?"

"I want to get to know you better."

"Well, okay then." He paused and for a moment she thought he was going to change his mind. "The thing about my dreams, or nightmares, is that I remember them. Or at least I remember a lot of them."

"Do you have many nightmares then?"

"Of course, I do." He said it so matter-of-factly. "It sounds dramatic, but you don't live through the things I have without having nightmares. It's one of the best ways for me to process traumatic events. You could say that my nightmares help to keep me sane."

"You're right."

"About what?"

"That was dramatic." He elbowed her lightly in the ribs and she giggled.

"But I also dream about lots of other things too. I once dreamt that I'd been crowned Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor and had to spend the day fending off wanton witches and their unwelcome advances."

"Why unwelcome?" she asked.

"If someone is going to pay me attention, I'd rather it was because they were actually interested. Not just because a magazine has told them I'm worth it." She could hear his crooked half-smile in his voice and knew that, if she looked over, she'd be treated to a glimpse of a dimple.

"I know what you mean," she said. "I don't know if you remember, but a lot of rumours were circulated about me a couple of years ago. Witch Weekly had me jumping between famous quidditch players."

"If I recall correctly, I read one of those articles out loud in one of your Potions classes."

"You did, I think it's the only time I've ever truly disliked you. It was mortifying."

"I'm sorry to hear it … I tried to make you dislike me more than just the once." It was her turn to elbow him.

"Anyway, a bunch of guys took that article to mean that I was easy. I got catcalled in the halls and people I barely knew would come up to me and tell me that they could give me a good time."

"And what did you do?"

"I told them they wouldn't know a good time if it danced naked in front of them." He laughed a little. "And I told Professor McGonagall. The Hospital Wing was spotless after that article came out." He laughed a little more and she felt a happy blush spread over her cheeks.

"Boys are idiots. If any of them had any sense, they'd have asked you out before any of those articles appeared."

"Right?" She covered her delight with bravado. "That's what I keep saying! It's probably not a surprise to find out that I had a crush on Ron from pretty much the first time I met him, is it?"

"Unfathomable, but not particularly surprising, no."

"I was furious at him for waiting until the last possible moment to ask me to the Yule Ball. The only reason he even bothered to ask was because he was worried about how he would look if he couldn't find a date."

"I know he's your friend, but Weasley is an idiot."

"Agreed."

"You said had."

"What?" she asked, confused.

"You said you had, not have. When did that change?"

"I think Lavender Brown was the last straw. She was absolutely intolerable to share a room with when they first started dating."

"You share a room with her? Dear Merlin." He faux-shuddered dramatically. "I shouldn't say this as a teacher, but I was so glad to be shot of her at the end of last year. You could not imagine my disappointment when I realised that teaching Defence meant teaching her again. And Longbottom."

"Neville's not so bad!" She elbowed him again.

"He may be the nicest bloke in the world, but the boy is terrified of me! It makes him useless in my classes."

"Have you ever tried being less terrifying?"

"Don't be absurd. Plus, it probably wouldn't make a difference. The fear is too ingrained, he's internalised it. I doubt that'll ever change."

"You could try …"

"It could be amusing. Longbottom won't know what's hit him." They both dissolved into laughter. Butch barked and ran over at the sudden noise, leapt onto Severus's chest and proceeded to lick his face. She switched to Hermione's when he shooed her away.

"I love your dog," Hermione said.

"I love her too."

Severus watched as her neat handwriting blossomed over the page, the letters small and perfect. They'd been working in these diaries for weeks now and he never grew tired of it. He was so used to doing things on his own that this was a sweet relief - a weight shared. And, for once, he was doing something because he wanted to, because he thought it was a good idea. His masters had nothing to do with it. Sure, Hermione had pulled him in with her fire and her calculations, but this … partnership felt right. It felt right.

Later, he was grading some third-year tests when he felt the journal warm up beside him, he didn't even try to pretend to ignore it. He picked it up straight away and flicked through the early pages to where they'd been writing last. Nothing was appearing, but the diary was still warm. He let the pages glide past his thumb as he flicked through, looking for any trace of the green ink Hermione preferred to write in. There, right at the back. He opened it up properly, wincing as the spine strained beneath his fingers. History of Magic is beyond dull today, let's play a game.

What kind of game? He wrote in his cramped, but legible, script. He couldn't blame her for being bored in that class. He'd slept through most of his and that had only been up to his OWLs. He shuddered to think of the new heights of boredom Binns was capable of taking NEWT level history to.

Do you remember me telling you about hangman?

Yes. Hermione had explained the game to him whilst they'd been running a few weeks ago. Logically, he knew that if they were able to talk, they weren't running fast enough; however, he couldn't bring himself to set the pace any faster. He treasured their runs now more than ever.

Okay, then! She'd drawn a small smiley face next to her words. Where he was wont to cover their margins with comments, Hermione tended to use symbols. Smiley faces, sad faces. Stars next to things she thought were important. Hearts next to things that she loved.

Six dashes appeared on the page and the game began. Between his classes and hers, it took them the better part of the day to reveal the word PHLEGM in all its glory. He would add a letter to the space below the dashes, and she would either strike through it with a neat little line or add it to one of the spaces. It helped him feel connected to her, despite her physical absence.

The following Friday, Severus was sat at the large table in the staffroom, trying to ignore the meeting going on around him. There was an intense discussion about an outbreak of head lice happening. He tried to catch Bel's eye, but she was staring into the middle-distance, clearly daydreaming. She'd been late to the meeting and other people had snagged the chairs on either side of him, so they couldn't engage in their usual game of muttered sarcasm and nudges.

He opened up the lab diary he was now taking with him everywhere, My turn now: _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ .

Almost immediately, she came back to him with the letter a. A little disappointed that she had guessed a letter so quickly, he added it above the second dash. She guessed the vowels in quick succession, rattling them off, _ A_ _ U I _ E now visible. Luckily for Severus, she'd hit a stumbling block as she added T, B, and F. He crossed each one out gleefully, slowly tracing out the lines of her hanged man, hoping the pace would help to increase the pressure. He drew a little stick family next to the gallows, a large arrow above the head of the tallest one. This is the man you're hanging. She drew a little skull'n'crossbones next to his words and added a C to the collection of misguided letters. Another strike. This was proving to be an excellent diversion for whiling away staff meetings. Although, he almost missed a direct question from Albus, focussed as he was on the game.

Eventually she guessed S, and the final letters fell into place, SANGUINE. She must have animated his little stick family because they were now jumping in celebration, hugging each other. A speech bubble appeared above them, and the words thank goodness for Hermione Granger, she's our hero quickly followed. Thank goodness indeed. He felt that pesky little bubble of hope swell inside his chest once more. Still, it was better this way. Better for them to be … partners, friends even. This way, Hermione wouldn't get as hurt.

Though she had classes to keep up with, friendships to maintain, and horcrux destruction to work on, Hermione found herself devoting hours upon hours of time to the Oxford English Dictionary. Severus was proving particularly difficult to get the better of. He had taken to hangman with alarming ease, guessing correctly most of the time. If it wasn't for the fact that she knew there was no way for him to do so, she'd have said he was cheating.

If asked, she wouldn't have been able to say why she was spending so much time on this, so much time on him. Other than the obvious, of course. But she was ignoring the obvious. Her crush had caused enough problems already, she didn't want him to freeze her out again. She didn't want him to feel uncomfortable around her. This … partnership - fledgling friendship - was enough, it had to be.

She was whiling away History of Magic with the word BENCHMARK. Severus managed to guess it with only three miss-guesses. She picked up her pen and decided they should settle this once and for all. This is ridiculous, I think Scrabble is the only logical step forward from here. She waited, wishing there was a way to tell whether he had read her message or not. The book grew warm and she focused on the page. His cramped handwriting appeared, each letter slow and deliberate. My office, Friday night, 8 PM. Bring that abominable beast you call a cat. A small thrill rushed through her and she resisted the urge for a celebratory fireball (she thought that even Professor Binns would notice if a student burst into flames). I think you'll find that Crookshanks is a highly intelligent creature, and I'll thank you to remember that you're supposed to be nice to him. She had to wait only a moment for his response: Fat chance.

She spent the rest of the week waiting for Friday. He didn't mention it at all on their usual runs and she was sure he'd forgotten until Friday morning rolled around and she opened the warm lab diary to see that he'd drawn a box around his invitation. She rushed impatiently through her classes (though still taking diligent notes), re-read some of the more confusing parts of Pioneering Potions (one of the better potions periodicals) as she shovelled down her lunch in the Great Hall (Harry and Ron occasionally asking for her opinion on one thing or another, but otherwise happy to let her be), and dashed down to the kitchens after her evening classes.

"Hello?" she said into the bustling room. Coming right before dinner was probably a bad idea. Still, she was here now.

"How can Ripley be helping you, Miss?" She'd always wondered if elves spoke like this on purpose, to lull their masters into a false sense of security. Not that they should have masters, of course.

"Good afternoon, Ripley." He bowed low to her. "I was wondering, would it be possible for me to use a small section of the kitchen to bake in?"

"If Miss be wanting baked goods, we has plenty on hand." His voice was high, squeaky, and slightly offended.

"I'm sure you do, Ripley. The food here is always wonderful." How to phrase this? "I wanted to make a batch of my mother's biscuits. She's very far away right now, and I miss her. I miss baking with her. I'm not really looking for food, I'm looking to bake." Though it was mostly true, she felt a little guilty for manipulating the elf.

"I is seeing, Miss. You can be doing your baking over here." He pointed a knobbly finger at a corner of the kitchen, a kind of self-contained kitchen in itself, not unlike what you would see in a muggle high school. "Just be giving Ripley a shout if you is needing anything, Miss."

"Thank you, Ripley," she shouted at his retreating back. She set to work, pulling ingredients out of the cupboards and from the cold pantry stone. She lovingly unfolded her mum's recipe for shortbread, running her fingers over the folds until it lay felt. For a moment, she simply stared at the ink, taking in the loops and twirls of the overly intricate script. She traced the flourish of an S with her little finger. Though used to not seeing them, she was missing their constant communication of previous years. She shook herself and pulled an apron on. Time to get to work.

Severus arrived with barely a pop in a Manchester side-street, he would normally check in on Spinner's End and take the bus but he really didn't have time for it today. He left the ginnel, and marched onto Deansgate and into Waterstones. He remembered visiting the same building as a child with his gran, it had been a Kendals electrical store back then. It became a bookstore less than a decade ago and Severus made a point of visiting it when he could. The wizarding world had no real appreciation for fiction, muggle literature was the only way forward. He greeted the booksellers, a quick "hello," before he marched determinedly towards the board game section. Why they had one in a book shop, he had no idea. He only knew it existed and it was what he needed.

He picked up a box of Scrabble, glistening in its glossy green packaging, and tucked it under his arm. Loyalty card at the ready, he was heading towards the till when a book in the classics section caught his eye. A book he hadn't seen since those Saturday afternoons with his gran. It was a favourite of hers, he remembered, well-worn and continually on the old walnut coffee table in her living room. He was ashamed that he had never read it. He picked up the paperback on display and paid for it along with the game.

When he reappeared at the Hogwarts gates, Waterstones bag in tow, Severus checked his watch. Almost time to meet Hermione. He walked quickly and reached the Entrance Hall on the stroke of eight, conscious of his decidedly muggle attire and his imminent tardiness. He prowled through the dungeons in his characteristic silence and spotted Hermione at the door to his office, clutching her cat with one hand and a tartan patterned tin in the other. He walked up to her, keeping to the shadows.

"Late again, Miss Granger." She made an odd squeaking noise and visibly startled.

"Why do you do that?" she demanded. Letting her cat jump to the floor and turning to face him, her expression cutely indignant. "And you know full well that I'm not late at all. And that I'm never late!" He could feel himself smiling.

"I apologise for keeping you waiting."

"And …?"

"And what?"

"How about 'Sorry for scaring the life out of you and accusing you of being late, Miss Granger.'?"

"But, I'm not sorry for those things," he said with a smirk. Her lips pursed, her eyes narrowed. He thought he was in trouble for a moment before her face exploded into the grin she'd been suppressing and she burst into giggles. "Don't laugh in the hallway, Miss Granger," he admonished, only half-serious, "you'll ruin my reputation." He ushered her into his office where she stopped to say hello to Monty, through the door behind his desk and into his quarters. He shrugged out of his worn leather jacket, kicked off his boots, and dumped his shopping on the coffee table.

"I never really had you pegged as a leather jacket guy," she commented as Butch trotted out of his bedroom (she'd probably been hanging out in the bathtub, her bed of choice) and came to sniff at the cat Hermione had just let loose in his rooms.

"What kind of guy did you have me pegged as? Flat-cap and tweed?"

"Hardly," she looked thoughtful, "I guess I've never really thought of you in the muggle world. The billowing black robes seem to be as much a part of you as your magic is. Although … now that I think about it, the clothes do make sense."

"How so?" he gestured towards the couch and they both sat down.

"Well, you smoke."

"Lots of wizards and witches smoke."

"Yes, but you smoke Luckies. And you use muggle lighters."

"True."

"And you like The Beatles." He couldn't deny that. "You wear scratty trainers and joggers to run in."

"My trainers are not scratty."

"Ugh, yeh, they are." He huffed indignantly, secretly enjoying listening to her break down of his character. "There's a picture of your mum on the mantelpiece."

"What, for the love of Merlin, does that have to do with the way I dress?"

"Simple. It's the classic tough-guy-with-a-heart-of-gold trope often associated with leather jackets."

"If you say so. Anything else?"

"You have a scar below your eye, here," she lifted her hand and let her fingers trace its faint outline across his cheekbone before letting it drop down to her lap again. "It looks like it's a from glass and wasn't healed magically. I'm guessing you were in a muggle bar fight of some description and were too drunk to heal it." She was right there; it had been the day his mam died. "And then there's the accent."

"What accent?" he asked, his voice dropping dangerously low.

"The one that you think you've lost but creeps out when you're tired or you've been drinking."

"Insufferable know-it-all."

"Northern. Not Yorkshire, definitely not Jordie or Scouse, thank God. Lancashire?" she asked.

"Correct," he said begrudgingly.

"I like it. It softens your edges."

"My edges?"

"You know, the hard, gruff I-don't-need-anyone edges." How had he let this young woman so deeply into his life? Not that he was complaining. "Of course, the dog and the dimples really help with that as well."

"Dimples?"

"Yeh, you know," she smiled, holding an index finger to each cheek, "dimples!"

"I assure you, Miss Granger, I do not have dimples."

"Oh, but you do, Professor Snape. Go look, if you don't believe me."

He went to the small mirror near the door and examined his face.

"I don't see any dimples."

"You have to smile first," she said from behind him.

"I don't smile."

"Lies."

"Fine." He smiled his crooked, half-smile and, lo and behold, there it was. A dimple, long and shallow, more of a crease really, but she was still correct. "And you think all of these things mean that I should be a leather jacket kind of guy?"

"Yep."

"Well, I can't argue with the logic there."

"Now, I believe I came down here to whoop you at Scrabble." Her eyebrows raised, her smile cocky and self-assured.

"Dream on, Miss Granger." He fished the board game from its plastic carrier bag, vanishing the plastic wrapping from the outside, and moved his chess set from the small, round table placed between two semi-comfortable chairs. Bel had beaten him at chess at this table more times than he cared to remember. "Make yourself comfortable." He glanced at Crookshanks who was currently lounging on the back of his sofa. "Merlin knows your cat already has." Hermione looked fondly at her pet and settled in the chair closest to the fire. She drew an "F" from the bag, smirking as he revealed am "M." "Ladies first," he said gesturing to the bag of letters.

"I think you mean 'winners first'." That smirk of hers was still firmly in place.

"If you say so."

Crookshanks was exploring his new surroundings whilst his charge engaged in some kind of ridiculous human courting ritual. He had never had to go through such pains to attain a mate. The room he was in smelt of the dark man and his … pet. The dog in question was currently sniffing at his hindquarters as though he too was an underdeveloped canine. Crookshanks humoured her, if his charge was going to become the dark man's mate, the least he could do was get along with Butch. What a stupid name, though he supposed he had little room to comment. Butch followed him as he explored the room more thoroughly. It was stuffed with books, more than his charge had at any rate, no wonder she was interested in this man. A most advantageous match.

The two humans continued to talk as they played their little game, eating biscuits and drinking tea. Crookshanks had never understood why they were happy letting their food come to them instead of going out and getting it for themselves. Typical, placid humans. If he wanted something, he took it. Simple as that. Still, it was nice to see his charge laugh. Hermione hadn't been doing much of that since Padfoot had died. Crookshanks missed his canine friend and supposed this one … this Butch would have to do.

They had won two games apiece and were about to embark on a tie-breaker when an enormous yawn shook Hermione, stretching her jaw in two. "You're tired, Miss Granger," Severus said rather unnecessarily.

"But the game!" She gestured to the board and could feel herself pouting. "We still don't have a winner."

"There'll be time enough for a winner later, it wouldn't do for you to fall asleep down here."

"True." Why did he always have to be right?

"But you're very welcome to come back." A light pink stain seemed to spread across his cheeks, but Hermione shook herself. She must be tired if she thought Severus Snape, Bat of the Dungeons and Spy Extraordinaire, was blushing. It was a nice thought though. She scooped up her bag and Crookshanks was immediately at her ankles. She spotted a book that had fallen from the Waterstones bag and onto the floor.

"This is my all-time favourite book," she said as she handed it to him.

"I'll be sure to remember that when I read it."

The goodbye was a little awkward, she wanted to hug him, kiss his cheek, but knew that she couldn't.

"Sweet dreams, sir," she said as he let her out of his office.

"Goodnight, Miss Granger."

The trip back to Gryffindor Tower ambled by in a haze of exhaustion. She clumsily brushed her teeth and stumbled into her pyjamas and was about to climb under the covers when she noticed her lab diary was blooming with warmth. She flipped through it and there, on the very last pages were three words, stark against the page in his spiky scrawl: Sweet dreams, Hermione.

When she woke up the following morning it was to find more of his words: I need to see you immediately.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

Severus was clearing away the Scrabble when the call came. With barely a flinch, he carefully placed the board inside its box, fetched his robe and mask from his wardrobe, and left the castle swiftly and silently. As usual, he was one of the last to arrive at Malfoy Manor. They were assembled in the dining hall and he did his usual bowing and scraping before sliding into his place in the circle. It was the typical affair: ministry members were reported as successfully imperiorised, Severus made a careful note of each victim; influential but incorruptible witches and wizards had been quietly eliminated; punishment was delivered swiftly at each mention of someone eluding the Death Eaters; he was relieved to hear that Mafalda Hopkirk was still at large, though not a member of the Order, she had proved herself useful time and again.

"What say you, Antonin?" asked the Dark Lord. "Anything new to report? You have shown yourself to be decidedly useless of late, I do hope you have accomplished something since we last met."

"I'm sorry to have let you down, my lord." The Dark Lord raised his wand, pausing when Dolohov continued to speak. "However, I do have something to report. The Grangers have been dealt with." Severus felt the proclamation like a physical blow. His thoughts jumped immediately to the woman who had left his quarters barely an hour ago, before logic caught up and he realised that Dolohov must be referring to her parents. This was going to destroy her.

"And how did you accomplish such a Herculean task? I thought you said they could no longer be traced?"

"I thought that, my lord, but then I realised that to catch muggles, I needed to think like a muggle. That proved to be near impossible, so I kidnapped one instead. One of those computik people. He tracked them using some kind of muggle banking system. It was easy once I had that information."

"And the bodies?"

"Left for the muggle aurors to find, it shouldn't be long before they're identified and the mudblood girl hears about it." Severus could hear the grin in Dolohov's voice and could imagine his glee at Hermione's grief.

"Excellent. You have done well, Antonin." He turned his red eyes on Severus. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that this should be a surprise for Miss Granger?"

"Of course not, my lord."

"Good. What have you to report?"

"Dumbledore is away from the school frequently, leaving Order members in his place. I've tried determining a pattern to his absences but they appear to be random, probably deliberately so. I suppose you already know that one of the Weasley boys was poisoned in Slughorn's office?"

"Yes, I had heard. Terribly unlucky he survived. Do you have any idea who the culprit was?"

"I suspect that young Mr Malfoy was behind it. Slughorn revealed that he had been intending to give the bottle of mead to Dumbledore as a Christmas present."

"Slughorn always was greedy," the Dark Lord confirmed, "he would spill his soul for a box of crystallised pineapple and a well-placed admirer. I regret not getting to him before the old fool. No matter, what of the rift young Malfoy reported between the …" his flat dace wrinkled in distaste "… Golden Trio?"

"Healed," Severus said, praying his words would not provoke punishment. He had to escape from this meeting well enough to talk to Hermione. "The poisoning incident seems to have healed any bad feelings between them. They are as thick as thieves once more."

"Pity." And, just like that, Severus was dismissed and the Dark Lord began interrogating someone else.

Severus tossed and turned for hours that night, eventually giving up and wandering the halls of the castle instead, lab diary tucked under his left arm. If Hermione contacted him, he was damn well going to be available. As the sun began to rise, he retreated to his office to wait for her. Their usual run was scheduled to commence in barely an hour, so he knew she would be up soon and reading his message: I need to see you immediately.

It was nearly six AM when the book warmed on his desk: I'm coming now. He thought about boiling the kettle but decided against it. It was hard enough having these conversations to begin with, how was he going to tell the person he loved most in this world that her beloved parents were dead? A quiet knock on his door came a few minutes later. Severus opened it and decided there and then that this was an outdoors conversation.

"Would you take a walk with me, Miss Granger?" She gave him a confused look, he couldn't blame her. It was an obtuse question. "I have something to tell you, and I think it would be better if we were outside."

"Of course, sir, whatever you think is best." She followed him to the Entrance Hall. "I'll not pretend that you aren't worrying me though."

"I would expect nothing less." Once they were outside, he strode off along their usual path around the lake, but, instead of following it around the curve of the shore, he led them onto a narrow path through the surrounding thicket and into a clearing.

"Now I'm really worried."

"I'll not beat around the bush, Miss Granger … Hermione."

"I'm not really one for sugar coatings." He could tell she was trying to lighten the mood.

"Your parents have been killed." Her face paled and he caught her as she started to crumple.

"Who?" she asked, leaning against him, her voice muffled by his robes.

"Dolohov."

"But how? I thought the trace had been eradicated? Even I don't know where they are … were." She looked up at him, imploring.

"He used a muggle hacker, traced their banking activity."

"Argh, how did I miss that?" Her hands disappeared into her hair, pulling it taught as she clenched her fists.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I didn't see it coming, I thought he'd given up on them." He placed his hands on hers and coaxed her fingers open. It could have been the gentle touch or simply reality catching up with her that filled her hazel eyes with tears. She rested her head against his chest with a sob, forehead pressing into his collar bone. Practically of their own accord, his arms encircled her and his fingers rubbed slow, hopefully soothing circles on her back as he let her cry. This seemed to make matters worse. Her breathing became panicked and she was gasping for air, sobs choking her. Her hands clutched tightly at his robes as her knees gave way; he didn't know what else to do but sink down to the floor with her, still rubbing gentle circles on her back and whispering nonsense into her hair. Eventually she pulled away, wiping at her face with her sleeves. He produced a handkerchief from one of his numerous pockets and she took it from him gratefully.

"Was anybody else hurt?" she asked. "I assume the hacker was killed?"

"So I gather, but there was no mention of any other casualties."

"And where are they now?"

"They should be found and identified by the muggle authorities soon." He winced at how matter-of-fact he sounded.

"When did you find out?"

"I was summoned last night, not long after you left." Was it really only last night they had passed such a happy few hours playing games and chatting?

"Does anyone else know yet? Professor Dumbledore?"

"I thought it better to tell you first, I'll report to the headmaster after breakfast; I have quite a lot to relay after last night."

"Severus?" Her brow was crinkled in thought. He couldn't help the small thrill that ran through him at the sound of his name on her lips, circumstances be damned. The name that had caused him so many problems before.

"Yes, Hermione?" And Merlin help him if he didn't enjoy using her name as well.

"I don't want anyone to know." He was about to interject when she continued. "I mean, I know you have to tell the headmaster, but I'd like it to end there."

"Why? Won't you need your friends at a time like this?"

"If Harry finds out, he's going to blame himself. We can't lose him to another bout of guilt. And besides, I have you, don't I?" She looked suddenly unsure of herself.

"Of course, you have me." He pulled her into a hug, resting his chin on top of her messy curls. "You'll always have me." He reluctantly pulled away again. "And I think I can persuade Albus that this is the best course of action."

"Thank you, truly. And thank you for making sure you were the one who told me. There are few people I trust enough to break down in front of like that." She folded the thoroughly damp hanky and offered it to him.

"Maybe you should keep hold of that." He passed his fingers over the folded square, pulling the moisture from it as he did so. "Just in case."

Hermione was walking around in a fog, separating her from the rest of the world. She didn't get up to run, she barely participated in class, she could go through the entire day without saying more than a few sentences. Harry and Ron badgered her at meals, asking if she was okay. She'd shrug them off and mumble something about an upcoming test, hiding behind a textbook she wasn't actually reading. She'd abandoned her research, still flipping through the lab diary when it warmed but not really seeing what was written there. She certainly didn't put pen to paper herself. Her routine became automatic: get up, shower, brush teeth, pull on clothes, go to breakfast, eat the food she could barely taste.

After almost a week, she felt the lab diary warm: GET DOWN HERE. She really didn't want to see anyone, not even Severus. NOW, HERMIONE. She ignored him - she really couldn't face anyone at the moment. She was sequestered behind her bed hangings, an open book lying unread over her crossed legs. About ten minutes later, more words bloomed across the page in Severus's untidy scrawl: DO NOT MAKE ME COME AND FETCH YOU. IT WILL NOT END WELL FOR GRYFFINDOR. Persistent much? She decided that ignoring him was not worth the trouble it would inevitably cause and headed down to the dungeons.

He was waiting outside of his office when she arrived, turning on the spot as she came near, robes billowing as he did so. She didn't question him but simply followed his silent footsteps as he led her deeper into the labyrinthine depths of the dungeons. He opened a door into a large, high ceilinged room. Light shone through oblong windows at the top of two walls, and the stone floor was completely bare of furniture. A large, plain fireplace stood against the wall to her left and, with barely a thought, Hermione had a blue fire crackling merrily in the grate.

"That's more like it, Hermione." She was relieved to hear him call her by her given name once more. It felt good to hear it. Between "Miss Granger" and the boys' sloppy "'Mione," she hardly ever heard it spoken aloud.

"Why have you brought me here?"

"Because you need to do something. You're giving up."

"I am not."

"Of course, you are. And I can't blame you, not for a moment. But I can help." He drew his wand and placed it on top of the mantle above the fire. "We're going to fight. No wands. Just us."

"You can't make me fight." She was not in the mood for this.

"Oh, I think you'll find that I can." She was about to retort when an icy jet of water hit her squarely in the face. Involuntary heat began to radiate from her skin, coils of steam rising around her head. She sorely wanted to do something, to retaliate. Water began to pool at her feet and crawl up her legs. With a sweep of her hand, it evaporated as she sent a gout of flame at her professor. "Told you so."

"Fine, you win. But if we're going to do this, I need to take my robes off."

"Same."

Hermione stripped out of her school robe, far more comfortable in just her leggings and a ratty tee shirt – the logo advertising toothpaste almost worn away – and kicked off her shoes and socks. The stone of the castle felt warm beneath her feet. She turned to see Severus had done the same, his white shirt making him look less pale than usual, his long feet free of their dragonhide encasings. She was engrossed by the sparse dark hairs that covered his long toes, ant-like in their uniformity, when a wave of water crashed over her head.

"I wasn't ready!" she yelped, literally fuming as the water evaporated from her skin.

"In real life, nobody's going to ask if you're ready."

"Yes, yes, I know." She curled a fireball into her hand and flung it forward, followed quickly by another. "Constant vigilance and all that." He dodged them both, not even needing to use his element. Hermione spun out of the way of the next icy spray, the pressure tearing at the skin of a forearm that wasn't fast enough, leaving it peppered with minuscule grazes. She needed to get behind him, needed some form of advantage. She remembered their quest for the Philosopher's Stone all those years ago and the black flames that stopped them from moving forward. With barely a thought, identical black flames sprang in a circle around Severus, blocking him from view.

"What in the …?" His voice came from inside the fire, as she snuck behind him, bare feet soundless on the hard floor. She could hear him trying to douse the flames with water and, as she heard ice form, she let the flames melt away. Quick as a cat, she swept his legs from under him, crashing him to the floor. She wasn't quick enough on the retreat and he grabbed her around the waist, his hand hot against her skin, and pulled her down with him.

She landed on top of him, her heaving chest pressed against his, their legs a tangled mess. He still had one arm around her waist, his hand splayed across her lower back. His body was hard beneath her, all bone and sinewy strength. His face, creased with past worries, and unshaven, was inches below her own. She could feel his ragged breath on her face. She couldn't move, couldn't think, trapped as she was by his dark eyes. The deep brown of his irises was barely distinguishable from the black at their centres. Dark puddles of liquid. She could feel the heat of his gaze throbbing inside her, pounding in her chest, and pooling below her belly. She couldn't look away. Didn't want to look away. It would be so easy to just lean forward slightly and …

The dinner bell rang, loud and jarring, shocking her back into her senses.

She rolled off him, stumbling hurriedly to her feet. She could still feel fire in her cheeks as she rushed into her robes and shoes, tucking her socks into a pocket. When she finally looked at him once more, he was safely ensconced in his robes and boots, dishevelled hair the only sign of what had just happened.

"Right," she said, completely unsure of herself, "I'll see you in the morning?"

"The morning?" he asked, not looking so sure of himself either.

"To run?"

"Ah, yes. Of course, to run. Have a good evening, Miss Gra- … Hermione. Have a good evening, Hermione."

"You too, Severus." She strode out of the disused classroom and up to the Great Hall.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

Severus pondered his situation as he sat in his usual seat in the Great Hall. Bel had made an appearance for dinner and was laughing raucously with Hooch. No doubt one of them had said something filthy; harridans the pair of them. Hermione was sat about half-way up the Gryffindor table, Potter to one side and Weasley opposite her. Her eyes were glazed, but not in the way they had been in the week since her parents' death. This was something else entirely. If he wasn't very much mistaken, and he sincerely hoped he wasn't, his … affection for Hermione didn't seem to be entirely one-sided. She'd admitted to a crush, but this felt like something else entirely. That small, well-guarded bubble of hope, already ripe from their friendship, swelled once more in his chest; he felt ready to burst.

"… won't you, Sev?"

"Yes, of course," he said, mouth on automatic.

"Really?" Bel asked.

"Really … wait, won't I what?"

"Come to karaoke night at The Three Broomsticks tonight." Well, crap.

"I just said I would, didn't I?" he said, trying to save face a little. "What time?"

"We're leaving here at eight, we're all going muggle."

"And who exactly is we?" What in Merlin's name had he gotten himself into?

"Honestly, Sev. Weren't you listening at all?"

"Not really, no," he said with a smirk.

"Fine!" she said with a mock-indignant huff, "It's myself, Rolanda, Poppy, Septima, and Minerva was thinking of coming. Oh, and Aurora if she isn't teaching tonight."

"So, I've agreed to go out for girls' night?"

"Pretty much."

"I'll see you at eight, then." He stood up from his chair, his dinner untouched before him, and swept off through the staff door. He needed to calm the fuck down if he was to survive a night out with the coven. He was soon hidden away in his private lab and out of his robes (for the second time that day). He set up a pewter cauldron, size six, over a low flame and began preparations for a large batch of cramp reliever for the Hospital Wing. Poppy always seemed to run out at about this time of the month. Perhaps there was something in the theory that women and girls under one roof tended to sync up? Not that he was planning to look into it. It was a relatively simple potion to brew with few complex interactions, but it did call for precision. And mindless precision was exactly what he needed.

He couldn't get the image of Hermione panting above him out of his head. Nor the feeling, for that matter. She had been soft and warm under his hand; his middle finger had grazed the smooth skin between her t-shirt and the thin trousers she wore. Her mussed hair had formed a halo around her head and tickled his nose. He'd wanted to look past her lovely neck to where her heaving chest was pushed against his but couldn't tear himself away from her eyes: the browns, greens, and yellows of her irises centred with heat and longing.

"Fuck," he swore as he sliced his left thumb knuckle, scarlet blood seeping over the daisy roots he was shredding. He dropped his knife onto the cutting board, replacing it with his wand to banish the ingredients, clean the wound, and seal it with a few sung words. With fresh roots, he started again, this time keeping his mind firmly on his task and not on Hermione Granger.

He finished bottling and stacking individual vials of the yellow potion with about fifteen minutes to spare, emerging in the Entrance Hall at precisely eight o'clock in black jeans and a dark blue shirt, his leather jacket, the one Hermione thought made perfect sense, slung over his shoulder. He was still in his dragonhide boots though, muggle attire be damned. Bel had her arm looped through his before he even said hello.

"No girlfriend this evening?" he asked.

"Nah, she works at St. Mungo's, so her time off is scheduled months in advance."

"And what does she do at St. Mungo's?" Between the Dark Lord, Albus, teaching, and Hermione, he had really been neglecting his best friend duties. Though he imagined that, with a new woman on the scene, Bel had little time to notice as much.

"She's a paediatric healer, mostly accidental spell reversal stuff. You would not believe the shenanigans some of the little terrors get up to before they grace the halls of Hogwarts."

"I think I can imagine." As they stepped into the cool evening air, the rest of the coven not far behind them, he freed his arm long enough to shrug on his jacket. "I certainly had my fair share of catastrophes when I was a kid."

"Oh yeh?" she teased, nudging his side with her elbow. "Like what?"

"Did I ever tell you about the time everything I touched burst into flowers? The whole house was covered! Mam had to put a notice-me-not charm on the house and the Obliviators were called in for the neighbours." It had been lucky that his father had been blind drunk for most of that week, and he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. Bel was practically cackling at his story and he told her so.

"I'm a witch," she reminded him, "I'm allowed to cackle. In fact, it's practically mandatory." He lit a cigarette (his lighter a lurid pink flowery thing worthy of Delores sodding Umbridge), breathing deeply, and she did the same, filling the air with the spicy scent of cloves and cheap tobacco. "Anyway, what about you?"

"What about me?" he asked, unsure as to what she was referring to.

"How's your love life?"

"I'd really rather not talk about it." The image of Hermione on top of him flashed behind his eyes before he could tamp it back down, shoving it deep under layers of Occlumency.

"So, you do have one then?" She lowered her voice to a whisper, checking that they were far enough ahead of their colleagues. "How is Hermione?"

"Miss Granger is fine, as well you know, or has she dropped your class?" he retorted.

"Actually, now that you mention it, she seemed a little upset in our last few classes. She wasn't her usual, exuberant, hand-raising self."

"I'm sure she'll be fine in no time."

"You, Severus Snape," she punctuated his name by pointing her cigarillo at him, "you know something."

"I know many things, it's true."

"Don't be smart with me. What do you know about Hermione that you aren't telling?"

"Even if I do know anything about Miss Granger, what makes you think I'd tell you?" he asked.

"Ummm, how about the fact that we," she waved her cigarillo backwards and forwards between them, "are the bestest friends in the whole world."

"I very much doubt that." She pouted. "Sure, you're my best friend and I'm yours, or at least I was when I last checked, but I seriously doubt that we are the bestest example of friendship in the whole world."

"How so?"

"Well, for starters, you didn't invite me to the pre-drinking that you have clearly indulged in. And two, you have no idea what is happening in my love life. A really good friend would have wormed the details out of me by now." If possible, she was pouting even harder now.

"Not fair, you know details about my love life."

"Yes well, you haven't fallen for a student."

"So, you admit to being properly in love with Hermione Granger?"

"Yes, but only to you."

"Have you done anything about it?" she asked, nudging him in the ribs again.

"Nothing improper, at least not on purpose."

"What's 'at least not on purpose' supposed to mean? Don't be so fucking vague. Have you kissed her?"

"No."

"Do you want to?"

"Of course, I fucking want to. I want to kiss her, hold her, make love to her." He could feel himself blushing now. "I want to feel her skin when it's not covered by clothes, I want to drag her into my bedroom and never let her leave. Are you satisfied?"

"I don't think I've ever heard you refer to fucking as 'making love' before."

"Well, you've never seen me in love, have you?"

"I suppose not. Hang on, a sec," she gave him a suspicious glare, "what do you mean you want to 'feel her skin when it's not covered by clothes'?"

"You are too nosy for your own good."

"So, something happened?"

"Yes," he conceded, "something happened."

"Something that may suggest she's interested in you too?"

"It may suggest something like that, yes."

"Well, fuck me."

"No need to sound so surprised," he said, mock-offended. "It was only a few months ago that you were saying she liked me back, remember? Even consented to be my fake girlfriend to throw her off."

"Sev, darling, I love you, but you have to admit that you are not the most approachable person. We're only friends because I got you drunk that one time. You letting someone in close enough to get to the point where they might like you back is fucking huge." She disentangled her arm from his and flung it around his waist, squeezing him. He rested his now-free arm across her shoulders and squeezed her back. "Steady on, lover boy, touch me up too much and Minerva will have your head."

"Can you imagine what she'd do if she found out I was in love with one of her lion cubs? She already thinks I'm a pervert." The old witch would crucify him without a doubt.

Karaoke night was not as painful as he'd anticipated, at least not once he'd drunk a beer or three. The coven each managed to thoroughly humiliate themselves in turn, he turned down several pleading requests that he sing, a drunk Rosmerta hit on him (he was the only person without a vagina in the entire bar), and he even occasionally managed to stop thinking about Hermione bloody Granger. At about midnight, they all stumbled out of the pub and back up to the castle, stopping by Severus's office for vials of hangover reliever in deference to the classes they had to teach the following morning. Severus didn't bother mentioning that neither Poppy nor Hooch actually had to teach the following morning when they grabbed their vials of potion. Severus sank into bed and fell asleep to booze-softened thoughts of Hermione Granger.

Meanwhile, Hermione had thrown herself bodily into their research. Their sparring session had done the trick - she couldn't just give up. If she was going to stop what had happened to her parents happening to anyone else, Voldemort had to be defeated. While running through Severus's notes, an idea ignited in her brain, and so she found herself exhausted but excited in the middle of the empty Magical Theory classroom at two AM on a Friday morning. She'd pushed all the desks to one wall, warded the door, and set up her whiteboards. She'd created the variables, solved the equations, plugged them into the war matrices: this would work, she was sure of it.

She should really go to bed and catch a few hours sleep, maybe leave a note for Severus that she would not be up for their morning jog, but she knew she was far too wired to sleep. So, instead of heading back to Gryffindor tower like she knew she should, she tiptoed her way down to the kitchens instead, tickled the pear and emerged into a busy room scented with baking bread. She made for the small kitchenette she'd used little over a week ago but found her way barred by a house elf.

"What can Ripley be doing for Miss?" the diminutive creature asked her pointedly.

"Oh, nothing, Ripley. I don't need anything, I was just wondering if I could use the kitchenette again. I'm having trouble sleeping, you see."

"If Miss be having trouble sleeping, Miss should be going to the Hospital Wing." He didn't budge.

"I don't want anything to help me sleep!" Hermione was overtired to such an extent that she almost punctuated her exclamation with a stomped foot. "I just want to pass the time with some baking."

"But Miss be already baking last week, why is Miss needing baking this week? Is Miss not getting enough food in the Great Hall? Where students is supposed to be eating?"

"For the last time! I don't need anything! I love the bloody food in the Great Hall. You house elves work magic on bleeding potatoes. I want to bake because it makes me feel better! I used to do it with my mother, and she just died, so I'd like to bloody bake if that's alright with you." She was panting after her outburst and could feel heat in her cheeks and fire in her blood. She wouldn't have been surprised if her hair had started smoking.

"Ripley will just be over here, Miss, if Miss be needing anything." He indicated to a large bread oven nearby.

"Thank you, Ripley," Hermione said, slightly breathless, to his retreating back.

She found everything she needed in the small kitchen and started to make some dough of her own. She measured, mixed, and kneaded, deciding to leave the bread to prove the muggle way instead of using a proving charm. She'd filled the dough with rosemary and breathed in the comforting and familiar smell. She dug around in her satchel for parchment and a ballpoint pen and sat down to write while she waited, heedless of the flour still dusting the work surface.

Dear Mum and Dad … What did one write to the dead? Her usual I hope you're well wouldn't work. She thought for a while, chewing absently on the end of her pen and staining her lower lip green. Did I ever tell you how I became friends with Harry and Ron? It all started with a girl's loo and a troll …

And so, she began to tell them everything she never had, everything she'd kept hidden: the bullying, the teasing, the downright dangerous experiences. She wouldn't be able to tell them everything in one letter, but it was a start. The beginning of closure. When she had finished recounting everything she had concealed about her very first year as a witch, she folded it carefully, tucked it into an envelope and sealed it with a permanent sticking charm. She carefully wrote her parents' names on the creamy surface of the envelope and tucked it her ever-present copy of Hogwarts: A History.

She spent the rest of the night kneading dough, scanning over her assigned readings for the next day (making notes in the margins), and baking her bread. When, at long last, six thirty came, she left the kitchens, a flask of tea and her bread in hand, and made her way to the Entrance Hall to meet her professor.

When she arrived, the large cathedralesque chamber was deserted. The jewel-filled hourglasses stood completely still, the paintings were almost muggle in their inactivity; the silence felt thick and heavy. Severus was definitely not present. More than a little worried she hurried down to the dungeons and rapped loudly on the door to his office. She could hear barking from inside but, when he didn't appear, she knocked again. Finally, she heard the door between his quarters and office open. A moment later the door opened and she practically fell inside the room in her haste to ascertain he was alright.

"Oh, thank god!" she exclaimed as she took in the sight of him wrapped tightly in a fluffy dressing gown, looking a little the worse for wear but still in one piece. "When you didn't show up, I thought something terrible had happened. I couldn't bear the thought of finding you like I did the last time!"

"As you can see, Hermione," he spread his arms to show he was well, "I am fine, I simply overslept. I'm afraid I rather overindulged at the Three Broomsticks last night. I don't think I'm up to our usual run anyway."

"Are you up to fresh bread and tea?" She indicated to the bundle she was carrying in explanation. "I have something I'd like to talk to you about."

"By all means. Take a seat and I'll be back out in a moment." As he left through the door behind his desk Butch came bounding out. "Actually," he turned back to look at her, "would you mind taking Butch out for her morning … constitutional while I change?"

"Sure!" Hermione beamed. She grabbed her lead from the hook by the door. "Come on, Butch, time for a quick walk." The excited border collie bounced over to her, resting her paws on Hermione's knees and allowing her to attach the lead to her collar. "You're such a good girl."

Severus was trying not to panic about what Hermione could want so early in the morning. She looked knackered and the flour dusting her robes suggested that she'd been baking the bread herself instead of sleeping. He calculated that, if he was quick, he'd have time for a shower and a shave before she got back with Butch. But first: hangover cure. He downed the vile, yellow liquid and, almost instantly he began to feel the fug of alcohol lifting. He turned off the alarm clock dinging incessantly in the bedroom, amazed that he had somehow managed sleep through that racket, glad of the one-way silencing charm he kept on his bedroom. The dinging would have driven poor Butch mad otherwise.

A shower and shave later, he was feeling much more himself. He pulled on his teaching robes, combed out his damp hair, and inspected himself in his blissfully silently mirror. He didn't need an inanimate object yelling at him to know that this was as good as it was going to get. He made his way back into his office, lit the fire in the empty grate, and sat down to await Hermione's return a little more eagerly than he would like to admit. The bundle of bread smelled delicious.

"I must apologise again," he said when she came in and released Butch from her lead, "I didn't mean to worry you."

"That's okay, just as long as you're safe." He would never get used to her caring for his well-being, not when for so long the only one who had was Bel.

"I'm fine. This bread smells delicious," he said, following her lead and breaking a piece off for himself. "Did you make it yourself?"

"Yes," she looked unsure for a moment, white teeth biting into her ink-stained bottom lip. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"You wanted to talk to me about bread-making?" he asked, teasing.

"Don't be an arse," she said in her mock-angry voice, the one he was becoming increasingly familiar with.

"Then what, pray tell, do you wish to discuss?"

"Have you looked in the lab diary since last night?"

"I haven't actually, why?" he asked, reaching for the leather-bound book on his desk but she slapped his hand away. He looked at the offending hand and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Sorry." She didn't look sorry at all. "I just want to show you properly if you haven't already seen it."

"Seen what?"

She pulled out a battered looking copy of Simulacra and Simulation out of her satchel, placed it on the floor and opened the cover. Her damnable whiteboards unfolded into existence, filling most of the space between his desk and the door to the corridor. He scanned the boards, identified the main war matrix she'd been using but the rest was beyond him. He'd never needed complex equations to predict outcomes. He used his gut, his instinct.

"And what, exactly, am I looking at?" he asked in his best drawling professor voice. Not that she ever paid heed to his tone anymore.

"The solution!"

"I figured as much but you know I can't read that stuff." He waved vaguely at the brightly coloured ink on the boards. "Never repeat this to anyone, but I need you to dumb it down for me." She stifled a giggle.

"Okay, so this here," she gestured to an incomprehensible series of symbols and numbers on the board, "is the potion we've been working on to destroy the horcruxes … well, you've been working on." He waved her half-apology aside. "And the calculations suggest that it's nearly there, it only needs a little more tweaking before it'll be effective. I was looking over the work you did last week, running the calculations to see how things had come along, but I was anxious," she blushed a little as she said this and he didn't have to ask why, "and fidgeting with this." She held up a golden galleon between her finger and thumb before passing it to him to examine.

"And what does a galleon have to do with the potion?" he asked, confused.

"Look at it more closely." He studied the galleon in his hand, turning it over.

"There's no serial number, it's a message." He paused for a beat. "This is one of the galleons the DA used last year."

"Correct."

"How do they work exactly? I never thought to ask last year, I was a little preoccupied. I assume you were the mastermind behind these."

"Yeh, I actually got the idea from the dark mark. I used a protean charm on them."

"Ahh, ingenious." She beamed at the compliment. "And it was the galleons that sparked this idea then? And not the protean charmed notebook you were working in?"

"Oh bugger, I never even thought about how they worked. I just assumed they came like that. Anyway, a simple protean charm to replicate the results of the destroying potion won't work, it isn't theoretically sound, but I think we can develop a potion that will have a similar effect."

"So, if we destroy one portion of the Dark Lord's soul, we destroy the rest of them?"

"Exactly. I ran the calculations and, combined with the destroying potion," she gestured to a complex series of equations on the right-hand board, "it has an alarmingly high success rate. It has the greatest statistical significance of all my calculations to date." The result was circled in red ink, triple underlined.

"Amazing! You're absolutely brilliant." He almost jumped up to hug her but thought better of it after the night before. "Philodendron, chameleon blood, and cuttlefish seem like good places to start."

"I already ran calculations on some ingredients, philodendron and cuttlefish look promising. Write out a list of likely components in the book and I'll run calculations on them in History of Magic."

"Tut tut, Miss Granger. It wouldn't do to have you neglecting your school work. What would Professor Binns say?"

"You know as well as I do that Professor Binns won't even notice."

"True enough."

"I'm so excited to start working on this. I'd start now but I need a shower before classes start." She ran a hand through her unkempt hair.

"Do you have time to stay for breakfast?" he asked, the caution of moments ago thrown to the wind. "This bread really is excellent."

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

They both took to their research with renewed fervour. The final few months of term saw them scribbling, calculating, and brewing in any moments they could snatch away from the hustle and bustle of life at Hogwarts. Hermione kept odd hours, using her prefect's badge to excuse late night trips to the dungeons and could be found scribbling in a certain leather-bound book at the Gryffindor table early in the morning, sipping coffee and nibbling on a crumpet or two, her plate kept warm with a charm. For the first time in her life, she wasn't worried about her upcoming exams (though when asked, she would make a show of nervousness to cover for all the research she was doing). Everything paled in importance next to her work with Severus.

Her world shook to its very core when Harry nearly killed Malfoy. She was horrified that one of Severus's spells was designed to do that to a person. She fought to separate the Prince from the Severus she knew but it was hard. Especially hard as she couldn't talk to him about it without getting Harry into trouble. But she managed, the daily contact they had helped. As did the book that warmed under her pillow most nights.

The exams were almost upon them when Harry burst into Gryffindor Tower one evening, panting with an excited gleam in his green eyes.

Though not a believer in divination, omens, or portents, Hermione had awoken that morning with a bad feeling. It had been there on her morning run, it had dogged her throughout the day, following her to each class and each meal, and wouldn't even leave her be when she returned to the common room for the evening. It got so bad that she fished a pen from her bag and thumbed through her lab diary and, on finding a clean page towards the back, she scribbled I have a bad feeling, keep your diary on you today. Please, trust me on this. It felt like hours, though in reality barely half an hour had passed, before the book heated in her lap once more: Of course, I trust you.

And so, Harry running into the common room, gleam and all, struck her as the beginning of disaster. Harry did not prove her wrong as he left her clutching the Marauder's Map and staring at the tiny bottle of liquid luck clasped delicately in Ron's hand.

"What the bloody hell does he want us to do?" Ron looked at her completely nonplussed.

"Find Ginny and explain what's going on. I'll go and get my DA galleon." She rushed up the stairs to her dormitory, map and lab diary clasped firmly to her chest. Severus, she wrote, I don't have much time. Harry and AD are leaving the castle to look for a horcrux. Harry says Malfoy was celebrating and that we are to watch the Room of Requirement and your office. He thinks you've been helping Malfoy with his plan. I'll make sure I'm one of the people guarding your office. Please stay inside for as long as you can. We have Felix Felicis. I won't be able to write. Stay safe, Severus. I need you to stay safe.

That done, she fished her galleon from her bedside table and tapped the rim to form the words: 7th Floor, Girl's Bathroom. She tucked it into the pocket of her jeans and fled back down the stairs. Ron, Ginny, and Neville were waiting for her by the portrait hole.

"I've sent the message out for us to meet in the girl's toilets on this floor. Ron, Neville, take a sip of potion and go guard the Room of Requirement. If something happens, send a message on the coins. Ginny, come with me to the bathroom. If anyone shows up, join the boys outside the Room of Requirement otherwise you can come with me to the dungeons." Ron and Neville drank the potion obediently before handing it to Hermione. "I'll let you know if Ginny is heading your way, or if Professor Snape leaves his office. I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good." She glanced down at the map. "He's in his office and the seventh floor is clear. Don't be seen."

They clambered out of the portrait hole, ignoring the Fat Lady's warning that it was past curfew, and they split up at the end of the corridor with a whispered "Good luck." Hermione and Ginny quickly made their way to the toilets and ducked inside and, despite having checked the map multiple times, Hermione was relieved to see the dingy toilets were completed deserted.

"Harry is going to drive me batty one of these days," Ginny complained. "Gallivanting off at the drop of a hat with mad stories. If I hadn't recently had evidence to the contrary, I'd say he was a little too into what Malfoy's up to." Hermione couldn't help the giggle that escaped her.

"I may have thought that myself on occasion. Don't tell him I said this, but I think he's right about Malfoy." She knew he was right about Malfoy. "But I don't like to encourage him in his obsessions." She glanced down at the map and saw a small dot labelled Luna Lovegood heading their way. "Right, Gin, Luna's coming. Have some of this." Ginny drank a small sip from the bottle, saluted Hermione and left, giving Luna a cheery greeting on her way past. So much for keeping a low profile.

"Hello Hermione," Luna said with her usual cheeriness, she held up her galleon, "I got your message. What's going on?"

"Thanks for coming at such short n- notice," she stammered as her mouth filled with Luna's hair whilst the blonde girl hugged her. Once she was free, she tried again, "Harry has asked us to keep an eye on some things, he thinks something dodgy may be going on. We're to go down to the dungeons and see that Professor Snape doesn't leave his office."

"But why would we do that?" Luna asked. "Professor Snape's a good man. He's always nice to me in class."

"I happen to agree, but, in this instance, I have a feeling that it's best to do what Harry suggested. Have a sip of this." Luna took a small swig from the bottle of lucky potion and Hermione did the same, tucking the single remaining portion into her pocket. "Shall we?" Hermione asked, suddenly brimming with confidence that this was the best possible plan.

"Let's!" Luna replied, her voice the odd combination of dreamy wistfulness and self-assuredness it always was. They clasped hands and ran off down the corridor, Hermione resisting the urge to giggle. They made their way through the castle with barely a glance at the map and taking seemingly random detours that took them out of harm's way. Or at least out of the way of prowling teachers and ill-meaning poltergeists. The staircases were all in their favour and the portraits pretended not to notice them. Hermione had never had an easier journey through Hogwarts.

"In here," she whispered to Luna and pulled her into an alcove opposite Severus's office. "We should be safe here for a while." She put up some privacy wards; the alcove would seem empty from the outside but they would be able to see and hear what was happening in the corridor. She slid down the wall and sat with her feet against a plinth displaying an unkempt suit of armour. They whiled away an hour or two, Hermione listening to Luna's stories of adventures with her father, until the galleon warmed in her pocket. She scrambled to get it out and read: Malfoy got past us. And then a moment later: Death Eaters in castle. It faded quickly, replaced with: Stay with Snape.

Hermione knew that she should be feeling anxious right now but she could feel Felix humming in her blood. She stood, relaxed but ready and saw Luna do the same. They didn't have to wait long. They heard the shouting before they saw him; Professor Flitwick was yelping about Death Eaters in the castle. They stepped out of the alcove as Professor Flitwick burst into Severus's office. Terrified speech, a dull thump, and then Severus was in the corridor.

"Professor Flitwick appears to have fainted. See to him." Luna rushed into the office but the Felix told Hermione to hang back. Severus stopped dead when he spotted her.

"Hermione, I -" She cut him off. She knew deep down what he had to do, she wasn't about to make him say it.

"Here," she handed him the tiny bottle, her hand lingering in his, "please, drink it." She watched as he tipped the liquid into his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I want you to trust me … No, I need you to trust me." His dark eyes pleaded with hers.

"I've never trusted anyone more," she all but whispered. His eyes were no longer pleading. They were liquid with longing, drawing her fire to her skin. Desire pooled deep inside her, hot and familiar.

"Oh, fuck it," he said. The small glass bottle shattered on the floor as one of his hands slipped around her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body. The other gently resting on the back of her neck, entangled in her curls. He leant towards her and she felt like she was falling into his eyes, falling into him. And then he was kissing her. It was swift and chaste but his lips were soft and warm. And just like that, it was over, and the man she loved was running away from her and into danger.

Deep breath.

And another.

She ran into the office and crouched by her Charms professor. Now was a time for action.

"Enervate." The professor stirred a little and Luna helped her Head of House into a sitting position. "I think we need to get you to the Hospital Wing, sir." Hermione grabbed a pencil from the pot she knew was on the desk and quickly transfigured it into a stretcher. They got the professor onto it and began to make the short trip to the infirmary. They were the first ones there. Luna calmly answered Madam Pomfrey's questions whilst Hermione helped the Mediwitch get the professor settled onto a bed.

She wanted to rush up to the seventh floor; she wanted to help. But Felix had other ideas. She went to the storage cupboard and began stacking a trolley with potions: blood replenishers, pain relievers, burn salves, dittany. She piled bandages on another trolley and wheeled them both into the centre of the room, in easy reach of the beds closest to the door.

She waited, ready to direct people to beds.

Still, she waited.

And then came the sound of clattering feet from all over the castle, and with it, casualties. She assessed people as they came in: people with minor scrapes could wait; serious cases, like Bill Weasley, went straight to Madam Pomfrey; herself and Luna dealt with some of the less serious issues. Soon Professor Bagshot was among them as well, cleaning wounds and sealing them, resetting the odd broken bone. She was well-practiced after all.

Eventually, things started to settle down. Or they did until Harry appeared in the room. Hermione couldn't quite believe it. Severus had done it: he'd killed Professor Dumbledore. Her world should be crumbling but she could feel the fire burning fiercely in her core. It gave her the strength she needed. She trusted him, she'd told him so. She planted her feet. Squared her shoulders. And when it was her turn to provide explanations, she gave the best performance of her life.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

Are you safe?

The words burned on the page in front of him. Not How could you? or I trusted you or even Are you okay? She wanted to know if he was safe. And he supposed he was safe, all in all. Sure, the Dark Lord was pissed, though not surprised, that Draco hadn't done the deed himself. But the Dark Lord was always pissed off about something. He had a roof over his head. More than just a roof, he was staying in the lap of luxury; Narcissa Malfoy did nothing by halves. He had just murdered his long-time mentor and personal thorn in his side, but he was safe.

I'm safe for now. What did one write at a time like this? Was anyone else hurt? Laying down the ostentatious quill he was using (peacock for Merlin's sake, like he was Gilderoy sodding Lockhart), he made his way over to the drinks cabinet to look for something that might take the edge off. It was full of expensive looking bottles, naturally they only had wizarding varieties and nothing approaching a beer. He poured himself a goblet of wine (he supposed regular wine glasses were too common for the Malfoys) and taking a sip, moved back to the desk. Her words bloomed on the page beneath his: Bill Weasley mauled by Greyback, he'll live. Otherwise, all well. And then: Is there anything I can do to help? Just knowing that he had her, that she trusted him, was help enough.

Not at present. His response felt cold and remote. Just try to get some rest, he added. I'll contact you soon. Setting the ridiculous quill back in its holder, he slammed the book closed. He was relieved that she'd insisted he keep it on him tonight. He took stock of what he actually had available to him: the clothes he stood in, his wand, a few galleons, twenty quid, a half-empty packet of cigarettes (thank Merlin), and a novelty lighter (this one emblazoned with the image of a buff and semi-nude fireman). That was all. He would deal with it in the morning; now he needed sleep.

The adjoining bathroom to his bedchamber was well appointed. A large claw-foot bathtub claimed pride of place beneath a window that looked over a manicured lawn. A waterfall shower, toilet, and bidet were off to one side and twin sinks adorned a marble worktop opposite the tub, under a large and pristine mirror. He ran the hot tap, resting his shaking hand on either side of the sink. The mirror threw his haggard reflection back at him and he was thankful that Malfoy mirrors were too well-bred to make comments. Though not particularly great to begin with, his hair was a mess, greasy from the hours he spent running his fingers through it in worry and completely dishevelled. His skin had an unhealthy pallor, the dark shadows beneath his eyes even more pronounced than usual, and he needed a shave. He knew that some people managed to work the unshaven look, but he was not one of them. The dark, uneven stubble only served to make him look scruffy and unsavoury.

Crouching down, he opened the cupboards beneath the marble worktop and hoped that he would find something to freshen up with. He found soap and a few teeth-cleaning potions. No sign of a razor. He swilled one of the potions around his mouth, spitting it into the sink afterward. He much preferred his muggle toothbrush; though they were marginally less effective, they left him feeling much cleaner. He scrubbed his face with the hot water and soap until it was pink and patted it dry with the ludicrously soft towel hanging over the warm towel rack. He used the shaving charm he usually avoided to smooth his cheeks - he'd tried transfiguring himself a razor one time but he could never get the blade sharp enough. Minerva would have no problem with it, he was sure.

Leaving the bathroom feeling no cleaner than when he'd gone in, Severus pulled off his robes, carefully unbuttoned his shirt, and neatly folded his trousers. He used freshening charms on all of them knowing that he'd probably need to wear them again tomorrow. He climbed into the too-soft bed in just his boxers and pulled the sheets up to his chin. It was one of those beds that had far too many layers of coverings to be comfortable. What was wrong with a simple duvet? His experiences in other wizarding households always brought home his muggle blood. The odd mixture of heritages at Hogwarts often masked just how different wizarding and muggle life was.

His mam had never really done magic around the house, Tobias Snape had forbidden it. She would occasionally use her wand to cover up his own accidental magic but never for herself. That was the main thing he remembered from his childhood: his mam never did anything for herself. She would be up at the crack of dawn, making breakfast and hand washing the laundry, packing sandwiches for them all. Coffee was expensive, but Tobias always insisted on a cup in the morning: "I don't spend all day down't sodding mine to not 'ave a cup of bleedin' coffee." In fact, that was one of his most used phrases, the coffee often replaced with beer or cards night. Once Tobias was safely out of the house, she'd walk him to school on the way to her work at a nearby sandwich shop. She would pick him up every day as well, calling for him until he emerged from whatever shrub he was hiding in or tree he had climbed into. Her shift ended after the school day did, so he would hide from the other kids to read his library books in peace.

He remembered one year that she insisted he stay in the school building after his classes until she came for him. He hadn't realised at the time, but a serial killer had been on the loose in the moors, kidnapping children from the streets as they played. He hadn't been allowed to play outside that year so he'd helped his mam in the kitchen instead, carefully chopping and peeling the vegetables she pulled from their small garden, some for eating that day and others for pickling for the winter months. He carefully measured flour using the scales his mam had used in Hogwarts and crumbled it with butter for the crumble Tobias insisted they have once a week. Every time, she'd let him eat a single peach slice straight from the can and lick the syrupy goodness they came in from his fingers.

Tobias didn't believe that children should eat with their parents, so Severus always had his dinner early and then made himself as presentable as possible before Tobias ambled in from the pub. It was difficult with the clothes he had available; money was for coffee, and beer, and peach crumble. Tobias didn't work all day just to pay for clothes for his ungrateful brat. If he passed inspection when Tobias finally stumbled in, he'd be allowed to slip upstairs and entertain himself (he liked to read his mam's old school books and, if it was a clear night, he'd use her old telescope to try and learn the names of the stars). Not passing inspection hurt. A lot. He'd scurry quietly to his small room afterwards, trying to block his ears as the same thing happened to his mam downstairs. Tobias Snape ruled his domain with an iron fist and a leather belt.

It had been easier for her once Severus had left for Hogwarts. Tobias could pretend that the son he'd never wanted didn't exist for ten months out of the year. Having a full-scholarship for school meant that he was less of a financial burden as well. His mam would save her tips every year to pay for the trip to King's Cross until Severus started selling potions on the down-low. He'd easily make enough over a year to pay for the new robes he needed as he grew, the books his mother didn't already own, and the fare for the Knight Bus. His mam began to use her tips for other things, things they could do together. A bus ride to Blackpool or a trip to the cinema.

She'd taught him the value of hard work and instilled in him his love for doing things the muggle way. He tried to get comfortable under the stifling number of sheets and thought of nothing but his mam as he fell into an exhausted sleep.

On the morning after Professor Dumbledore's death, Hermione woke up to the sound of heaving sobs. She got the distinct impression that they belonged to Lavender; she could hear someone else, presumably Parvati, making gentle cooing noises and the tell-tale rasp of a hand rubbing circles over a night-gowned back. She sat up as quietly as she could, careful not to disturb a snoozing Crookshanks, and resigned herself to staying firmly behind her hangings until the other girls had left the dorm. Other people's emotions were not something she felt up to dealing with (or even encountering) at present.

She pulled her lab diary, something of a life-line now, from under her pillows and was relieved to find it was warm. She flipped it open and found a page dated this morning. Hermione, she read, I hope you managed to get some sleep after yesterday and that you're coping okay. (That sounded ridiculous even as I wrote it. How do you ask if someone is okay after you've killed their headmaster and the leader of the light?) Though it felt wildly inappropriate, Hermione found herself stifling a laugh at that. In my desire to just go to sleep yesterday, I neglected to attend to matters that seem rather urgent this morning. Do you think you would be able to relieve Potter of his cloak for a few hours?

She hurried to find her pen (it had slipped between her mattress and headboard) and scribbled her reply: I'm managing. Are you okay? (How do you even ask if someone's alright after they've been forced to kill a friend and mentor?) I can get the cloak. What do you need? She didn't have to wait long for a reply. They scribbled back and forth, arranging everything he would need. When it became clear that Hermione couldn't put off getting out of bed any longer, she opened her hangings and braced herself to face her roommates.

"Good morning," she said, trying to sound neither too cheerful nor too melancholy. It was oddly difficult.

"I don't see what's good about it," Lavender snapped back at her. Judging by the blonde's swollen eyes and red nose, Hermione had guessed correctly as to who'd been crying.

"Er, right," Hermione really didn't know what else to say. She grabbed some clean clothes and headed straight into the bathroom. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to summon the proper grief over Professor Dumbledore's death. She was sure she'd manage eventually, but at the moment she was simply relieved that Severus had managed to leave unscathed and had somewhere safe to stay. She showered quickly, brushed her teeth thoroughly and pulled on the jeans and t-shirt she'd grabbed. It was an old one of her dad's, the poster image for A New Hope emblazoned on the front. She found herself wondering if Severus was a Star Wars fan as she pulled her hair into what she'd like to think of as a "stylishly tousled bun" but in reality was just a bit of a mess. Back in the dormitory, she completely ignored the disgusted looks Lavender was giving her, picked up her mostly-empty satchel, slipped her lab diary safely inside, and left the room.

Harry and Ron were already in the common room, playing chess and looking generally miserable. They looked at her as she came over and Harry scooched a little to make room for her on the squashy couch. She sank down and let her head rest on his shoulder.

"How are you both?" she asked. It seemed like the right thing to say.

"Oh, y'know," Ron shrugged. "It's not really sunk in yet."

"Harry?" she asked.

"I don't have words for what happened last night." His voice was low, but steady. "How are you doing?"

"I honestly don't know." She could hear her voice becoming a little shrill as she spoke and worked to calm it down. "I think I'm too focused on what happens next."

"What d'you mean next?" Ron asked her.

"Well, I was wondering if I might borrow your cloak, Harry?"

"Why?" he asked, though she could tell it was more out of habit than real curiosity.

"I thought now would be a good idea to double check the Restricted Section for any books we might need," she lied smoothly.

"Why now?" Ron looked confused.

"It's bound to be quiet in there. This might be the best chance to get the things we need."

"Hang on," Harry stood up, dislodging her head, "I'll grab it for you."

"So," said Ron.

"So, what?" Hermione shot back at him.

"We need to talk about what we're going to do about Harry." It was so matter-of-fact, Hermione was a little shocked.

"You're right, we do," she admitted. "Meet me tonight?"

"I'll make sure Ginny's with Harry." Hermione nodded encouragingly, it was probably best if Harry wasn't left alone to wallow.

"There's a courtyard, fifth floor, west wing, next to the Magical Theory classroom. Meet me there after dinner."

"Yeh, alright" Ron agreed. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "You're not really going to the library are you?"

"No." She wasn't sure why she told him.

"But you're not going to tell me where?" he said with a knowing look.

"I will someday."

"I guess that's good enough for me."

They both turned as they heard Harry thundering down the stairs.

"Here." He shoved the slippery material into her arms. "I'm going for a walk."

"I'll come with you!" Ron said brightly. "I could use some fresh air." Harry didn't protest, just shrugged, and they both left the common room.

Hermione waited until she was sure they'd have left the corridor before slipping through the portrait hole and into a conveniently placed alcove. She arranged the cloak over herself and made the rather uneventful trip down to the dungeons. She heard voices coming from Severus's office as she rounded the corridor into his domain.

"It's no good," someone muttered. "I can't seem to force it. We'll need curse breakers to get in without the password. The place is too well warded."

"I'm not sure what you were expecting," a woman's voice cut in, Hermione was fairly sure it was Professor McGonagall's. "Severus never did anything by half. But at least you've been through the office. When will the curse breaker arrive?"

"We can send one tomorrow. Unfortunately, the Ministry doesn't feel the need to employ their own and hires them freelance as and when they're required."

"Pity," Professor McGonagall didn't sound sympathetic in the slightest. "I'll see you out then?" Hermione slipped into the alcove she'd used the night before.

"Yes, thank you, Minerva," the man's voice said, "you've been a real help."

Hermione watched the two figures retreat down the corridor before she carefully opened the door to Severus's unlocked office, closing it behind her as she went inside and stowed the invisibility cloak away. The place had clearly been searched: his filing cabinet was looking thoroughly rifled; the drawers to his desk were open, exposing their contents to the room; the creepy bottles on their shelves had been moved around, clearly they were hoping to find something behind them. She whispered the Beatles lyric and the door behind his desk opened with a click. She was barely through it when she found herself with her arms full of black and white fur. She stroked Butch gently behind the ears, making soothing noises.

"I know you're desperate to go out, girl. I need to see to a few things first, okay?" The border collie calmed down after a bit more of a cuddle. "Okay, stay." Thankfully, she listened.

She had to be as quick as possible. She grabbed Severus's satchel from the coat stand and went through to the bathroom, consulting the list he had given her. She packed up the potions in the medicine cabinet, a toothbrush and toothpaste, along with the carefully maintained shaving kit. She folded Butch's bath blanket and put that in the bag as well. She was going to have to make her own one of these bags, they were unbelievably useful. Next, she did the bedroom, trying not to think too much about what she was packing whilst still making sure he had spare robes, muggle clothes, and his awful Death Eater garb. She was about to hit the living area when she spotted the book on his bedside table. She smiled as she picked up the partially read copy of North & South, placing it carefully in the bag. There wasn't too much to grab from the living area. The horcrux books went into her own bag, the stack of books on his desk went into his, the photograph of his mother from the mantelpiece carefully placed on top. Finally, she shrank down Butch's basket before popping that in as well.

"Right, Butch, time to go." She stood up at the sound of her name and hurried to Hermione's side. She closed the door to his quarters carefully behind them before fastening Butch's lead into place. "We're going to have to be very quiet, Butch," Hermione told the dog as she slipped the cloak over both of them. She was sure that more than a few bits were sticking out, but she tried to ignore it. Together, they made their way through the dungeons and out through the door Severus used when trying to escape notice. Hermione let Butch out from under the cloak to do her business whilst they were still protected from view by the castle. She was relieved that the normally picky dog didn't take too long about it. Vanishing the mess, she pulled Butch back under the cloak.

The trip across the exposed grounds to the Whomping Willow in broad daylight was beyond nerve-wracking.

"Homenum revelio," Severus cast as he arrived seemingly out of nowhere into the dilapidated bedroom of the Shrieking Shack. No one was inside the building so he slumped onto the creaking mattress, a small cloud of what he hoped was dust burst into the air as he did so. He was oddly nervous. He was used to seeing Hermione everyday - enjoyed it, craved it even - and yet this felt different. Would she treat him differently? What about their kiss? Would there be another? He knew that he shouldn't even be thinking about it, but he couldn't help himself. He flicked a fag from his half-empty pack and lit it quickly, taking a deep pull, letting the familiar rush of nicotine calm him. He was acting like a teenager on a first date instead of the wanted felon that he currently was.

Two cigarettes later, he heard noises downstairs: the delicate sound of Hermione's feet as she tried to be silent and the snuffling he associated with Butch. His beloved dog appeared at the door to the bedroom.

"Oh, thank god," Hermione's disembodied voice came from the doorway. "I know you said you were okay but I was struggling to believe you."

"You're still wearing the cloak," he said as he made his way over to the pair of them. Butch launched herself at him as soon as he was close enough. He stroked her soft fur and kissed her muzzle. "Hi, girl, I missed you last night." Hermione pulled off the invisibility cloak as he said that and he wished he felt confident enough to say that he'd missed both of them. "Thank you for coming," he said, looking steadily into her lovely hazel eyes.

"Of course I came," she said. "I'll always come if I can."

"I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, you know."

"Do we really have to have the numpty conversation again?" Hermione sounded fondly exasperated.

"The numpty conversation?" he asked, standing.

"Yes, the Severus is a numpty conversation." Before he could respond, she'd placed a soft, warm hand on his cheek and had locked her eyes with her own. "I trust you, Severus. I give a damn about how you are. And I will always be there for you, okay? Just like I know you'll be there for me. We," she gestured with an impatient hand between the two of them, "are a team, okay?"

"Okay," he said, inwardly cringing as his voice broke over the word. She let go of his face and pulled one of the satchels she was carrying over her head, offering it to him.

"Right," she said, "I got everything you asked for plus a couple of extra things you might need before you can get back into Hogwarts." He opened the bag and began rummaging inside, he felt a warm blush creep up his cheeks as he saw his mam's photograph. "You should know that the Ministry has already searched your office. They couldn't get into your quarters, obviously, so they're sending a curse breaker in tomorrow."

"I figured as much," he said, fishing something else out of his bag. "You even packed my book!"

"Well, I hardly think wherever you're staying has Gaskell's works on hand," she responded matter-of-factly.

"I appreciate it." Her cheeks went that lovely pink colour he enjoyed so much. "I'm staying at Malfoy Manor for now, so I may not be easy to contact."

"Do you think it will take long to get the charges dropped?" she asked, ever astute.

"A month, maybe two," he said with a shrug. "With Al- Albus dead, I think the Ministry is likely to fall into the Dark Lord's control quickly. I'll warn you if I can."

"I thought as much." Her brow wrinkled, a small crease forming between her eyebrows. "Do you think Grimmauld Place is safe? For us, I mean?"

"Yes," Severus said with a nod. "I imagine Moody will have already cursed it to stop me revealing its location. I'll go there later today to make sure, but it should be fine. There may be Death Eaters set to guard the street at some point but they won't be able to get inside. What are your plans now?"

"We're staying for the funeral. And then I'm probably going to lay low for a few days before going to the Burrow. I don't know for certain, but I think that Harry is planning on horcrux hunting. I'll let you know anyway. We need to get the potion sorted." She let out a huffing sigh, disturbing the hair that had escaped her bun.

"I'll keep working on it. We can do this." He tried to sound reassuring. "I am currently the highest ranked Potions Master in the country and you, Hermione, are the brightest witch of your age." She giggled a little at this, looking reassured. "In fact, you're the brightest person I've ever met."

"If only I could say the same about you," she said with a smirk, making him laugh. "We'll be fine, won't we?"

"We will."

"I wish I could stay," she looked at her watch, frowning, "but the boys will get suspicious if I'm gone for too long."

"I should get back too," he said reluctantly. She held out her hand to him and he shook it, more than a little disappointed. She started to leave the room, giving Butch a final pat on the head.

"And, Severus?" She turned to him when she reached the door.

"Yes?"

"Don't think for one second that I'm ignoring that kiss. Now just isn't the time."

He couldn't help the smile that broke out across his face nor could he ignore the swelling sensation in his chest as his precious little bubble of hope grew.

Hermione was waiting for Ron to show up a little impatiently. She was sat cross-legged on one of the stone benches in the small courtyard surrounded by honeysuckle and trying not to think about everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours. It had been quite the whirlwind. The first-years' curfew bell was ringing in the castle when Ron finally sauntered in.

"Sorry," he said in greeting. "It took me a while to ditch Harry. We don't all have the built-in excuse of the library when we need an escape."

"Where does he think you are then?" Hermione asked with a smile. She was so glad to have her friend back.

"Having a bath," he said with a grimace. "He teased me something rotten for it. I said I needed to use the bathroom in peace at least once before heading back to the mayhem that's home."

"We have a lot to talk about, don't we?" she asked as he sat down next to her, leaving a careful few inches of space between them. She wondered if they'd ever get back to that place of easy contact that they used to share.

"We do. But first," he turned to face her, "are you really okay?"

"I think so," she said. "I was never very close to Professor Dumbledore. I know it's an awful thing to say, but it's true."

"It is awful, but I know exactly what you mean," he said consolingly. "What about Snape?"

"Professor Snape, Ron," she corrected automatically. "What about him?"

"Not anymore, he isn't." Ron had a point. "How do you feel about him betraying the Order like that?"

"I'm going to tell you something, and it has to remain between the two of us okay?" she asked.

"Okay …" he agreed, sounding more than a little suspicious.

"Muffliato," she cast. Ron's eyebrows practically disappeared into his hair.

"That secret, eh?"

"Yes." She scrounged up some of the much-lauded Gryffindor courage. "Before I say what I have to, you need to understand two things."

"What things?"

"One," she held up a finger, "I have reasons for telling you what I'm about to. And two," a second finger joined the first, "I can't tell you what those reasons are at present, but I will eventually."

"Am I about to find out where you've been disappearing to all year?"

"What do you mean all year? Surely, you've been a little too busy to notice what I've been up to?"

"Think whatever you like," he said with a shrug, "but I know what I saw."

"Well … errr … yeh, you are. Sort of."

"So what's the big secret?" he asked, sounding a little incredulous.

She took a deep, steadying breath. "I believe that Professor Dumbledore has been dying since he hurt his hand." She saw that Ron was about to say something so carried on speaking before he could interrupt her. "I also believe that he asked Professor Snape to kill him."

"Why in the name of Merlin's saggy left testicle would he do that?" Ron asked, bewildered.

"So that his death would mean something, to cement Professor Snape's position as a spy and probably to save Malfoy from having to do it himself. If Harry suspected what Malfoy was up to, there's no way Professor Dumbledore didn't."

"You know you sound mental right now, right?"

"Yes. But I need you to believe that I have my reasons," she didn't like that she sounded like she was pleading with him.

"Okay," Ron said simply.

"Okay?" Hermione repeated, not sure that she'd heard him correctly.

"Yeh, okay. You've never steered us wrong before now. I think it's time I actually started listening to you, don't you?" He elbowed her lightly in the ribs.

"Fair." She turned to face him, sitting sideways on the bench. "What are we going to do about Harry? You know he's going to want to go looking for horcruxes, right?"

"Yeh, I know. We'll just have to make sure we're with him every step of the way," Ron said reasonably.

"I agree. I imagine the Order will be looking to get Harry away from Privet Drive as soon as possible. Do you mind if I come stay at the Burrow not long after the funeral?" she asked.

"Don't you want some time with your parents first?" he asked. Hermione reminded herself to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth. She may be sharing stuff with Ron, but she wasn't ready to share that.

"I'm going to get them off to somewhere safe, maybe Australia," she lied. "I'd like to do it as quickly as possible."

"Of course you can stay! You're always welcome at ours, you know that."

"I suppose I do," she forced a smile, shoving down the thick, choking feeling that was clawing its way up her throat.

"So we stand by Harry no matter what, right?" She nodded. "And we keep the rest of the Order out of it?"

"Yeh," she agreed, "the fewer people know, the safer it will be."

"D'you have any idea where we can start looking for them? The horcruxes that is?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

"I guess we start with R. A. B." she said with a shrug. "It'll take some time but I'm sure we'll get somewhere."

"Did you manage to get a hold of some books?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I'm guessing they weren't from the restricted section?" he said with a grin.

"No." She was unwilling to explain further.

"I'll see you in the common room?" he asked.

"Yeh, I'll follow in a minute or two."

He stretched as he stood up and sauntered back into the castle in typical Ron fashion.

She remained on the bench for a few minutes, choking down the tears that desperately wanted to form.

The day of the funeral dawned bright and surreal. Hermione didn't feel like she was there at all. One minute she was eating toast and honey and the next she was sat in a crowd of people, most of whom she'd never met, and listening to a wizard who didn't sound like he'd ever had a conversation with the headmaster she knew. There were going to be so many more deaths before this was done. More innocent people killed. More senseless violence.

Finally, under the veil of grief that shrouded the funeral, she let out the tears she'd been pushing down. She cried for her parents, she cried for her friends, she cried for Severus, and she cried for herself.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

"But I don't see how we're going to get him out of there without tipping off the Ministry or getting caught by Death Eaters," Remus said calmly. Hermione, Ginny, and Ron were leaning out of an upstairs window, crowded over the Extendable Ear that dangled over the kitchen's cooker vent. They may have made the doors imperturbable but that was nothing a bit of creativity couldn't fix.

"I still think we should clear his relatives out earlier in the day and I can apparate out with him afterwards," Mad-Eye Moody grumbled.

"Remus is right, Alastor, Harry can be tracked through his Trace. He shouldn't apparate anywhere until it breaks." Mr Weasley often played moderator at the meetings, Hermione supposed that years playing umpire between Mrs Weasley and the twins had him well practised. "I think we should look at the escort idea again. We may be safer in numbers."

"That will just make us a larger target." Kingsley's voice was low and considered.

"But it would give Harry more protection," Tonks reasoned.

The voices began to mix and muddle as people argued with each other. The clamour swelled, reaching a fever pitch when it was abruptly interrupted by three loud bangs (Hermione was reminded of a judge with a gavel) and silence fell.

"I 'ave a cunning plan." Hermione tried to feign surprise as Mundungus Fletcher spoke. Ron's eyebrows shot up his forehead and Ginny's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Cunning my arse," Ginny whispered, prompting Ron to shush her.

"What if we were to 'ave seven 'Arry Potters?" he asked into the silence.

"Seven Potters?" Moody asked in disbelief.

"Yeh, listen right? What if a bunch of people go to 'is 'ouse and six of 'em take that Polywossname Potion. Y'know, that one what the fake Mad-Eye took to sneak into 'Ogwarts that time?"

"We know what Polyjuice Potion is, Dung," one of the twins interrupted.

"Yeh, right, so we 'ave seven Potters and seven protectors. They can all fly off to different safe 'ouses and then take a port key back 'ere, yeh?" Mundungus explained sounding triumphant.

"D'you know what, Dung?" came Bill's voice. "That actually is a cunning plan."

"I'm not one inclined to exaggerate." Ron snorted at Mundungus's reply.

"It's worth considering," Mad-Eye begrudgingly admitted.

"What about the Polyjuice?" Mr Weasley asked. "We don't have anywhere near enough in stock."

"I think I have a solution to that," Professor McGonagall interjected for the first time that meeting. "Miss Granger can brew the potion."

"Is it wise trusting someone yet to take their NEWTs with a potion like that?" Kingsley asked, unknowingly offending Hermione a little in the process.

"Miss Granger is a more competent brewer than anyone here," the professor said brusquely, in a tone Hermione recognised from years of lectures. "Furthermore, she's successfully brewed the potion before." Did everyone know about that? How on Earth had she got away with it? Though she supposed being stuck half-way between girl and cat for weeks had been punishment enough.

"I guess that's settled then," said Mr Weasley. "Molly could you get Hermione started on the potion and we'll reconvene next week to plan the move in more detail."

Hermione manoeuvred her way back inside Ginny's bedroom. She was relieved that their plan had worked. Severus had contacted her a few days ago, suggesting the whole thing and a way to get it approved by the Order. Hermione had volunteered to do his dirty work. Mundungus had been hiding out in one of the shadier dive bars just off Diagon Alley, a place called The Virgin's Rest. She'd overheard him discussing it with the twins and decided that it would be the best place to corner him. He'd been well into his cups when she'd arrived, disguising the trip with an admission that she needed to stock up on "women's things" when Ron had asked to go with her. He'd quickly changed his mind.

Mundungus had been sat by himself in a corner of the bar smoking one of his revolting cigars. She'd shot a surreptitious confundus charm in his direction and joined him.

"Evening, Dung," she'd felt uncomfortable using the ridiculous nickname but persevered, this meeting had to be as forgettable as possible.

"'Ermione!" She loathed the way he said her name. "What're you doing 'ere?" He looked her up and down through the noxious cigar smoke. His gaze made her skin crawl and she resolved to shower thoroughly once this encounter was over.

"Why, I'm here to see you of course," she replied sweetly. From there, she proceeded to lay out the plan she and Severus had developed. He took it all in, carefully thinking over the details and committing them to memory. By the time she was done, Mundungus thought himself the mastermind of the plan and, once she was gone, he had no recollection of her ever being there.

"Blimey, 'Mione," Ron said as he climbed back inside himself. "You're going to be busy. You spent every spare minute in the loos when you brewed it before."

"At least I won't have to do it in a toilet cubicle this time," she said with a smile.

"Hang on," Ginny said. "You brewed Polyjuice Potion in a toilet stall?"

"Not just a toilet stall," Ron said with a grin. "A toilet stall on the second floor."

"Not Myrtle's bathroom?" she asked, a look of horror marring her pretty face. "When?"

"Your first year," Hermione said, not bothering to hide the pride she felt at that accomplishment. "We were trying to find out if Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin." Ginny shuddered dramatically.

"Ron! Hermione!" Mrs Weasley's voice sounded through the floorboards as she called up the stairs. They gave Ginny apologetic looks to which she shrugged and started rolling the Extendable Ears out once more. Being the only person not of age in the house meant that she spent a lot of time leaning out of windows.

"There you are!" Mrs Weasley said once they reached the kitchen. Predictably, Ron already had one of the biscuits from the table half-way to his mouth. "Don't you dare spoil your dinner," she snapped at her youngest son before turning to look at Hermione. "Hermione dear, Professor McGonagall has suggested that you would be up to brewing a batch of Polyjuice Potion."

"Oh!" Hermione said exercising her (by now well-used) surprised face. "I think I'm up to it! What do you need it for?"

"Never mind that for now, dear." The Weasley matriarch handed Hermione a small coin purse. "The Order has given me this for the ingredients. Remus has some errands to run in Diagon Alley, so I thought you could go together. Kingsley says to make sure you use Slug and Jiggers, they won't ask questions and will keep quiet."

"Of course, Mrs Weasley. Do you need me to get anything else?" she asked, years of manners kicking in as though on autopilot. "No dear, just hurry home afterwards, okay?"

"Mum, can I go with her?" Ron asked through a mouthful of biscuit.

"Absolutely not," Mrs Weasley said. "I need help with dinner."

"Surely Ginny can help out, you don't need me," Ron whined.

"I need both your help. We've a full house tonight." Ron looked like he was about to retort. "The more you complain, the more you'll have to do."

And that was that. Hermione ran upstairs to grab her robes, stopping to scribble a quick note to Severus on the way, and then she and Remus disappeared with identical cracks from the gate of the Weasley's, reappearing in the courtyard behind The Leaky Cauldron moments later. Hermione could say with absolute certainty that she hated being squeezed through time and space, no matter how convenient a way to travel apparition was.

"Severus!" Narcissa screeched at him.

He casually marked his place in the book he was reading, laid it down on the arm of the incredibly comfortable chair he was reclining in, and walked out of the library's French doors and into the bright sunshine that graced the Malfoy's beautifully appointed patio.

"Yes, Narcissa?" he asked, voice silky and hiding the glee he felt. "What can do for you?"

"You can control that beastly dog you on bringing here!" Her voice quivered, tightly restrained but Severus could hear her anger nonetheless.

"Oh dear," he said in mock-innocence, "what's she done now?"

"She's only gone and dug up the roses!" That tight restraint was unravelling quickly.

"Not the prize-winning ones I hope?" Severus asked, delighted to see the angry blush sweep up Narcissa's neck and begin to colour her cheeks. He often forgot the simple joy he found in riling her up.

"Not the prize-winning ones?" she shouted. "Not the prize-winning ones?" He assumed these questions were rhetorical. "They're all bloody prize-winning roses, Severus, as well you know. If you want to stay in my house for one moment longer," she levelled a perfectly manicured finger at him, "you will go down into the maze, restrain that bloody dog of yours, and keep her out of my flowers."

"Of course, Narcissa darling," he said with a wry smile. "I'll go and fetch her immediately. I can't imagine what's got into her."

And off he sauntered down the lawn, whistling for Butch as he went.

He found her stretched out in the sunshine in the centre of the maze, lying in the aftermath of what would be forever referred to as the Rose Massacre of '97. Severus surveyed the carnage with a smug smile: it was a job well done. He'd known that Butch would not be able to resist the dog treats he'd hidden in the rose bushes earlier that morning.

"Good girl," he scratched at her ears and clipped her lead into place. "You should have seen it - I thought her head was going to explode. I think I'll introduce you to the peahens tomorrow."

The two of them made their way back up the sweeping lawns and ducked into the cool shade of the library. It wasn't long after settling back down in his chair that his lab diary warmed next to him. They went for it. Do you have any advice for brewing Polyjuice? Severus grinned, still feeling mischievous, as he scrawled: Pro tip - do not add cat hair to brew. He could imagine the face she would pull when she read his reply; her pretty face would scrunch up as she pursed her lips, her eyebrows would crease in the centre, and her nostrils would flare before the whole thing would collapse and she would dissolve into giggles.

It was good to be away from Hogwarts. It almost let him forget, at least for a little while, everything the last few years had brought. Sure, he was living in the same house as the Dark Lord but, as long as he worked his way through the tasks that had been asked of him, that wasn't really a problem. He barely saw the man … or whatever he was. He enjoyed spending his days working on problems, tiring his eyes out in the library, and tormenting Narcissa. He stared into Albus's pleading eyes every night, but his days were filled with sunshine. The only thing he was missing was Hermione. They wrote each other notes every day but he missed discussing things with her. He missed the way they challenged one another. It wasn't quite the same in writing.

Later that day, he was just about to change for bed, having spent the evening buried in ancient potion lore, when his forearm seared with the heat of a summoning. Sighing, he slipped on his mask and robes and headed to the parlour the Dark Lord had been using as an audience chamber, not unlike a king. He did the usual kneeling and kissing, slipping into his place with well-practised ease and waiting patiently.

"Thank you for arriving so promptly," the Dark Lord said when the last of his inner circle had arrived. "I have a special project for you all tonight. The dementors of Azkaban have completely abandoned the prison to further my noble cause abroad. Tonight, I wish you to rescue your fellows from its cold cells; they have suffered long enough. Use whatever force necessary. We will show the Ministry that times are changing.

"Corban has the plans to the prison, follow him and rescue your brothers and sisters." The order was hissed and cold. One by one, the hooded figures bowed to their Lord and left the room in silence.

MINISTRY BLUNDER, KILLERS WALK FREE

For the third time in recent years, writes Rita Skeeter (Special Correspondent), the Ministry has allowed yet another breakout from Azkaban Prison. Historically lauded as the world's most secure detention facility, people are wondering if Azkaban's stone walls have been transfigured into straw. Last night, guards were silenced where they stood and no less than twelve known followers of He Who Must Not Be Named walked free. Thought to be the work of You-Know-Who himself, aurors at the MLE were left baffled by the sudden disappearance. This reporter believes that a serious overhaul of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement is required to prevent future blunders of this magnitude. In fact, if an overhaul had happened as soon as mass-murderer Sirius Black had slipped through the prison's increasingly porous walls, the subsequent breakouts may have been avoided entirely. For a Who's Who of the escaped convicts, see page 6.

So, you had a busy night? Hermione wrote in the lab diary after seeing the morning paper. She was sitting alone at the kitchen table and looking over her notes from the last time she'd brewed Polyjuice, her childish handwriting filling her with nostalgia for simpler days. If you could call brewing a complex potion in a toilet whilst an unknown attacker terrorised the school "simpler." She'd copied out the recipe from Moste Potente Potions and added careful annotations as she went. The plan was to brew in the Weasley's cellar; Ron and Ginny were clearing a space for her to work in.

It didn't take long for Severus's inelegant handwriting to spread across the page in dark blue ink: You could say that, yes. Lucius is having quite the reunion with his family. Hermione couldn't resist a quick Give him my best before packing up her notes and heading down the rickety stairs into the cellar. It was a bit of a shambles: years worth of old belongings were stacked in wooden crates against the walls; rusty cauldrons contained everything from shoes that looked too small to fit any of the Weasleys to old exercise books and colouring pencils; a large, dusty workbench ran against one wall and it was this that Ron and Ginny were cleaning. Ginny finished shifting the last stack of books from the table, dumping them unceremoniously into an old cauldron. Ron was struggling to get a cleaning spell to work.

"It's more of a sharp jab and twist, Ron," she said, making him jump.

"Huh?" Eloquent as per usual.

"The spell you're trying to do," she plucked her wand from her pocket, "you need to jab and twist." She demonstrated, sucking dust from the table in a slim vortex that disappeared into the aether millimetres from her wand tip. He gave it another go, copying her movements, and began to suck up dust as well.

"What would I do without you?" he asked.

"You'd probably be a little better at cleaning things the muggle way," she said, poking her tongue out at him.

"I have no intention of getting better at cleaning things the muggle way," Ginny said, picking up Arnold the pygmy puff, "and, as I'm not allowed to help you the wizarding way, I'm going flying." She flounced out of the cellar, red hair sweeping behind her.

"Don't mind Ginny," Ron started with a grimace. "She hates that she's the only one not being included in any of the Order stuff. We may not be allowed into meetings but at least we're allowed to help."

"I can't blame her," Hermione said with a shrug. "There's nothing worse than feeling useless."

"I dunno, I can think of worse things. Having to sit through one of Trelawny's classes, for instance, or listening to Zacharias Smith's quidditch commentary." Hermione giggled.

"I was thinking that we should make use of the fact that we're alone together," Hermione said. Ron's eyebrows disappeared beneath his hair and his eyes bulged. "Not like that, you filthy perve," she admonished. "We should talk about how you're going to protect your family if we have to disappear. If you're not at school next year, it'll raise questions."

"I hadn't even thought about that," Ron said, hoisting himself onto the now clean bench. "What about you? Won't they bother your parents if you don't show up?" he asked. It was a question Hermione had been dreading but she'd had a while to formulate her response.

"That won't be a problem," she said carefully. "I couldn't bear the thought of putting them at risk so I came up with a plan last year. I wiped myself from their memories, forged new identities for them, and convinced them it has been their lifelong ambition to move to Australia. They're living it up in the sunshine, none the wiser." She tried to force a note of cheeriness into her voice as she said this.

"That's brave, Hermione." He must be feeling sincere if he was using her actual name. "Will you be able to undo the spell?" he asked, voice full of concern. "Once this is over, I mean?"

"I don't know," her voice hitched. "I hope so."

She could feel the tears choking their way up her throat, knowing that she would never see them again. Ron's feet thudded against the floor as he jumped down from the table and then his arms were around her, pulling her fast against his chest. She let herself cry a little, she knew from experience that pushing down her tears would do no good. Eventually, she pulled back and fished a handkerchief from her pocket. It was one Severus had given her, a tiny SS stitched in a pearlescent grey embroidery thread in one corner. She kept the monogrammed corner screwed up in her hand, making a mental note to ward it with a notice-me-not charm later on.

"It'll be alright," Ron said, his voice filled with conviction.

"I've been thinking," Hermione started, a little nervous that he wouldn't like her plan, "that you should come down with spattergroit."

"Spattergroit?" he asked. "Isn't that what that barmy portrait in St. Mungo's said I had? Because of my freckles?"

"Yep," Hermione said with a nod. "It's highly contagious, chronic, and there's no known cure for it. The recommended cause of action if you're showing symptoms is to quarantine yourself at home. No one will want to come near you."

"But what happens if they decide to check up on me? Make sure I'm telling the truth?" Ron asked.

"We'll have to transfigure something living into a rough approximation of you. It just has to sit and moan a bit. Patients can't talk if the fungus reaches their vocal cords anyway."

"Smashing," Ron said dully, looking a little green. "How about the ghoul? It could live in my bedroom while we're away. It'd probably enjoy the attention!"

"Brilliant," Hermione said. "Get Fred and George to help you with the transfigurations. Don't ever tell them I've said it, but those two are really quite brilliant."

Ron hugged her and stomped up the stairs, leaving her alone in the dingy basement. It was time to get brewing.

"What do you mean 'that's not how you play gobstones'? Of course, it bloody is. Always has been, always will be," Lucius said, slamming his fist on the board to prove a point.

"You can't flick your gobstone twice in a row!" Severus retorted.

"Why not?"

"Because it's bloody cheating, you git."

"But that's how my family has always played!" Lucius protested

"Your family also went through a period of marrying-off first cousins. Just because your family does it, doesn't mean it's right!"

"What do you know about it? You didn't even grow up in a wizarding house!" Lucius pointed an accusatory finger in Severus's face.

"I'll have you know that my mam was Hogwarts Gobstone Champion three years in a row!" Severus yelled triumphantly. At his proclamation, one of the gobstones proceeded to cover Lucius in its foul sap. The acid green liquid ran down his face in fluorescent rivulets, staining his shirt. "Ha!" Severus said, arms raised in victory. "Even the gobstones agree with me!"

Severus woke up to an uncomfortable pressure across his throat. He blinked sore and hungover eyes, trying to get rid of the horrible fibres tickling his eyelashes and nostrils. He clearly needed his hands to deal with this irritant but, when he tried to lift one, he found it stuck beneath something heavy, warm, and unmoving. He tried to blow the fibres away but they just tickled his nose even more until he - "Aaaachoo!" - let forth an enormous sneeze.

"Aaah!" Lucius screamed in fright and sprang upright in Severus's bed, hair tangled and half-clothed.

"What the sodding hell are you doing in my bed?" Severus asked as he sat up, uncomfortably aware that he was in nothing more than his boxers.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" he asked clutching his head. "What did we do last night?"

"This is just a stab in the dark mind, but I'm going to say we drank ourselves silly," Severus replied, rasping voice dripping with sarcasm. "Accio hangover reliever," he cast before realising he wasn't holding a wand. He groped for it on his bedside table and tried again. Lucius laughed at him, the sound almost immediately cut off as he leaned over the edge of the bed and puked. It was Severus's turn to laugh.

"Why is there a dog in here?" Lucius asked, staring at the perky animal at his feet.

"She's mine," Severus explained.

"But why is she here?" Lucius whined. "I didn't give you permission to bring a dog into my house."

"You," Severus started snidely, "were incarcerated when I moved in here. In fact, if you stretch your mind back a couple of weeks, you may even remember that it was I who rescued your sorry arse. Putting up with my dog is the least you can do."

"Has she really been here the whole time?" Lucius asked, sounding a little confused.

"Yes."

"Then why haven't I noticed her before now?"

"Because you've been almost continuously drunk," Severus explained.

"And why aren't I drunk now?" the blonde asked.

"I have no idea."

"We should do something about that," Lucius resolved, standing up to fetch the whiskey.

"That may very well be the best idea you've had all day."

Lucius was leaning over the sink in Severus's bathroom, staring at his own face in the mirror. His cheeks were hollow and coated in dark scruff. His eyes, normally a cool grey and clear white, were a sickly yellow adorned with pink spiderwebs of blood. And the less said about his hair, the better.

"I look fucking awful."

"You do," Severus agreed.

"You look like some kind of Adonis next to me," Lucius complained. "And that's saying something."

"I'm practically a Prince Charming," Severus said.

"A what?"

"Never mind, it clearly doesn't translate to wizard-speak."

"For a Death Eater, you're very muggle," Lucius complained.

"It's part of my charm."

Lucius leaned closer to the mirror and sighed. "It's no wonder my wife won't sleep with me."

"I certainly wouldn't," Severus said, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"I should probably clean up a bit."

"You think?"

Lucius rubbed his back as he puked into the toilet bowl, the blonde's other hand holding his hair back. Eventually, Severus sat back on his heels, wiping at his mouth and flushing the loo.

"You must think I'm soft," Severus said, voice hoarse.

"Nah," Lucius waved a hand as though to waft the very idea of it away. "You should have seen me after Nancy Blackwell was killed, I think it was before you were recruited. Sure, she was a mudblood but I'd known her since I was eleven. They did awful things to her body, you know?" His voice hitched slightly. "She was my partner in Potions for seven years, I could barely keep it together long enough to avoid getting cursed."

"It's not like we were best mates but I've just known her so long, you know? We've been teaching in the same school, eating at the same table, attending the same meetings. Hell, sometimes we even went to the pub together." Severus shrugged, unsure how to carry on. Wishing that Charity had been given the chance to carry on.

"And today you watched her beg for help and then get eaten by a snake," Lucius supplied.

Severus puked again.

The potion was just as intricate as she remembered it being. Hours and hours were spent alone in the cellar of The Burrow; stewing lacewing flies, carefully preserving fluxweed, feeding leeches so as not to contaminate the potion with foreign blood, shredding boomslang skin, powdering bicorn horn. She could have bought the ingredients ready prepared but years of Potions classes with Severus had made her wary of store-prepared supplies. If you want something done right, do it yourself.

As with most brewing, there was a lot of down time, giving her time to work on the protean potion and scribble notes to Severus. Late one evening, she was sitting up at the bench, desperate for sleep but at the mercy of the fluxweed. It needed to be added to the cauldron at precisely 2.13 AM. Severus's handwriting blossomed on the page in front of her: I miss your face. She felt the blush staining her cheeks. As she stared at the page, thinking of what on Earth she should write back, your face vanished from the page, erased by the writer, and working with you appeared a moment later.

Somehow, his erasing the cute message was even more endearing than the fact he'd written it in the first place. She picked up her ballpoint pen and carefully inked the words I miss your face too. She didn't have to wait long for a reply. We should meet. She hadn't been expecting that at all. When? she replied. Now. He was certainly eager. I have to add the fluxweed at 2.13, she hastily explained. Then 3AM, Shrieking Shack, he scribbled. Is it safe? she asked. There was a short pause, before: I'll make sure of it.

Severus wasn't sure what in Merlin's name he was thinking. All he knew was that he missed her. That he was going crazy not seeing her. He had to watch everything he said, making sure never to mention her name. He knew that, had he been in a position to talk freely, he would be dropping her name into every other sentence. He missed the way her eyes gleamed with fire, the way her freckled nose would flare when she was annoyed. He missed her insane hair and her quiet company in the mornings. He missed her cheeky humour and the way she would laugh at his jokes, a delicate tinkle littered with inelegant snorts. He even missed her monstrous cat.

He left his room in the manor, creeping through the dark hallways in his customary silence and slipped out of a scullery door and into the grounds. They held a peaceful calm that they never quite managed to achieve during the day. Crickets sang from the hedges, the stars glinted from the still surface of the koi pond, and a gentle rustling of feathers drifted on the wind from the dovecote. He made it to the large, wrought iron gates without incident. They melted away as the wards recognised his Dark Mark and Severus strode quickly into the lane that seemed small and drab next to the splendour of the manor.

He apparated directly into the Shrieking Shack, wand at the ready. The caution was unnecessary; the wards he'd set the last time he visited were undisturbed and the dust coating the floorboards was untouched. A quick jab and twist of his wand made light work of it. He lit the ramshackle candelabra that hung crookedly from the ceiling and settled down to wait. This place always gave him the creeps but, luckily, it gave everyone else the creeps as well so it made the perfect meeting place. It was difficult seeing the trashed furniture, the slashed wallpaper, but he no longer dreamed about his encounter with Lupin. More sinister memories had taken its place in his nightmares.

She arrived with a loud crack, stumbling slightly as she landed, and Severus rushed over to her. He wanted to wrap her in his arms but stopped himself only to have her launch herself at him as soon as she was steady. Her arms wrapped themselves tightly around his neck and her hair tickled his nose (unlike when it had been Lucius's hair, he didn't mind a bit). His own hands found her back and he held her close, simply breathing her in.

"Sorry," she said, leaning back slightly, "I shouldn't have just thrown myself at you like that."

"Don't be daft," he said and pulled her in again, "it's not like you have the lurgy." She giggled, the vibrations thrumming through his chest. "I'm so glad to see you," he whispered into her hair.

"Me too," she said just as quietly. This time when she pulled back her hazel eyes found his before flicking towards his lips. He didn't need any more encouragement. It was a slow, languid kind of kiss. The kind often accompanied by visions of lazy days in the sunshine and stretching out on soft grass. When they broke apart, her lips glistened and her eyes were smouldering.

"I was so worried we'd never get to do that again," she said, surprising him.

"You can do that as many times as you like," he said with a smile, his small bubble of hope glowing inside his chest.

"I think I just might," she said and kissed him again.

It was nearly dawn when Hermione arrived back at The Burrow, her riot of curls bushier than normal. Severus seemed to have a thing for her hair, his hands could barely leave it alone; he would run his fingers through it as he kissed her (occasionally getting stuck) and she'd noticed him playing absently with a single curl whilst they were sat on the floor, backs to the wall, talking. They didn't discuss anything of importance to the war, they talked about the little things. She told him about life at The Burrow, things she was piecing together about the adults around her. He told her of the fun he was having messing with Narcissa, how disappointed he was in Draco, and he told her about Lucius. They had met at Hogwarts, Lucius was one of the seventh year prefects for Severus's first year at school. Small, skinny, and with ill-fitting clothes, Severus had been a bit of a target. Once it became apparent that he was a half-blood the bullying got worse. Lucius had helped him out, protected him without making him feel weak. She'd asked why Lucius felt the need to look after someone with muggle parentage, told him about the rubbish Draco came out with about her parents.

"Lucius wasn't always the person he is now," he'd said. "Don't get me wrong, he always thought that being well-bred was important, but the Malfoys had been rubbing elbows with the muggle aristocracy for centuries. But things changed, his mother and aunt were killed in a bombing in Ireland a few years after I started Hogwarts. It changed him. Muggles were responsible for the attack."

"But he's still your friend?" she'd asked, confused.

"I'd already wormed my way under his skin," he'd said with a smile. She couldn't help but lean over and kiss the dimple that formed in its wake.

"You do have a tendency to worm your way in," she'd teased.

Sneaking back into the house, the whole night felt surreal. She wriggled under the covers, ousting Crookshanks from his position on her pillow, and fell asleep to thoughts of the man who had wormed his way into her heart.

Which one will you be? Severus asked. Today was moving day and he was worrying himself sick over Hermione. Her reply came quickly: I don't know yet, her handwriting wasn't her usual smooth cursive, instead written with a shaking hand. Moody is keeping it secret until we get there. I won't be on a broom though. He could have guessed that himself, she'd been terrified of the broom when they'd harvested the basilisk. The arms around his waist and her body pressed tightly to his back had been torture then. He hated to think of her clinging on to somebody else in the same way. It wasn't jealousy precisely, more a desire to keep her all to himself. How could he protect her if he didn't know who she was? At least she wouldn't be a high priority target, he had made it well known amongst the Death Eaters that Potter was at home on a broom.

Severus apparated near to Privet Drive hours ahead of the scheduled move, disillusioned and carrying a broom. Once he reached his designated hideout, he settled in to wait for the move. He'd left the lab diary at the manor, it was too risky to bring it somewhere like this and Hermione wouldn't have access to hers anyway. He automatically started to reach for a cigarette, his fingers stilling at the opening of his pocket. He put his hand down, regretfully, there was no point sitting hidden away and camouflaged if he was going to give away his position with smoke. He should've bought a book.

Hours later and bored to tears, Severus heard the series of cracks and pops that announced the arrival of the Order of the Phoenix.

They had barely taken off when the Death Eaters descended on them from out of nowhere. She was expecting it but she barely managed to contain a yelp of surprise. Spells were flying left and right and Hermione joined the fray with only a moment's hesitation, slinging stunning spells and impediment jinxes whilst she clutched at Kingsley's robes with her free hand. The last year or so had better prepared her for this type of situation than the rest of her magical education put together. What she wasn't prepared for was the threstral she was sat astride to suddenly materialise beneath her as a black-clad body spiralled to the ground.

Severus was following Dolohov's blonde head, as it bobbed through the group of Death Eaters he was making chase with. Most of them were new recruits, there for show rather than skill. But Dolohov was another matter entirely. He flung a sectumsempra at his back, sure it would hit, just as Dolohov twisted in mid-air, his sloth-grip roll executed flawlessly, to avoid being hit by the red light of a stunner thrown by the would-be Potter. His curse soared harmlessly over Dolohov's head and struck the Potter doppelganger instead. He couldn't do a single thing to help them. Luckily Lupin noticed what had happened and managed to drag his charge onto the back of his broom mid-flight. Hermione's face seemed to hover before his vision as he continued to give chase, not daring to sling anything more than an impediment jinx. He couldn't risk hurting one of the Order. He managed to slow enough of the Death Eaters for Lupin and his charge to escape through the warded barrier of a safe house. Severus pulled his broom up and away from the tell-tale glint of the wards but Dolohov, not well versed in much besides curses and quidditch, slammed straight into the barrier and was thrown to the floor. Severus didn't bother to cast a cushioning charm. He twisted into midair and disappeared from the scene.

Few people were back at Malfoy Manor, clearly following the Order further afield. He rushed up to his room whilst he still had time and wrote a hurried note in the lab diary: Are you safe? Who did I hurt? And, after a minute or two of panicked breathing he thought to add the healing charm he found most effective on cursed wounds. A few more minutes passed and he couldn't help but add more. Did Potter escape safely? Was anyone hurt? He was about to ask Did anyone die? but couldn't bring himself to write the words, instead writing Did everyone make it? He could see more people making their way up the twisting drive of the manor, he'd have to go downstairs soon or he'd be missed. He just couldn't bring himself to leave when he didn't know if the witch he loved was safe.

His mark began to burn just as her writing bloomed on the page: I'm safe.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

If one more person bumps into me, snaps at me, or makes me polish another piece of furniture, I will not be responsible for my actions. Hermione's handwriting appeared before him, her usually smooth cursive sharp and angular.

I take it that the wedding preparations are going well? Severus asked, snorting to himself over her frustration.

Sod off, Severus.

Never, he replied, I intend to torment you until the day I die. I only wish I could do it face to face.

And why is that? she asked, a small hole appearing in the parchment where the question mark's dot should be.

So I can see your face scrunch up and turn that delightful pinkish colour. 

If you had told him a year ago that he would be flirting with a woman who, honest to Merlin, seemed to like him back he'd have recommended you get your head checked at St. Mungo's. He had to keep telling himself that the night in the Shrieking Shack had actually happened. His subconscious seemed to have no trouble remembering however, he'd been shocked the first time he'd awoken painfully hard from just dreaming of the way her soft, sweet mouth had felt against his. He'd ignored his erection that first day, opting for a cold shower. It had become more difficult to ignore each subsequent morning until, on the fifth day, he'd given in and taken himself in hand. He didn't have much experience fantasizing and couldn't even remember the last time he'd needed to. He pictured her delicate collarbones, puckered scar disappearing between her breasts, on the night he had told her of Dolohov's plan. He hadn't really noticed her state of undress at the time but now found it burnt into his brain. He imagined the way her chest heaved when she ran, how her eyes filled with fire at the slightest provocation. The robes she'd worn the night of Slughorn's party had been haunting him ever since. The press of her body after their training session, that combination of softness and hardness that was Hermione. He came hard, gasping her name and wishing he was with her.

But in a way, he was. He carried her around in a pocket, read her messages, and sent his own. The lab diary was an ever-present talisman, protecting him from the post-Dumbledore reality he found himself in. For so long, he'd carried Lily's ghost with him, his guilt haunting him. But now it was Hermione who gave him the strength to resist, helped him prevent pain, and grant secret mercies. A guardian angel of sorts. She couldn't keep the nightmares at bay but her words on the page when he woke panicked or upset, soothed him, helped him to slip back into the restful sleep he desperately needed. He couldn't help but think about what her actual presence beside him would do if this was the effect her words had.

Her words blossomed once more, the green ink softer now, the harsh angles of her previous messages smoothed over: I'm sticking my tongue out at you in my head.

He couldn't help himself. I can think of far better uses you can put your tongue to, Hermione. The words were out before he could think better of it. The seconds seemed to drag into minutes as he stared at the page waiting for her to respond. He had no way of knowing if she'd read them yet. What if she had and thought them disgusting, crude? What if she'd closed the book? After what felt like an hour had passed, though in reality it had been about ten minutes, a block of text appeared on the page, as though written elsewhere and spelled into the lab diary.

I had this dream. I think you'd like to hear it. It starts in class, a potions class. We're brewing a Draught of the Living Death and Neville (somehow in a NEWT Potions class taught by you) is messing his up. In my typical fashion, I start to help him fix it, whispering instructions when your back is turned and hoping you can't hear me. I'm suggesting he crush his sophorous beans when my neck begins to prickle. You are right behind me.

"Miss Granger," your voice is barely more than a whisper, "if you can't control your tongue, I will have to instruct you as to how. Detention." I can feel your breath on the shell of my ear, tightening my nipples and soaking my knickers. Do you have any idea what your voice can do to a person?

"Yes, sir," I manage to get out.

The classroom clears and then it's just me and you. You turn an old key in the lock; the click so much more satisfying than if you'd used a spell. Goosebumps ripple over my skin. And then you are in front of me.

"Why do you find yourself in detention today, Miss Granger?"

"Because I can't control my tongue and require further instruction, sir."

"Indeed you are, Miss Granger," you say.

"And how will you do that, Professor?" I ask, heat curling tightly in my belly.

"Just do as I say and you'll see." Your voice suddenly switches into teacher-mode, less silky with clipped consonants. I love both voices, though my favourite is your drunk voice. I love to hear you being less rigid, less precise. "Come here," you command. As though on automatic, my legs move me towards you. I am powerless to refuse. "Tell me, Miss Granger," you say, face mere inches from my own "Would you prefer to learn from a textbook or would you rather learn from an example?"

"An example," I choke out.

"An example what?"

"An example, please, sir."

"Better." I flush at the praise, slight though it is. "Sit on my desk, Miss Granger." I do so without hesitation. You stand between my legs, clever fingers trailing lightly over my knees. "How does that feel?"

"Teasing," I reply, unable to help myself.

"And this?" you ask, running your fingers up and down my thighs. I shiver; it's answer enough. Your fingers stroke my wet centre through the fabric of my knickers, lightly probing the delicate skin beneath.

"Sir?" Your fingers freeze. "What does this have to do with using my tongue?" In barely a second you have me pushed back against the hard surface of your desk, my knickers around my ankles. Your breath is cool against my hot cunt, my clit aching painfully.

"Why this, Miss Granger."

… And then I woke up and fingered myself until I came. I had to bite my knuckles to stop myself screaming your name.

Severus couldn't decide what he found more arousing: the idea of Hermione spread over his desk or the fact that she was telling him about it. Scant minutes later he came for the second time that day. Once his hands had stopped shaking he picked up his ballpoint pen and wrote: I use wards so I can scream your name.

She responded with a single sentence: Maybe soon we can scream together.

Love was in the air.

Supposedly, anyway.

The wedding tent was stifling, the hot summer sun magnified in the enclosed space. The label of her dress irritated her neck, driving her to distraction, and her small beaded bag hung like an anchor across her torso. The featherlight charm hadn't been as effective as she'd hoped. She'd got the idea from Severus's satchel, such a simple thing that would make a life of uncertainty much easier to bear. The theory behind the undetectable extension charm was complex but, once she'd wrapped her mind around it, it was fairly simple to apply to the bag she had bought for the wedding. She'd been packed for days, slipping in books and laundry as and when she could. After teasing Severus mercilessly that morning, she'd slipped her lab diary inside and snapped it closed. With so many witches and wizards breaching the wards today, she wanted to be prepared.

At that moment she regretted not being more prepared and testing the weight of the bag before leaving the house. A cushioning charm on the strap would probably help but she didn't want to draw attention to herself. Performing magic during someone else's wedding ceremony was just plain rude. It was lovely to see them standing up there, professing their love for each other in front of friends and family. Fleur looked radiant and, she had to admit, that the scars bisecting Bill's face added a rugged layer to his already handsome features. She had been positively star-struck on meeting Bill for the first time when she was fourteen: he was just so cool. She'd crushed on him in a low-level way since then, even becoming unaccountably jealous when she learned that he was engaged to Fleur. The Rockstar and the Veela certainly made a stunning and formidable couple.

Like many around her, she wept a little as they exchanged vows. Love in the time of war rarely left people dry-eyed, after all. She wondered what it would be like to express her love for Severus in front of those who mattered most to her, though she supposed she should probably profess it to him, first. She resolved to tell him the next time she saw him face to face, I love you was hardly lab diary appropriate. She needed him to look into her eyes and know that she meant it.

It felt like almost no time later that Viktor Krum was swinging her around the dance floor, one large hand resting on the small of her back and the other engulfing hers in one of his own. It had been years since she'd seen him, the summer before her fifth year, and they'd barely written to each other at all over the last year or so.

"And how are you managing to juggle professional quidditch and an apprenticeship?" she asked.

"Master Aleksandrov is remarkably understanding. Transfiguration is easier to fit around other commitments than things like potions. I work when I can and teach the younger students a few mornings a week. Quidditch practice is held in the afternoons and we do not train all year around." Viktor's English seemed to come more easily than it had before.

"I bet you're knackered though!" She imagined that much physical activity would do her in.

"I imagine that you are also knackered," he said, giving her a glimpse of that shy smile she had treasured so much a few years before. "You never seem to stop working! And a prefect as well!" She supposed it was good that he only saw the tip of the iceberg when it came to the work she was doing, she hoped that was all most people saw. "Do you think you'll be head girl next year?"

"D'you know, I hadn't even thought about it. I would be honoured to be asked but I'm not counting on it." Especially as she had no intention of returning to school.

"And have you any idea what you would like to do after Hogwarts? You would make an excellent Healer," he asked.

"I was thinking I'd actually like to do an apprenticeship." She thought back to the blackboard in her first class with Professor Bagshot. "Something like Magical Theory and Phenomena. I want to be working on the bleeding edge of magic."

"That sounds wonderful!" The song glided to a halt, he kissed her cheek softly and bowed, muttering about going to get something to drink. Oddly distracted.

She was quickly scooped up by George and dragged around the dance floor once more, her weary feet protesting all the while. That dance was followed by one from Fred, who was a more accomplished dancer than his twin but only slightly. As he twirled her around, she watched what looked like a very heated discussion between Viktor and Luna's father. The song soon finished and she begged off another one, citing her aching feet.

She had one shoe off when Kingsley's voice filled the air: The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.

The slight pop of his arrival at The Burrow was masked by the chaos that surrounded him. People were screaming, the cracks of appearances and disappearances filled the air, and somewhere a child was crying. Their mission was to terrify and it was working. Both anonymous and imposing in full Death Eater regalia, Severus stalked through the pandemonium, throwing sparks that were mostly for show and kicking over furniture. The cry came closer, the snotty, panicked cry of a scared child. Hiding behind an overturned table was a small girl, maybe four or five years old, clutching a very snotty teddy bear. Severus cast a quick notice-me-not and removed his mask, crouching down to talk to the girl.

"Shhhh," he soothed, using a handkerchief to wipe the worst of the snot off her face. "What's your name?"

"Eliza," she sniffed, no longer crying but still weepy.

"And who's your friend?" he asked, trying to keep her calm.

"Edmund Teddy." He smiled at the Narnia-inspired name. He'd devoured the books as a child.

"And what's your last name, Eliza?" he asked. "Who did you come with?"

"It's Fawcett, I came with my Nanna." Severus had a look around, he figured she meant Wilhelmina Fawcett, the notable herbologist, but he couldn't see the iron-haired matriarch anywhere.

"Do you know your address, Eliza?"

"Yes!" she said proudly, pulling her shoulders back.

"It's not safe here so I'm going to have Edmund Teddy take you to St. Mungo's okay? When you arrive, tell someone in lime green robes who you are okay? Like you did for me. Can you do that?" he asked gently.

"Yes," she said, a look of determination hardening her still snotty features.

"It was nice to meet you, Eliza." He tapped his wand on her bear and said "Portus." Three seconds passed and she disappeared to safety. He slipped his mask on and stood, a Death Eater once more.

Less than a week in and the isolation was beginning to wear. Hermione was pacing in the Black library, pulling down the occasional book only to throw it aside when she realised it would contain nothing of use. She'd barely been able to write to Severus or work on the potion, someone was always hovering over her. Though they wouldn't be able to see what she was writing or, more importantly, see Severus's scrawling reply, they would become suspicious if they couldn't see anything. She'd tried altering the wards on the lab diary but they were so well cast that they wouldn't budge. She never got a moment alone. If she offered to make a drink, someone followed her; if she said she was going to the library, one of the boys came along; if she spent too long in the bathroom, her only private space, someone came to check on her. Harry and Ron were driving her mad and, to make matters worse, she couldn't even go for a run and exercise the frustration away. Even a visit from Remus had done little to relieve the niggling feeling isolation caused.

She'd have thought it would get easier when they'd figured out where Slytherin's locket was. She was entirely wrong. Now, instead of just being followed from room to room, she was forced to help with the planning process. She was happy to, of course, it was vitally important that they find a horcrux, but if she was being honest, strategising was not her strong suit. She found it difficult to visualise the plan and, with so many unknown variables, her arithmancy was next to useless. This was where Ron shone. He really was brilliant on occasion. He identified fall-back positions and devised contingency strategies (she'd found herself thinking, meanly, that she was surprised he knew what contingency even meant, chastising herself for it moments later).

Their only real link to the outside world was the Daily Prophets they pinched from bins - not exactly what she would call a reliable source of news. It had been days since she'd heard from Severus when the headline emblazoned across the front page read: SEVERUS SNAPE NEW HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS. Her initial response was relief; if he was at the school, he would be away from Vol- You-Know-Who. (Severus had told her of the taboo as soon as he could and now she didn't even like to think his name and discouraged the boys from using it without letting on as to why.) Her second thought was that, if he was at the school, he'd be able to keep the students safe. She wouldn't have to worry about Ginny, Neville, or Luna. It shocked her a little to realise her list of friends was so short but she supposed that it shouldn't come as a surprise, she'd never made socialising a priority after all.

It wasn't until after almost half an hour of digesting the news that it really hit her: Severus was going back to Hogwarts. A place where he was despised by strangers and former-friends alike. He'd have to face Professors Bagshot and McGonagall, he'd have to command a staff that reviled him. And he'd have to do it completely alone.

She told the boys that she was going for a shower, her lab diary slipped under her jumper: I heard the news, are you going to be okay? He responded quickly, his letters somehow sharper than usual: I don't know.

He'd been waiting outside of the staffroom for almost three minutes, working up the nerve to go in and face his colleagues. He'd considered bringing Butch with him to the meeting, for emotional support, but thought better of it. He didn't want them taking out their anger at him on her. A distant bell struck eleven o'clock and he pushed the door open, snapping it closed behind him.

"Good morning," his voice was crisp, each syllable enunciated perfectly. "To those of you joining us for the first time, welcome. To everyone else, welcome back." He surveyed the faces in the room, taking great care not to focus on anyone for too long. Minerva's mouth was pressed into a thin line, Filius looked genuinely scared, Alecto Carrow was grinning gleefully. And Bel, his long-time friend and confidant, was scowling at him, her normally bright eyes dark with hate. That look broke something inside of him. Nevertheless, he had to carry on.

"As I'm sure most of you have guessed, things at Hogwarts are about to change. Be that as it may, the education of the future wizarding world will continue to be our top priority."

"You mean the education of the future wizarding world providing they have the right ancestry," Minerva barked at him, Scottish lilt more prominent than he'd heard it in a long time. He was almost relieved, bickering with the Head of Gryffindor was familiar territory.

"Why yes, I suppose I do, Minerva." She flinched as he used her given name, it had taken him years to earn that right and now he supposed she would revoke it. No less than he deserved, of course. "As I'm sure you're all aware, muggleborns will not be taught at Hogwarts in accordance with the new regulations laid down by the Ministry of Magic. Does anyone have a problem with this?" His voice was low and dangerous.

No one spoke, though it was clear they wanted to.

"I believe that timetables have already been drawn up for this year," he looked to Bel for confirmation. She gave a sharp nod. "I'm happy with the prefect selection, so that need not change, I'm sure MacMillan and Patil will make excellent head students. Any and all detentions will go through my office, but feel free to award and remove house points as you see fit."

"We've been assigning detentions for years," Pomona started, "what gives you the right-"

He cut her off. "Being headmaster of this school gives me the right, that's what. Anyone with a problem with this can visit my office to express their concerns." He forced a lighter tone into his voice. "My door is always open.

"There will be absolutely no magic outside of the classrooms or common rooms, any student breaking this rule should be referred directly to me. Teachers will only use magic outside of their classrooms and private quarters in an emergency." Several people muttered under their breath at this. "Hogsmeade is out of bounds for students, no more weekend trips. Teachers will be subject to inspections when entering or leaving the grounds." A couple of teachers actually gasped at this last one.

"I expect to see everyone apart from Poppy, Aurora, and Irma at all meals. No excuses. And finally, Heads of House will report to my office after you have welcomed your new pupils."

"Does Albus's office even open for you?" Minerva asked snidely.

"Of course, Minerva," he said with a slight smile, "I am headmaster, after all. Dismissed."

One by one they got up from their various chairs and left the staffroom. Nobody looked at him as they did so.

Not even Bel.

He needed a smoke.

Hermione was drowning in blood. It filled the room, seeping in beneath the door, creeping up her legs, warm and thick against her torso, metallic on her tongue. She choked, gasping for air, clutching at her throat. She needed to breathe, needed it desperately. Her head grew light and dizzy and then she was falling, sinking through the thick red liquid.

She awoke gasping, drenched in sweat and the locket felt like it was strangling her. She ripped it off, throwing it to the floor. Ron moaned in his sleep from the bottom bunk, she felt so awful about splinching him, worse still about letting Yaxley hitch a ride to their safe haven. She opened her cold lab diary, flicking to the page she had last written on. Her message was still there, unanswered: Grimmauld Place compromised. We are safe. We have the locket.

They'd been living in a tent for four days and already things were bad. They had next to no food, the horcrux was making everyone grumpy, and they had no idea what to do next. Well, she knew what they needed to do next, she just hadn't figured out how exactly she was going to tell them about Severus and the potion.

She checked her watch, it was still early but she decided to get up and relieve Harry from his post. A quick wash in the sink and a freshening charm would have to do. Though the tent was equipped with a bathroom, they couldn't get the shower to work. Nothing she'd tried so far had worked. She dragged herself from her warm bed and fell into her routine.

The days seemed to repeat themselves. She would wake and check the cold lab diary, they would leave and set up camp somewhere else, they would squabble over what to do next, she would practise her Occlumency whilst she was on guard, they would struggle to find food, and they would go to bed hungry and grumpy. She was desperate for a run.

One morning, something changed. Hermione awoke to a warm lab diary. She opened it to find pages and pages of Severus's scrawling handwriting, a boxed note at the very end: Hermione! I fucking did it! I woke up about a week ago and it was like everything had clicked into place. I've started to brew the potion already! I'm sure this will work.

"'Mione?" She was pulled out of her whirling, excited thoughts and snapped the lab diary shut. Ron was standing next to her bed, her eyes automatically flicked to his chest. He wasn't wearing the locket, it must be with Harry.

"What is it, Ron?"

"I need to ask you something." He had that uncertain but resolved look of his on his face.

"Can it wait? I'm in the middle of something."

"I don't think it can; meet me outside." He turned and left the tent, snagging his mug of tea from the kitchenette as he did so.

Sighing, Hermione scrambled down from the top bunk and pulled her clothes on, carefully tucking one of Severus's handkerchiefs into her pocket as she did so. She'd carried one every day since the wedding. The morning was crisp and clear, the September sun filtered through the leafy canopy above and leaving their clearing in soft, dappled light. Ron was sat next to a small fire to the left of the entrance, his limbs folded awkwardly into a sitting position that couldn't possibly be comfortable. She sat down next to him, wishing she'd brought a cup of tea with her just so she'd have something to do with her hands.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" she asked when he didn't say anything.

"Umm, it's kind of hard to ask. I don't want to sound like I'm accusing you of anything."

"Just ask, I'll try not to overreact, okay?

"Sure, okay," he looked a little more comfortable. "I've been running over and over this in my mind and I can't figure it out. You know when we were cornered by Dolohov and Rowle in the cafe?"

Hermione's scar twinged at the mere mention of its caster. "Yes, I'm not likely to forget that in a hurry."

"Well, I didn't think anything of it at the time but, before you obliviated them, you said that you'd never cast a memory charm and that you only knew the theory. How did you remove yourself from your parents' memories if you've never cast a memory charm before?"

"I, err …" Shit. She was about to open her mouth to lie but instead she found the hurt and grief welling up inside her, catching at her throat and clawing at her chest. She wasn't getting enough air, she tried to stand, to get away, but collapsed on the floor. Ron had his arm around her, rubbing circles on her back, making soothing noises but it wasn't helping. She pulled out her hanky to stem the tears streaming from her eyes and clutched the small square of fabric like a talisman. She ran her thumb over and over the monogram on the corner, trying to calm herself. She blew her nose and took a deep breath in, the air cold and sharp. One proper breath led to another and another. She was calmer but the tears still trickled down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione, I didn't mean to upse-"

"Ron," she cut him off, "there's something I need to tell you."

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

She told him everything. He sat, open mouthed, and listened to how Severus had turned up at her house, how he had caught her doing elemental magic, how she'd figured out she could trust him. The running, the Occlumency, her parents' deaths. She told him about their potion. Why he'd killed Professor Dumbledore. His message from this morning.

Finally, when her voice was hoarse and she'd lapsed into silence, he spoke. "So, you've been lying to us for over a year?" His tone was carefully neutral.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"There's no easy answer to that."

"Try."

"Initially it was Professor Dumbledore's idea. He told me not to tell Harry about the effects of Dolohov's curse, he was worried that Harry would feel responsible for it. He was already carrying so much guilt over Sirius's death. I couldn't add to it. I wasn't allowed to add to it. And then, things started to snowball. Everything seemed connected. I couldn't reveal one thing without exposing another."

"I get why you didn't tell Harry, I do, but why didn't tell me?"

"To begin with, it was because I didn't want to put you in a position that meant you were lying to your best friend. Later on, I didn't even consider telling you the truth."

"Why?"

"Why? Really?" Ron just shrugged, confused. "Because you were breaking my heart every single day. How could I trust you? You turned on me like that," she snapped her fingers, the noise echoing inside her wards. "And I had no idea why. None. How was I supposed to trust you with anything if I couldn't even trust you with my feelings." She knew it sounded overly dramatic as she said it but she couldn't help herself.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione," his voice was rough, a blush stained his cheeks.

"Sometimes, sorry isn't enough. I don't know why you thought it was okay to treat me like that and I hate not knowing whether or not it will happen again."

"I was jealous," Ron said.

"Of what?" she heard her voice take on the shrill quality she usually tried to avoid.

"Viktor Krum." His voice was low and hollow.

"Viktor Krum?" she asked in disbelief. "Why on Earth were you jealous of Viktor Krum? I barely speak to Viktor."

"It was something Ginny said. She was defending herself for kissing Dean Thomas in the hallway and kept shouting the names of people who'd been kissed, said if I got some snogging done myself, I wouldn't be such a prude. She said, well yelled really, that you'd snogged Viktor Krum." Hermione thought back to the rather steamy snogging sessions in the library, by the lake, and, well, anywhere they could get some privacy. She'd used thoughts of Viktor to fuel her fire in the beginning. Of course, after her session with the daydream charm she'd had to look no further than Severus to call her flames.

"That was such a long time ago, Ron."

"I know," he sighed, "it just hurt to have it confirmed. That you'd picked him over me."

"I didn't though. He asked me, you never did. I'd have much preferred it to have been you."

"Why is it always up to the guy to ask? If you liked me, why didn't you ask?"

"I did!" There was the shrillness again, Ron always brought it out in her. "I asked you to Slughorn's Christmas party, you prat! Do you have any idea how much courage that took? To ask out the boy I liked, a boy who's seen you as just one of the guys for however many years?"

Ron had the good grace to look ashamed of himself. "I didn't realise you meant as a date. I thought you were just taking pity on me 'cos I was never invited to any of the Slug Club stuff."

"Well, I wasn't."

"D'you think we'll ever get to a place like that again, a place where you can trust me with your heart?" he asked, his voice raw and honest.

"No," she hated to hurt him like this but there was nothing else for it, her heart had been claimed. "I don't see you that way anymore, Ron."

"I missed my chance?"

"Yes."

"Well, fuck me."

"Or not, as the case may be," she joked, receiving a chuckle for her efforts.

"Okay, so I get why you didn't tell us to begin with. But how could you hide your parents' murders like that?"

She blinked back tears before they could fall. "Because I couldn't stand to have you blame the one person who's been there for me."

"Why would we blame Snape?" he asked, clearly bewildered.

"Why? Because he's our spy, because you'd have thought he'd have known about it all along. Because he didn't predict them being tracked through banking. Hell, Harry wouldn't have even needed a reason. He's been gunning for Severus since day one! It doesn't matter that he's never right, he's determined to think of him as the evil bat of the dungeons. It doesn't matter to Harry that Severus has saved all our lives!" She was breathing heavily when she'd finished, having barely paused for breath.

"Severus?"

"Yes, Ron: Severus."

"But how do you know he did everything he could to save them?" Ron's voice was low and steady, the kind of voice you'd use to calm an upset animal.

"I have seen the state he comes back from Death Eater meetings in. I found him passed out in the dungeons one morning, he couldn't even make it back to his quarters! You should have seen the nerve damage he'd sustained, never mind the broken bones. I've seen how much of himself he gives to provide the Order with good information and nobody ever thanks him for it. Not to mention every arithmancy equation I've done points to his trustworthiness!"

"So, you trust him then? Even after he killed Dumbledore? You're adamant about your Dumbledore-asked-him-to-do-it theory?" Ron didn't look convinced.

"Let me tell you something about that night, Ron. We all took the lucky potion but as soon as that liquid hit my tongue, it told me not to take a full dose. It told me to save some for Severus. Why would it do that if he wasn't on our side?"

"So that's it then? You trust Snape?"

"I trust Severus Snape with my life. And, more importantly, I trust him with Harry's."

"So, we need to work with him to destroy the horcruxes?"

"Exactly."

"And how the bloody hell are we going to convince Harry of this?

He'd thought Hogwarts was hellish before, but it was nothing compared to the nightmare he was living in now. How was he supposed to keep anyone safe when people were deliberately putting themselves in harm's way? The children were rebelling and it was all he could do to keep them out of the Carrows' hands. He was still insisting that all punishments go through him, it was the only way to keep the wrong-doers safe, but no one else seemed to see that. Detention requests were piling up on his desk from all the teachers, each clearly trying to waste his time and try his patience. He'd never known Filius to be so liberal with punishments in all his time at Hogwarts and Pomona was sending miscreants his way every other day. He was assigning a lot of lines. It was the only thing that allowed him to supervise so many detentions at once.

He was sat in the ludicrously ornate headmaster's chair in the Great Hall, trying to choke down some porridge. Eating was proving difficult, his ulcers never giving him a moment's peace. It was still early and the hall was blissfully sleepy. Minerva was sat on the far end of the staff table, occasionally sneering at him but otherwise ignoring him. He knew it had to be this way, Albus had made that clear, but it still hurt that people, especially people had who had known him for years, were so ready to accept his treachery. As though they'd expected it to happen all along, after everything he'd risked and sacrificed to help the Order. He couldn't let himself think about Bel. He thought he might have given up if it hadn't been for Hermione. He cherished her trust, let it bloom inside his chest and protected it from the accusatory stares of everyone around him.

He eventually gave up on the porridge and made his way up to his new office. He'd always loved the office under Albus's reign but now he hated the place and the reminders it bore. He spoke the password to the gargoyle (he always congratulated himself on the choice of "Dumbledore" as a password, he seriously doubted anyone would ever guess it) and mentally prepared himself to face whatever the day had to throw him.

When he picked up the wine-red, leather book from his desk, it was warm. I had to tell Ron everything, I think I need to tell Harry too. We have a horcrux so it may as well be now. I'm sorry.

"Fuck," he said to the empty room.

"What can that book of yours say that can possibly warrant such vulgar language, my boy?" Albus, or at least an imprint of Albus, asked from his large golden frame.

"I've told you, Albus, do not call me 'my boy.' You lost all rights to that when you asked me to kill you. Do you really want me to fetch the turpentine?" Severus's voice was low and dangerous; only Albus ever failed to take this tone seriously.

"Oh! Don't be like that, Severus. What's got you down? It can't be as bad as all that?" The artist had done a remarkable job of capturing the thrice-damned twinkle in his eyes.

"I don't know," he said, sarcasm coming quickly to his tongue. "Is it not enough that I had to murder my mentor, have my friends and colleagues think me a traitor, and try and keep this school together whilst everyone, and I do mean everyone, in it is actively working against me?"

"Don't exaggerate, Severus."

"I'm not fucking exaggerating, you old coot."

"You just need to calm down a little, gain some perspective."

Severus really couldn't have said why he did what he did next, he supposed he was just feeling petty. He transfigured an ashtray from an inkwell, placing it just below Albus's frame, before slowly withdrawing a cigarette from his ever-present packet of Luckies. He lit the tip, drawing on it deeply and blew the smoke right into Albus's face. The former headmaster had always reviled smoking.

"You can't smoke in here," Albus said, his booming voice issuing from the cloud of smoke.

"Says who? I'm just doing as you said, Albus, and trying to calm down."

"Says me! And I only meant you should count to ten or take a few deep breaths."

"I am taking a few deep breaths," Severus retorted before blowing more smoke in Albus's face.

"Don't get smart with me, young man." Albus was sounding truly pissed off.

"Why? What're you going to do about it? Put me in detention? Being told off by a dead man is simply terrifying."

"I'll tell Moaning Myrtle that you asked to see her," Albus said, his voice noticeably calmer.

Severus stubbed out his cigarette. "I guess I'll just save the rest of this for later," he said, suitably chastised.

"See that you do." Albus was looking annoyingly triumphant. "And remember to vanish the smoke," he called over his shoulder as he left his painting. Severus ignored him, latching on to a single word: remember. He pulled the ancient pensieve out from its place in an ornate dresser and disappeared through the door that led to his private quarters. He had a lot of work to do if they were going to convince Potter that he could be trusted.

Belinda Bagshot was not the kind of person who dealt well with unexpected outcomes. When creating a spell, she did the research, considered variables, and made projections. She had been scribbling on her blackboards for the better part of a week, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. She was a little ashamed she hadn't done this sooner. It had been so believable. Harry had witnessed him kill (she couldn't bring herself to think "murder") Dumbledore. He'd fled the castle. No one had seen him for months. There'd been no word at all, she hadn't been convinced he was even alive until the article came out in the Daily Prophet. There had been a fleeting moment of relief before the anger took over.

Back in the school, he'd played his part well. Sneers galore and ridiculous restrictions on the teachers. She'd been so angry at him that, at first, she didn't notice. Attacks were hitting the news every other day but no one was hurt inside Hogwarts. Rebellious kids were writing lines. And there had been that look. The weekly staff meeting had been in full swing when it'd happened.

"To maintain student well-being, we need to ensure that no one is wandering at night, they need their sleep, and certain staff members have been slacking off," Sev had said.

"And what do you care about student well-being, Death Eater?" Minerva had asked.

For the briefest moment, Bel saw his face collapse. She saw her best friend and confidant. But then it was gone and the sneer ruled supreme once more.

And so she scribbled. She was missing something, she just wasn't sure what it was.

And then there was Hermione Granger, she was sure that Sev had meant every word he'd said about her. She was sure he loved her, like he hadn't loved since Lily. Maybe even more than he'd loved Lily. So how could he have betrayed her trust like that?

The only answer Bel could come up with was that he hadn't. She just didn't understand how. Maybe the answer lay with Hermione? She looked at the boards lining the right side of the classroom, carefully wiped clean. She cast a complex revealing spell of her own invention (she'd wiped away one too many an important equation over the years and needed a way to get them back). White lines began to sprawl across the smooth black surfaces, meeting and intertwining to form numbers and letters, lines and matrices. Hermione's neat hand was unmistakable. Certain symbols turned up time and again, all she had to do was figure out what they meant.

His feet squelched into the mud. Cold runnels of water ran through his hair and trickled over his skin, soaking through his sweatshirt. Butch panted beside him, her hot tongue steaming, as she splashed through puddles. They were on the far side of the lake when a dark figured blocked their path. Severus had his wand out in an instant.

"Who's there?" he asked. A single thought had his wand-tip lit but it wasn't bright enough to illuminate the cloaked figure in the half-light of sunrise. He flinched as they moved, two hands raised palms up. It came towards him.

"It's me." He knew the soft drawl immediately and Bel walked into the light.

"What do you want?" It hurt to ask like that, feeling the steel in his voice like a physical blow.

"I had to see you," her voice broke slightly as she said it but she continued to move towards him.

"Why?" he asked. "And why did you think it would be a good idea to ambush me? You could be dead already."

"I had to see you because I know."

"Know what?"

"I know who you are, Sev." She was right in front of him, only a wand's length away.

"Sev?" he asked, confused. He hadn't been Sev in so long.

"Yes," she said simply, "Sev."

Everything went blurry, his head full of echoes, and then he was falling. Her strong arms caught him. They sank to the ground together. She stroked his hair as he cried into her neck, Butch trying to nuzzle her way between them.

I've assembled some memories that will help Potter understand. The writing materialised in front of her, jolting her from her thoughts and bringing her back to the present. I will send them and a pensieve with Bel. With Bel? Hermione scrambled for a pen of her own.

Thank you, Severus. That's genius. But how has Bel (she'd almost written Professor Bagshot which seemed a little silly given the circumstances) become involved?

That would be your doing, I'm afraid. I'll let her explain it to you in person.

I'm guessing it's too dangerous for you to bring them yourself? She knew it was silly to hope.

It isn't worth the risk.

I know, she sighed as she wrote the words. Let me know the time and place.

I will, he wrote. And then, after a brief pause: I miss you.

I miss you too.

Hermione blinked back the tears she could feel rising and stood up from the rickety trestle table she was using as a makeshift desk. She and Ron had been tiptoeing around the Harry-issue. Both trying to act like nothing had happened. She thought that she had been doing a good job but Ron's performance left something to be desired.

"Ron," she said, voice low to prevent Harry from over-hearing through the thin walls of the tent, "Severus has come up with a plan."

"About bloody time," Ron huffed as he carefully shredded the onions they had found that morning. "Harry's getting suspicious, he keeps giving me these weirdly long, searching looks."

"Well, can you blame him?" Hermione snapped. "It's not as though you're giving the performance of the year."

"I'm sorry," Ron said, not sounding the least bit apologetic, "I'm not as used to lying to my friends as you are."

His words stung but she had no retort for them. "I'm going to need you to cover for me later, I need to pick up-" She cut her words off abruptly and jumped away from Ron as Harry walked into the tent.

"I'm not stupid, you know?" Harry said, sitting down at the table and filling his mug from the teapot that was perpetually kept under a warming charm.

"Of course, you're not stupid, Harry. Why would we think that?" she asked. He clearly knew they were up to something but it was vital he didn't discover what.

"You don't have to keep it a secret. I'm not going to get jealous or anything."

"Jealous?" Ron asked.

"I know that you're …you know…" Harry said with a blush.

"You think we're shagging?" Ron asked before Hermione could say anything.

"Well, I wouldn't have put it like that," Harry said with a smirk. "I was going to say 'seeing each other' but whatever you want to call it is fine by me."

"But, Harry, we're not-" Hermione started only to be cut off by Ron.

"There's no point hiding it anymore, 'Mione, he might as well know what's going on." He couldn't mean he was going to tell Harry? She opened her mouth to protest only to find it full of Ron's tongue as he kissed her, lifting her onto the slightly sticky work surface of the kitchenette as he did so. Her immediate instinct was to push him away but she caught herself. Maybe it would be best if Harry thought they were a couple for now, hopefully it would draw away suspicion if she had to sneak off later.

One thoroughly wet and slightly nauseating kiss later, they were all sat around the trestle table, drinking tea and playing exploding snap.

It wasn't until the next day that Severus gave her a time and a place, brushing off her hurried explanation of Ron's kiss. As he didn't seem to mind, she decided to use the ruse again.

"Ron," she whispered in his ear, wrapping her arms around his neck, "I need to leave for half an hour or so without Harry noticing."

"Leave it to me," he whispered back, leaning down to kiss her neck in a way that simultaneously gave her goosebumps and the urge to throw up. "Harry?" he asked loudly, making her jump a little. "D'you mind taking a shift on watch? Give us a bit of …" he twitched his eyebrows significantly, "privacy."

"Sure thing, mate," Harry responded with a knowing smile. "Just don't forget the silencing wards, yeh?"

"Oh, we're definitely going to need them."

Hermione waited until Harry was safely out of the tent before she pulled herself out of Ron's grasp and smacked him around the head.

"What the bloody hell was that for?"

"Enjoying yourself too much," she sniffed.

"Well, can you blame me?" he said, this time directing the eyebrow twitch at her.

"Gross, Ron."

"Where are you going anyway?" he asked.

"I'm meeting Professor Bagshot in a shopping centre; she's bringing the memories and a pensieve."

"Professor Bagshot?"

"Yep."

"Why her?"

"No idea, I'm hoping I'll find out." She pulled on her jacket and tucked the beaded bag into a pocket. "If there's trouble, though I'm sure there won't be, meet me in the rose garden of Ottery St. Catchpole, okay? And make sure you're under the cloak."

"What about the tent?" he asked.

"You won't have time to pack up the tent. I have everything important in my bag."

"Aye aye, Captain."

She kissed his cheek and slipped through the back of the tent, stretching the wards to allow her to pass through without drawing Harry's attention, and disappearing with barely a pop.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

Hermione appeared in a shadowy corner of the car park. Seeing the pink bands on the pillars supporting the ceiling warmed her heart. She'd come to this shopping centre whenever they'd visited her Nan and Grandad. Her mum always insisted that they use the pink car park because it was the only way she could remember where any of the shops inside were. Meadowhall shopping centre (or Meadow Hell if you asked her dad) was a veritable labyrinth of department stores, boutiques, and restaurants (whether fancy or the fast food variety) and was always something of a day out for her family. You don't just "pop into Meadowhall to get a few bits."

She walked in through the Marks and Spencer entrance, dodging shoppers and skirting around clothes racks, attempting to make as direct a line as possible to the shop's exit. Once she was outside the shop itself, the large hallways weren't so bad. It was a school day, so there weren't many families about, just lone shoppers, couples, and the odd mother or father with a pushchair. She'd specifically taken the ground floor route to avoid the bookstore and the temptation that lay within on the floor above. She'd been going spare with only a limited number of books at her disposal and was desperate for a novel.

She made it to The Lanes, a warren of small, quirky shops that ringed the food court, and hurried through. Crystals glittered from glass cases, t-shirts bearing funny slogans hung in rows from racks, and at the entrance to one shop a giant teddy bear stood guard. She took the escalator at the far end of The Lanes to the first floor and made her way to the neon lights of the Rock Island Diner. A quick glance around revealed that Bel had yet to arrive, so she took a seat at the bar.

"What can I get for you, duck?" a woman asked her, easily old enough to be Hermione's Nan and dressed like a waitress straight out of Grease.

"Umm … just a milkshake, please." She was too nervous to eat.

"Strawberry?" the waitress asked.

"Sounds good," Hermione said with a smile and the waitress whisked away.

She stared into the mirror behind the bar, keeping an eye on the room beyond. Suddenly, the music was turned right up and the lights went low. She almost had her wand out before she saw half the wait staff jump onto the runway-style stage that ran up the centre of the restaurant and start to dance.

"I just love this place!" a voice said in her ear, startling her. "The sheer over-the-top atmosphere reminds me of home!"

"I didn't see you come in!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping up from her barstool to greet her professor. Without really thinking about it, she threw her arms around Bel's neck and was relieved when the hug was returned without hesitation. "It's so good to see a friendly face!" Bel grinned at her.

"I'm so glad someone else is on his side," Hermione said without preamble as they sat down. "It's been killing me to read his messages and not be able to help him."

"I think you'll find that those messages did plenty to help." Hermione blushed.

"He said it was my fault that you figured it out? How?" she asked the older witch.

"Well, I knew something was off. How could I not? He's been my best friend for well over a decade." She sighed, eyes full of regret. "I'm embarrassed to admit just how long it took me to see through the act. He's damn good at it. Though, of course, I knew deep down that my Sev wasn't the person I was being shown. I worry though, so I needed to prove to myself that he was still on our side. And that's where you came in, Hermione."

"Really? How?"

"The blackboards in my classroom. I resurrected all the work you'd been doing on them."

"Wait," Hermione interrupted, "there's a spell for that?"

"I invented it a few years ago," Bel said with a modest shrug.

"Can you teach it to me?"

"Of course, hun," she said with a throaty laugh, "but not right now, okay?"

"Right, sorry!"

"I went through the equations you'd been doing. They were mostly innocuous and classroom-friendly, but you'd clearly become distracted one evening and started writing out a more sensitive matrix. One involving Sev."

"I remember! I was so tired that night, my mind was all over the place. I rubbed it off as soon as I realised what I was doing. I never thought anybody would be able to replicate it!"

"Of course, you had no way to know. Make sure you use an obliteration charm on sensitive work in the future."

"Absolutely, I can't imagine what would have happened if someone else saw it!" She was horrified with herself.

"Luckily, very few people would have been able to glean its meaning," Bel said with a gentle smile.

Hermione's milkshake arrived and Bel ordered a diet coke.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Bel asked, already retrieving a walnut cigarillo case from an inner pocket of the suit she was wearing.

"Not at all," Hermione responded, pushing the ashtray towards her. "I'm guessing that you confronted him?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely," she said, exhaling a cloud of spicy smoke. "I waited for him on the far side of the lake. I had to drag my arse out of the castle at five AM to make sure I was there well before him. We had a very dramatic reunion in the pouring rain."

"I bet he loved that," Hermione said, the sarcasm dripping from her voice was pure-Severus.

"D'you know, he'd never admit it, but I think he did." A pint of lazily fizzing coke was set before her and she took a sip through the red-and-white striped straw, leaving a dark smear of lipstick behind. "Anyway, I'm glad he's already found a use for me! I have some things for you. Do you have somewhere to keep them?" Hermione fished her small bag out of her pocket and opened it up. "You're not going to fit much in there," Bel observed.

"Undetectable extension charm."

"Impressive." She pointed to the large, designer bags at her feet. "One has the pensieve, the other is full of food. Severus said you might be struggling."

"Oh, thank god! I can't believe I didn't even think to ask for some. We spend the majority of each day looking for things that are edible!"

She carefully picked up the bags one at a time and slid them into her handbag. Watching the far too large items disappear inside her tiny bag freaked her out a little. She supposed it was her muggle parentage showing.

"And what about the memories?" she asked, a little nervous.

Bel reached inside her suit jacket and pulled out a small crystal phial. "He said that you should watch them with him."

Hermione took the delicate container and slid it inside an inner pocket. "I have to admit that I'm a little nervous. I have no idea what memories he's picked."

"I wouldn't worry too much, hun," Bel shrugged, "I'm sure it'll be nothing you haven't seen before. Now, you'd best get off. You can apparate from the toilets." She pointed to the neon WC sign at the back of the room. "I'll sort the bill."

"Thank you so much for this, Bel," she stood and hugged the older woman once more. "It means so much to know that you're on our side. When you see him, tell him …" What words could possibly convey all that she wanted to tell him? "Tell him to stay safe and give him this for me." She placed a kiss on Bel's soft cheek and pulled back, determined not to cry.

"Will do, hun. Stay safe, okay?"

Hermione strode to the toilets without looking back.

She made it back to the tent without incident, letting herself through the wards and sneaking in the rear of the tent. When she got inside, what she saw made her stomach drop. Ron and Harry were sat on either side of the trestle table. Shit.

"Where have you been, Hermione?" Harry asked, her full name sounding ominous on his lips.

"Where has Ron told you I've been?" she asked, working to keep her voice as calm as possible.

"He wouldn't say," Harry glared at the redhead. "Just that you were out and that you'd be back."

"Well, I went to get a few things." She lifted her beaded bag as evidence. "I also got food, if you're interested."

"Don't try and distract me, I deserve to know where you went," Harry growled. He hadn't spoken to her like that since their fifth year.

"And I plan on telling you. I just think that we will all benefit from something to eat before we get into things." She glanced at his chest, gold glinting above his jumper. "And take off that damned locket."

Harry glanced down at his chest, as though he'd forgotten he was wearing it, and lifted the chain carefully, letting the heavy pendant clunk onto the table. "Fine, let's eat."

Hermione dug the bag of food out from interdimensional space and started unloading it into the small kitchen. There was an entire stack of pre-made meals in foil containers, carefully sealed with stasis charms. She lifted the lid off on one of them and caught a delectable whiff of the food inside. "How does lasagne sound?"

"Bloody brilliant," Ron said.

"Fine." Harry's reply was curt.

Hermione levitated the foil container, plates, and cutlery over to the rickety surface and began dishing out squares of the pasta. The glossy meat sauce peeked from beneath golden folds and the cheese had been grilled to a crispy perfection.

"This is from Hogwarts," Harry said accusatorially after a mouthful.

"Yes." There was no point denying it.

"How did you get it?"

"You'll find out. Now, eat your dinner." She knew she was stalling but she couldn't seem to help it.

They ate in a tense silence. Knives scraping on the cheap plates, the kind that reminded Hermione of primary school dinners, and the sucking noise Ron made eating with his mouth open was driving her crazy. When all the plates were empty (Ron had managed a second helping in the time it took Harry and Hermione to eat one) and they had been magicked clean and sent back into the cupboard, Hermione fished the marble pensieve from her bag and placed it on the centre of the table.

"Where the hell did you get that?"

"Hogwarts," she said simply.

"And why do we need it?" Harry looked a little scared. "I've been telling you guys the truth about everything, you don't need to check my memories."

"It's not for your memories, Harry. It's for you to view someone else's."

"Whose?"

"They'll speak for themselves when we're in there. But first, you need to know that not everything is as it appears."

"It never is," he said so quietly she barely caught it.

"You also need to know that nothing is more important to me than winning this war and getting you two through it safely. Nothing." Ron and Harry both nodded, Harry's features lightening for a second. "Ron, I need you to keep watch, okay? We can't all be in the pensieve." He looked like he was about to argue. "You can watch them afterwards, alright?"

"Fine," he grumbled and settled down in his chair, pouring a mug of tea from the ever-present pot.

Hermione pulled the small vial from her inner pocket, unstoppered it, and tipped the silver stream of memories into the beautiful bowl. She held out her hand, grateful when Harry grasped it and they both dove into the past.

It was a curious sensation, she almost felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. She couldn't tell which way was up. She was glad of Harry's hand as they floated towards a patch of muddy green and they landed lightly in a park. Laughter floated on the breeze, cut off by a shrill voice Hermione found horrifyingly reminiscent of her own as a child. A small boy was crouched behind a shrub, watching the two girls closely as they played on the only swing that wasn't broken. Hermione knew she was looking at a young Severus, clad in cast-offs and clearly undernourished.

The girls were arguing, one with long red hair streaming in the wind as she swung higher and higher and the other with prim golden ringlets. The name Lily caught her attention and, as soon as it was said, Harry gasped.

"Mum?" he asked no one in particular.

They watched as Lily performed more magic and Petunia became frightened by it. Hermione expected Harry to recognise the small boy but his attention was enraptured by his mother. He didn't even glance at young Severus when he confronted the girls. It wasn't until Petunia screamed "that Snape boy" that he looked around.

"What is he doing here?" Harry growled out, his voice a low, angry rumble.

"You'll see."

The look of hurt and disappointment on young Severus's face as the girls walked away broke her heart.

The scene dissolved and, when it reformed, they were deeper in the park, the bright sun filtered into a golden green through the leaves of a large oak. Severus and Lily were laid out on the grass, chatting and smiling, their conversation filled with a childish innocence she missed so desperately. He blushed and she would giggle but, despite the obvious pleasure young Severus took in Lily's company, Hermione could see the darkness that lived behind his eyes. A darkness that became more pronounced when they discussed his father.

"They were friends," Harry breathed. "But then why …?" He left the question hanging there, unfinished, to be whipped away by the summer breeze.

Hermione watched the next few scenes as though in a daze. He was bullied on the train, torn away from Lily at the Sorting, and then they were older. She was chastising him and he was looking at her with … longing? Hermione physically recoiled as a teenaged Severus called his best friend a mudblood and Harry squeezed her hand in sympathy. Her heart broke all over again as she watched him beg for forgiveness.

And then it was cold and dark and Severus was on his knees, begging an unflinchingly harsh Professor Dumbledore to save Lily. Hermione almost dropped to her own knees when she focussed properly on his words: Severus was begging the headmaster to save the woman he loved. Harry seemed to misinterpret her weak knees and pulled her close, wrapping his arm about her shoulders.

In the next moment, Lily was dead and Severus was broken. "He has her eyes," Professor Dumbledore told him. She watched as Severus chained himself to the manipulative man, all for Lily Evans's eyes. As the scene was whisked away, they were thrown into their own years at school, saw all the behind-the-scenes work Severus had done to keep them alive. They watched as he was sent back to Voldemort and as he saved the headmaster's life after his folly. They watched as Dumbledore ordered Severus to kill him. Hermione couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up in her chest at Severus's response: "Would you like me to do it now? Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?" At the noise, Harry stared at her in confusion.

And then they were in a library, opulent despite the gloom, and listening to Dolohov ask for Severus's help. Hermione had a feeling she knew what was coming next.

Suddenly, there were two of her, and Severus was explaining the danger she was in. Harry let go of her, recoiling as though burned. Hurt filling his eyes. Her bedroom dissolved and they were standing in his classroom, the runes for fire, water, and trust glowing on the surface of the blackboard. She and Harry watched them share their secret powers, watched her learn Occlumency. They saw the running, the Scrying Potion. With each scene, Hermione felt as though her skin was being flayed open, exposing her ribs, her lungs, her heart. She watched herself fall in love with a man who loved his childhood friend.

"Tell me, sir, what do you know about horcruxes?" Harry hissed aloud as her past self spilt their biggest secret.

"How could you?"

"Just keep watching, Harry."

And he did. He saw her reveal the location of the seventh horcrux. He saw their plan for a potion to destroy them. And then they were shoved into the worst day of Hermione's life.

"You're parents have been killed." Harry pulled her back towards him, clinging to her as the other Hermione broke down in Severus's arms.

They watched her explanation of a Protean Potion and the fevered work poured into it, as they communicated through the lab diaries. And then it was the night. The night Hermione recalled with perfect clarity:

"I want you to trust me … No, I need you to trust me."

"I've never trusted anyone more."

And then they were standing in the rain, watching as Bel embraced her best friend. Harry looked puzzled but Hermione was too relieved to pay him much mind. She knew that they'd reconciled but it felt real to actually see it. He wasn't alone anymore.

They were now in a small bathroom and Severus was staring at himself in the small mirror. "Potter," he said, voice echoing off the neat white tiles, "I know you don't want to hear this but I am on your side. We can defeat him. We have come too far to let hatred get in the way. Trust in Hermione, she's only ever done what was best for you."

As the last echo fell silent, they were evicted from the pensieve and back in the all-too-real tent. Hermione realised she was crying.

It was a while before any of them were ready to speak. They sat in silence, Harry with his fists clenched and Hermione with tears running silently down her cheeks, as Ron entered the pensieve. He emerged almost an hour later looking oddly thoughtful and began to bustle about the kitchen, making a fresh pot of tea.

"So," he said, voice falsely bright and hard on her ears, "I think we need to talk."

Neither Harry nor Hermione spoke.

"I'll go first, then?" Ron said, the lightness in his voice knocked down a few notches. "So you and Snape have been working on a potion that will destroy all the horcruxes?" Ron asked, as though she hadn't already told him.

"Yes, the inanimate ones at least."

"So that'll leave Harry and Nagini then?"

"Pretty much."

"That's a good start then, don't you think, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry forced out, clearly trying to keep his anger in check. "It would, of course, be better if I wasn't a horcrux and one of my best friends hadn't been lying to me for over a year."

"Well, that's just fucking tough!" Hermione jumped to her feet, knocking her stool to the floor. "I have been lying to you, yes. But, do you know what? I've been doing everything in my power to make sure that you have the best possible chance against Vol - errr You-Know-Who when the time comes!"

"Why didn't you say Vol-"

"Don't!" Hermione cut Harry off. "The name's taboo, saying it will bring Death Eaters to our doorstep. It's how they found us in London."

"And how exactly do you know this?" Harry asked coldly.

"Oh, please," Hermione said with an eye roll, "you know very well that Severus told me."

"Severus?"

"Yes, Harry," she was surprised to hear Ron come to her defence, "they're friends. It would be weird if she didn't call him that. So, back to the topic at hand. Did you guys manage to come up with a potion you think will work."

"Yes, Severus is brewing it at the moment."

"Right, that's good." Ron was being unbelievably helpful. "I'm sure you have questions, Harry. Now's the time to ask them."

"Yeh, I do." Harry seemed to come to some sort of decision because his fists unclenched and his face relaxed ever so slightly. "So Snape has been on our side all along?" Hermione nodded. "Because he loves my mother."

Hermione felt herself wince at the present tense in his statement. "It would appear that way."

"And you trust him?"

"I do," she said.

"Why?"

"It started with arithmancy, I decided to trust him because the equations told me to," she explained.

"Is that what those runes on the board said?" Ron asked.

"Yes. And then I got to know him. If you knew him like I do, you'd trust him too." Harry didn't look convinced. "You haven't seen what he goes through for the Order as a Death Eater. And he was the one that came up with using Polyjuice potion to move you to the Burrow."

"I thought that was Dung?" Harry asked.

"I confunded him and planted the idea in his head. He has no idea."

"So, you've been playing the role of Snape's spy?" he accused.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Harry. It's me, you know, your best friend of six years. I'm not playing at anything. I'm trying to help. Get it through your thick skull. Severus Snape is on your side. I'm on your side. Ron's on your side." She felt pressure building in her head and, before she could stop herself, fire flared over her clenched fists. "Shit." She opened her hands, extinguishing the flames as she did so.

"I've been meaning to ask about that," Ron said, his voice low and calming. "What's with the flames?"

"It's an old type of magic, I don't really understand it properly. It's supposedly passed through blood."

"But your parents are muggles."

"It can lay dormant for generations. And it's were, Ron. They were muggles." She could feel tears clawing their way up her throat. She closed her eyes only to find herself engulfed by two warm bodies.

"I'm so sorry, 'Mione," Harry whispered into her hair. "I can't believe you faced that by yourself."

"I wasn't by myself though, Harry," she choked out. "That's what I keep trying to tell you. I had Severus."

At her words, Harry embraced her harder and she felt Ron's hand on her hair, stroking gently.

"We can do this," she said, pulling back slightly, "but it's going to take all of us."

"I know," Harry said with a sigh, visibly sagging. "It's just difficult to accept. I feel like my entire world has shifted."

"I suppose it has in a way," Ron said, "but not in essentials. We have you, Harry." He beamed at the pair of them. "I do have one question though. Who was that chick in the rain at the end?"

"That's Bel," Hermione explained, "Professor Bagshot. She and Severus have been friends since he joined the staff."

"But why did he show us that?"

"I think it was for me, to stop me worrying about him alone up at the school."

"He's hardly alone, the castle's got to have hundreds of people in it."

"Emotionally alone, Ron," she said with a sigh and an eye roll. "Everyone thinks he's a Death Eater and a murderer. I needed to see it."

"So," said Harry, he clearly didn't care about whether or not Severus was alone, "what's the next step?"

"We bring him here once the potion is finished."

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

Severus arrived amid the shadows of slender pine trees as the sun was beginning to set, pink light streaking through the greens and browns of the forest. Emerald ferns were crushed beneath his dragonhide boots, sap cleaning to their rims.

"Severus?" He had his wand up in an instant, though he recognised the voice. Hermione's head appeared in thin air, the rest of her hidden by Potter's cloak.

He wanted to run to her, embrace her, but restrained himself. "Can they see us?"

"Yes."

"Can they hear us?"

"No." Well, that was something he supposed.

"Hermione, tell me, where did we have our first kiss?" he asked, hoping she would know how desperately he wanted to kiss her now.

"Outside your office," she said in barely more than a whisper, her jaw was clenched and her face stony. Perhaps the others had a clear view of her face?

"Shall we then?" he asked her. She nodded and turned her back to him, lifting the wards with one disembodied hand. He followed her through them, feeling the cold of the barrier seep into his limbs as he passed beneath; these wards had been extraordinarily well-cast.

He emerged in a small clearing. A dirty beige tent was propped up in the centre, flaps rippling in the wind, tattered fly-ropes pegged into the hard earth. A smouldering pile of logs, the skeleton of a long-extinguished fire, was carefully banked with bricks and littered around it were three mugs filled to various levels with tea. Potter and Weasley stood before him, wands out and faces fixed into snarls.

"Really, why invite me here if you're just going to curse me?" he said, his typical smooth drawl firmly in place. "Put the wands away, boys." He tucked his own back up his sleeve and felt it click into the wand holster he had there. Hermione was removing the cloak, folding it carefully and not paying any of them notice.

"And how do we know we can trust you, Snape?" Potter growled in an uncanny impression of his deceased father (who, of course, would never have trusted him).

"If you don't think you can trust me, it was very foolish to allow me into your inner sanctum, don't you think?" It was almost fun watching their faces, they pulled the same ridiculous expressions they used to in his Potions class whenever they felt they'd been unfairly treated. Which, naturally, they often had been.

"Well, err …" Potter said, wand lowering ever so slightly.

Severus decided to push a little further. "I do hope you'll have more to say than 'err' when you face the Dark Lord, Potter."

"If you're on our side, why don't you say his name?" Harry demanded. "Only Death Eaters call him the Dark Lord."

"In case you've forgotten, his name is taboo. I have no desire to call Snatchers to our location." He smirked, finding that he was actually enjoying himself. "Besides, I am a Death Eater."

Potter looked like he was about to retort but Hermione cut him off. "What are Snatchers?" she asked, her voice unusually sedate, lacking the spark that had been so characteristic of her during their friendship.

"Kind of Death Eater wannabes. Officially, they work for the Ministry and are alerted to the position of whomever has spoken the taboo. They take most of their quarries back to the Ministry but all high value targets are brought straight to the Death Eaters." He found the slip from snarky bastard into competent teacher remarkably easy to fall into even after months away from the classroom. "Now, are we going to stand around all day and chat about Ministry procedure? Or would you like to invite me in so that we can do what I came here to do?"

To his surprise, it was Weasley and not Hermione who lifted a tent flap and gestured him inside. "Make yourself at home, Professor."

Severus ducked through the flaps and emerged into what reminded him of a 1970s bachelor flat. A small kitchenette filled one corner, the Formica worktop held that unavoidable sticky sheen and it wouldn't have looked out of place filled with the Bakelite appliances his mam had favoured. A cauldron, sat precariously atop the hob, made for an interesting sight. A rather rickety trestle table filled the majority of the floor space whilst two sets of bunk beds vied for the remaining available space, one of the lower bunks looked to be used as a sofa. Books tottered in piles on the table and floor and scrolls were stretched out, ends held fast beneath mugs in varying states of cleanliness. Ballpoint pens littered every available surface, Severus almost stepped on one as he made his way into the room, and Hermione's ruby red lab diary was thrown atop the blankets that covered the other lower bunk. He fixed the image in his mind's eye, it would be nice to picture her surroundings the next time he thought of her. He may even be able to trick himself into thinking she was safe.

"Love what you've done with the place," he said, lifting a stack of books from the surface of a stool and taking a seat.

"It's not much," Weasley shrugged. "But it's better than the alternative."

"Indeed." He unhooked his satchel from its home on his shoulder and opened the leather flap. "I've bought some supplies." He started to unload stuff from the table. "I thought you might need razors," he said, dumping some new ones on the table, "sharpening spells only work so well. I've got some other toiletries here." He pulled toothpaste and potions for washing bodies and hair out of the bag. "Bel said you might need these, Hermione." He threw her a silk drawstring bag and she fumbled as she caught it. "I haven't checked what's inside," he said at her blush. He hadn't needed to, of course, he knew very well that women couldn't be expected to live without decent hygiene products; periods didn't stop just because there was a war on. "I've got coffee," she smiled broadly as he put the can on the table, "and sugar. And I brought you some Honeyduke's finest. You can't be expected to save the world without access to chocolate. You'll need to take these," he tugged three vials from a small compartment, "it's a nutrient potion, it should help fix any of the problems you may have developed during your prolonged separation from healthy food. And finally," he put three small, red pouches on the table, "I'd like you to carry these on you at all times, somewhere unobtrusive."

"What are they?" Hermione asked, picking up one of the coin-sized pouches and examining it.

"They open up into first aid kits. They've got emergency potions, some bandages, chocolate for dementors, and a small beacon. If you crack the orange stick, it will alert mine and will provide a rough location."

"What will you be able to do about it?" she asked and he winced.

"That's the problem, there isn't anyone I can alert easily in an emergency, so only use them in extreme need. It needs to be worth me breaking my cover."

"Well," Harry sneered, "I wouldn't want you to do anything to risk your precious cover."

"Albus died for that cover, Potter." He could feel the ice tainting his voice.

"You mean it's what you killed him for."

"Believe what you want."

"We've seen the memories, Professor," Weasley interjected in a reasonable tone of voice, "even if some of us are being dicks about it, we understand why you did what you did. Not to mention, Hermione trusting you is more than enough evidence for me."

"Thank you, Mr Weasley," Severus was sure his cheeks were flushed. He hated that they'd had to see him at his weakest to understand.

"No, thank you. And it's Ron." The redhead held out his hand and Severus shook it, a little shocked.

"Severus," he said.

"Thanks for the supplies," Ron said, running a hand over his chin. "I'm desperate for a decent shave."

Whilst this was happening, Potter was sat slouched on a stool, hunched over with folded arms and glare firmly in place. His likeness to Lily had never been more pronounced. She used to sit in exactly the same way. She'd never been able to hide how she was feeling and would glare daggers at him on a semi-regular basis. He hadn't minded, she always forgave him. Until she didn't, that is. His heart had broken that day and had been struggling to function ever since. It wasn't until Hermione had stomped into his life, clad in a pink dressing-gown and bunny slippers, that it had begun to heal. Horribly cliched, but true nevertheless.

"Right," Severus said, fetching a final vial of potion from his bag, "shall we get on with it?" The potion was a deep purple colour and had only finished simmering that morning. "Do you have the locket?"

Potter dropped it on the table and stood back. "How does it work?" he asked.

"We based the destructive part of the potion on basilisk venom," Hermione started as though she was explaining a tricky piece of homework. "You've seen first-hand what it does to horcruxes." Potter nodded. "And then there's the protean component. If it works, the potion should convey the destructive power of the Basilisk venom to each part of Vo- his soul."

"But won't that affect me?" Harry asked, reasonably.

"No, Harry, it will only affect non-living objects."

"But wouldn't it make sense to take us all out? You could get me, the snake, and his evilness all in one go, right? After all, 'either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives' and all that."

"We aren't risking your life, Potter, not if we don't have to." He thought back to the disturbing conversation he'd had with Albus months ago, telling him the boy had to die. "I haven't worked my arse off keeping you alive just for you to sacrifice yourself at the first opportunity."

"And, besides," Hermione said, "we couldn't actually come up with a formula that would allow the effects to be passed into a living host. That's seriously dark magic. Voodoo, even. Magic like that is corrupt and will corrupt everything it touches. It carries a price."

"So the Dark Mark carries a price?" he asked, no longer glaring.

"Yes," Severus said sharply.

"What is it?"

"Trust me on this one Potter, you do not want to know."

"How will we know if it's worked?" Ron asked before Potter could press the issue further. Severus was developing a grudging respect for the second youngest Weasley.

"It'll be hard to tell but I don't think that the Dark Lord could sustain the loss of so much of his soul without noticing something had happened."

"Lucky for us, we have a magical megalomaniac-o-meter right here," Ron said, indicating towards Potter.

"That's not funny, Ron," Hermione snapped.

"It is a little," Potter said, defending his best friend.

"I will keep an eye on the situation as well," Severus interjected. "I'll send word if there's any indication it has worked."

"Harry," Hermione started, "I need you to open the locket, it will work better if we can get to the heart of the object … I think. Who knows, really?" she finished uncertainly with a shrug.

"It can't hurt," Severus agreed. "Wingardium leviosa," he cast, lifting the locket into the air. "We don't want to damage the furniture."

"Err right." Harry got up from his stool and stood before the floating locket. "Shall I do it now?"

"By all means, Potter, feel free to wait until we all die of old of age." Did the idiot child think he was levitating the cursed thing for fun?

"What Severus means is that now would be preferable," Hermione said, voice flat.

A hissing noise issued from Potter, making Severus's skin crawl, and the locket swung open with a click. He was about to the pour the deep purple potion over it when a cloud of dark smoke began to billow from its centre, coalescing into something both tangible and terrible.

The dense fog writhed and curled, shaping itself into cruel facsimiles of the three people she was stood in the tent with, their faces almost blank with a vicious perfection. The rest of the tent seemed to filter from her vision as the three figures turned to face her, crowding her.

"We have seen your dreams, Hermione Granger, and we have seen your fears," the three said together, voices pitched in harmony.

"You'll never be enough, you know," the not-Ron started, his voice low and accent crisp.

"You'll always be a second choice, a substitute," the not-Harry continued, eyes filled with disdain. "How could you think that you could possibly compare to me, be worth me? I'm the Boy-Who-Lived."

"You'll never be her," the not-Severus interjected, his voice cold and smooth, "never be my Lily, no one could."

"You'll never live up to the might of a Potter!" they bellowed together, the sheer force of their words knocking her to her knees.

They're right, I'm nothing, I'm no one. The boys would be fine without me. Severus would be fine without me. I'm not her; how could he need me?

She tucked her knees up, burying her head in them, trying to breathe through the panicked tears coursing down her face. She hadn't even felt them start. A large hand gently rubbed circles across her back. She ignored it, curling more tightly in on herself. She was scooped up, one arm under her knees and another firmly around her waist. She was placed gently on a warm lap but she refused to collapse into the hard chest next to her. No matter how appealing the idea was right now.

Ron watched as the normally severe and scathing Potions Master cradled his friend in his arms. He'd had his suspicions, but it was nice to have them confirmed. He was sure Harry had missed it, focused as he was on Severus's betrayal, but Ron had noticed every detail inside those memories. He'd watched as two people fell in love: running and laughing together, exposing their hearts and minds. How desperately he wanted that. To be someone's last thought at night and their first thought when they woke. Severus may have been in love with Lily once, but it was just as clear that he was now in love with Hermione.

But his friend, usually so clever, had seen only Lily.

And that just wouldn't do.

When Hermione awoke, curled in the foetal position beneath a blanket, he was gone.

She sat and stretched out her sore neck. Harry and Ron were both sat at the table, a chessboard between them. She joined them, sitting heavily on one of the stools before standing again and looking at the seat with disdain. A flick of her wand transfigured it into a squashy armchair. The spell wouldn't last but it would certainly do for now.

"He was summoned," Ron explained without lifting his eyes from the match in front of him, "he didn't want to wake you."

"What happened to the locket?" Hermione asked, doing her best to ignore the information about Severus.

Harry lifted up the charred remains of the necklace. "I'd say that's pretty destroyed, wouldn't you?"

"Did … err … did you guys see the same thing I did?"

Harry looked like he was about to respond but Ron cut him off. "We just sort of saw the smoke gather around you and the next thing we knew, you were in tears. Sn- Severus poured on the potion and let it drop to the floor once it was over. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, I don't even want to think about it."

"Okay," Harry said in a soothing voice, "but just know this: it was lying. That … thing would do anything to hurt the people attacking it, anything to protect itself. Remember that, okay? Nothing it said was true." If only he knew how true it was. She shook herself.

"Any word yet on whether the other horcruxes have been destroyed?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"There was a flash of anger right before Snape was summoned but it's been quiet since," Harry explained. "No indication that the others have disappeared. I think he must have felt something but not enough to clue him in. He just seemed irrationally angry or something."

"Shit," Hermione spat emphatically. "I knew there was a chance it wouldn't work, the equations weren't conclusive. But I'd hoped."

"We all did," Ron said with a shrug.

Unable to stand feeling useless for a moment longer, Hermione jumped to her feet. "I've got to get out of this tent. Do you think it's safe for me to go for a run?"

"I don't see why not," Harry said. "Just make sure you have your emergency pouch and send a patronus if anything happens."

"You seem to be in a better mood," Hermione observed.

"It's 'cos S- Severus is gone," Ron said, stumbling over the unfamiliar name.

"I get it, I do," Harry explained, voice taking on a whiny quality. "When he's not here, I can accept that he's on our side. But when I see his face, I just see him turning his wand on Dumbledore."

"That makes sense, Harry," Hermione said with a kind smile. "I sometimes forget that you saw it happen."

"I wish I could," Harry said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Hermione patted his shoulder gently before fishing her running gear out of her beaded bag, where it had lain neglected for over a month. She pulled the curtain closed, they'd rigged it when they'd realised the bathroom was too small to change in, and stripped off her dirty stuff. Nothing ever got properly clean in the tent and household charms really weren't her forte. She longed for a shower or, better still, a bath. She should have taken better advantage of the Prefects' Bathroom when she'd had the chance. She wanted steaming hot water and lavender foam.

The ground was hard beneath her feet and small clouds of dust rose every time her trainers pounded into the floor. Cold, sharp air stung her nose with each inhale through her nose and warm air drifted in a fug from her mouth as she exhaled. The trees stood sentinel to either side of her as she ran past, leading her deeper into Sherwood Pines. She'd visited this place once before with her parents, they'd first seen the neighbouring Sherwood Forest but Hermione much preferred its quieter counterpart. Slender and elegant, the pine trees didn't obscure the sky and the carpet of pine needles and fern had much the same effect as snow, deadening harsh sounds. It was undoubtedly tranquil. And that was what she needed.

She tried not to think about what the locket had told her but she couldn't drag her mind from it. The three figures had just confirmed what she'd already witnessed in the pensieve: she made a poor substitute for Lily Potter. Plain, frizzy-haired, and scarred, next to the flaming hair, brilliant green eyes, and soft smile of Lily. She'd had no chance, really. But then, why had he kissed her in that dungeon corridor? She hated herself for thinking it, but she couldn't help it: had he done it to make sure that she would believe in him? Had he used her crush against her? But then why invite her to the Shrieking Shack?

She tried to push the thoughts from her head, conjuring fire in their place, but it was no use. Each negative thought, each suspicious theory clamoured in her head, vying for her attention. She couldn't escape into the beauty that surrounded her. She couldn't drown them out with her crackling, hissing blue flames. She was trapped in a web of her own making and couldn't tear free.

Eventually, she arrived back at their clearing and snapped the wards to one side. The boys were shouting inside the tent.

"-shouldn't have let him touch her!" What on Earth were they arguing about?

"He loves her, Harry, surely you can see that?" Ron bellowed.

"He works for Voldemort! We-"

"NO!"

Hermione rushed into through the flap. "The taboo!" Harry had his hand clutched over his mouth and Ron had tackled him to the ground. "Accio bag!" The beaded bag came zooming towards her and she started stuffing every trace of horcruxes from the table inside it. "Ron, grab a first aid pouch. Harry, get under the cloak."

"I can't just-"

"They cannot find you, understand? Do not reveal yourself." Harry disappeared from view.

"Why aren't we apparating away?" Ron asked, helping her cram the last of the books inside the bag.

"Anti-apparition wards are part of the taboo," she explained. She was about to close the bag when she spotted her lab diary, lying on her bed. She snatched it up, stuffed it inside, and shoved the bag inside her jogging bottoms, sticking it to her skin with a charm.

A series of loud cracks like a volley of gunfire sounded from outside.

"Please, Harry," she whispered, "stay hidden."

"We know you're in there." A whispering voice filled the tent. Logically, Hermione knew it was just the result of a well-placed sonorous charm but the effect gave her the shivers regardless. "Come out with your wands in your pockets and your hands in the air."

"Come on, Ron, I don't see that we have much choice." Hermione stuck her wand in the waistband of her joggers, the handle clearly visible, and raised her hands. Ron followed suit.

"Don't make me ask again," said the disembodied voice.

They ducked through the tent flaps and emerged into a half-circle of witches and wizards, all with raised wands pointed directly at them. Some even appeared to have knives strapped to their belts.

"Names?" The central figure asked. Greasy dreads hung limply on either side of his gaunt face and his mouth glimmered with gold teeth.

She didn't know what to do, whether or not to lie, when Ron made the decision for her. "Percy Weasley," he said without batting an eye, "and Penelope Clearwater. I suppose this will teach us for trying to get some privacy in the woods. He gave his eyebrows a conspiratory twitch and several of the Snatchers leered at Hermione, making her skin crawl beneath their revolting looks.

"No!" Hermione's stomach sank like a lead balloon. She knew that voice. "They're lying." A series of pimples lined the speaker's nose. Once a sneak, always a sneak. "That," Marietta Edgecombe pointed a shaking finger directly at her, "is Hermione Granger, the mudblood that runs with Potter. And the other one is Ron Weasley."

"Well, well," Dreadlocks said, "Undesirables six and seven, fancy running into you."

"Only six and seven?" Ron asked, voice light. "I'd really thought we'd be higher on that list."

A stinging spell flew through the air and hit Ron on the cheek, making him hiss in pain.

"I'd watch your mouth if I were you, Weasley." He turned to the large, leather-clad man next to him. "Go and search the tent." Hermione hoped that Harry wasn't still inside.

They all stood in silence, waiting for the Biker Guy to re-emerge. He returned empty-handed.

"There's nothing in there. Not even anything worth taking, just shitty furniture."

"How many beds?" Dreadlocks asked and Hermione felt herself wince internally. At least, she hoped it was only internal.

"Three made up," Biker Guy said with a cruel smile. "Funny how there's only two of 'em now."

"Where's Potter?" Dreadlocks hissed.

Without missing a beat, Ron responded, "Tosser walked out on us weeks ago. His bed's only made up because we're lazy."

"Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"Believe what you want, it's not like what you've got to say matters to anyone important."

Dreadlocks prowled forward and pulled their wands from their waistbands, Hermione recoiled as his rough hand lingered, caressing the skin of her stomach revealed by her raised arms. He seized her ponytail and yanked her head back, lifting her eyes to his. For a terrible moment, she thought he was about to invade her mind and her fire reflexively sprang to life behind her eyes.

"D'you not like my hands on you, mudblood?" he snarled. He lifted a finger and ran the dirty nail down her cheek. "You might have to get used to it."

She saw Ron struggle next to her but he'd been restrained by two men built like gorillas. Hermione spat in Dreadlocks's face. He laughed and, to her horror, wiped her spit from his face with a thumb and sucked it clean in his own mouth.

"I love me the taste of struggling mudblood. It's almost too bad we have to take Undesirables like you straight to the Manor. I'd've liked to have a bit of a play first." He patted her cheek. "Bind them."

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

Being pushed through space pressed to Dreadlocks's chest was possibly the worst sensation Hermione had ever experienced. She gasped in the clean air once they reappeared in front of a ludicrously ostentatious manor house, complete with sweeping lawns and primping peacocks. Ron appeared next to her, his hands held tightly behind his back by Biker Guy.

"Where have you brought us?" Ron spat, struggling against his captor to no avail.

"You're now the esteemed guests of Malfoy Manor," Dreadlocks responded, voice stickily sweet, reminding her of Umbridge. He pressed an ornate doorbell to one side of the wrought iron gates.

"What?" asked Ron. "They haven't added you to the wards? You're reduced to ringing the doorbell like a muggle postman?"

"Like a what?" Dreadlocks hissed, loosening his hold on Hermione's wrists to cuff Ron over the back of the head.

"It's like a post owl, but a person." Hermione couldn't help her explanation, her mouth automatically responding to a question.

He tugged her restrained arms, pulling her into his chest, and lowered his mouth to her ear. "I didn't ask you, mudblood." He ran his tongue over the shell of her ear, his rancid breath filling her nostrils. She tried to pull away, jarring her arms as she did so. "I'd keep your opinions to yourself if I were you." He punctuated his words with a bite to her earlobe. She tried to elbow him in the stomach, barely making contact, as the gate swung silently open and he shoved her inside the beautiful grounds.

Most of the Snatchers stayed at the gate to await the return of their comrades but four, including Dreadlocks and Biker Guy, accompanied them, frog-marching them up the shale driveway. She looked sideways at Ron hoping he had some kind of plan but he was staring determinedly ahead, eyes narrowed in concentration. A figure appeared on the path in front of them, flanked by large men in cloaks and Death Eater masks.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Lucius Malfoy drawled, his cruel voice cutting straight through any courage Hermione had managed to scrounge up. "Miss Granger, how good of you to join us. And a Weasley, I imagine this is quite a change of scene for you." He turned to his lackeys. "Take them inside. The drawing room."

Hermione was yanked from Dreadlocks's custody by heavily-muscled arms and flung over a shoulder, hands still tied behind her back.

"I'll take their wands." Lucius held out a leather gloved hand and two wands flew into his waiting palm. Hermione wasn't sure he'd even used his own wand. "Your payment," he said and threw a clinking sack to the floor at Dreadlocks's feet, "I'm sure you'll agree that it's sufficient."

"I was actually hoping I could have the girl after you're done with her? In lieu of payment, I mean," Dreadlocks looked a little nervous as he said it. Bile rose in Hermione's throat.

"Oh trust me, Luther," Lucius said with a smile that chilled her to the core, "when I'm finished with her, there'll be nothing left."

"Don't you lay a filthy finger on her!" Ron screamed at Lucius.

"Tut tut," he said and a flick of his wrist had his wand from his cane and pointing at Ron's face. Hermione watched in horror as thick, black thread began to sew Ron's mouth closed as though pulled by an invisible needle. Ron's eyes widened as he realised what was happening to him. "I think that's quite enough talk from you. Perhaps you'd like to watch as I have a little talk with your mudblood whore."

As she was carried through the house, Hermione tried to keep a map to the exit in her head using the lavish decor as landmarks. She wanted to struggle. She did not appreciate the thick hand resting on her arse, but a single shift in this enormous man's hand may land it on the hastily concealed bag. They could not be allowed to find it.

She was dumped unceremoniously on a Persian rug in the centre of a large room. The grand windows held a view of the front gates and a large piano stood in pride of place nearby. Delicate furniture was scattered throughout the room and portraits, mostly blonde wizards, glared austerely down at her. She struggled to her feet only to have Lucius push her back to the floor. A flick of his wand had her stretched out on her back, arms and legs restrained as wooden tendrils grew up from the floorboards, tearing through the rug to entwine themselves around her wrists and ankles.

"Now, Miss Granger," he said as two masked figures tied Ron to a chair. "I need you to tell me where Harry Potter is."

Harry was standing in the empty clearing trying not to panic. He'd tried to hitch a ride to where ever the Snatchers had disappeared to but hadn't been fast enough, worried as he was about revealing his presence. So now he was completely alone. He needed a plan. Mad-Eye Moody's voice echoed in his head, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" and so he started recasting the wards around the tent. He'd seen Hermione do it lots of times but it was harder than it looked. He was almost certain he'd messed up the muggle repelling charm but decided that, in the grand scheme of things, it probably didn't matter all that much.

Inside the tent, he took stock of everything he had to work with. He wished that Hermione had thought to leave him the beaded bag, though he supposed he should be grateful that she'd managed everything she had in the short time before the Snatchers arrived. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. He knew that the name was taboo but he'd let it slip out anyway. He'd just been so angry. Ron had pointed out that the way Snape looked at Hermione was oddly reminiscent of the way he'd looked at Harry's mother. He'd suggested that maybe his love for Lily Potter wasn't his only motivation. He'd been trying to reassure Harry of Snape's trustworthiness but it had had the opposite effect. How dare the greasy git lay his hands on his best friend! He tried to ignore the voice inside him that said Ron was his best friend. He felt sickened at himself after he'd seen Hermione's doubts brought to life by the horcrux.

He had his cloak, a stack of meals, and the pouch Hagrid had given him for his birthday, the Marauders' Map concealed inside. He dismantled the tent, rolling it up carefully and placing it inside its battered case. It still baffled him that it could be dismantled with everything still inside. He hid it beneath the ferns at the base of a nearby tree, marking the trunk with a small X.

If he was going to find his friends, he needed help.

Covered in his cloak he arrived with a crack in the centre of Hogsmeade. His own face flickered over and over again on shop windows, Undesirable No. One emblazoned beneath his snarling features. Though hardly busy, the town showed a few signs of life. Women hurried in groups between shops, completing their shopping, a couple of burly men were loitering outside of the Hog's Head, and a small child, no more than five or six, was trying to drag his grandmother into Honeydukes. Seeing his chance, Harry followed the pair and slipped into the shop behind them, the familiar peal of the bell alerting the proprietor to his customers.

The ageing wizard, his moustache thick and shiny while his hair fell thin and limp, waddled over to the only two customers in his shop, clearly glad of the opportunity for a sale. Harry ducked silently behind the counter and slipped down the wooden staircase, the voices ("How about a jelly snake for the young man?") faded as he reached the cellar. Though it had been years since he'd travelled through this particular passage way, he found the trapdoor with no difficulty, swinging it open and scurrying down the ladder.

The light from his wand was just enough to stop him banging his head on the low ceiling or tripping over misplaced rocks. He ran along the tunnel as quickly as possible, conscious of his friends and the danger every passing minute put them in. He'd never forgive himself of something happened to them. He'd done enough damage to their lives as it was; Hermione had lost her parents because of him.

Inside the statue of the One-Eyed Witch, Harry revealed the sepia ink of the map and checked the corridor he was in. Nothing, it looked like everyone was in class. He tapped the inside of her hump, whispering "dissendium" as he did so and slowly pushed open the exit. He clambered out, careful to muffle his landing and closed the passage behind him. He scanned the map, looking for any trace of the headmaster and, on finding none, decided that his best bet was waiting near his office.

He took the first available staircase down and nearly ran smack into McGonagall as she careened around a corner, muttering under her breath, "Wants to see me, does he? Thinks he can summon me whenever he fancies? He's going to regret ever setting foot in the castle." The litany continued as she strode towards the staffroom, robes flaring out dramatically behind her, reminding Harry of the professor of whom she was speaking. He let her get a full corridor's length ahead of him before taking the same path, every muscle in his body focused on being stealthy.

The bell rang.

Doors opened at either end of the corridor and students swarmed, their chattering and shrieks of laughter harsh on Harry's ears after so long on the run. He was only metres away from an alcove and made a dash for it, the sound of his footsteps no longer an issue. He dove in alongside the suit of armour, his cloak whipping behind him, just in time. Students, some he recognised and some he didn't, pounded past his hiding place and all Harry could do was wait. Wait whilst his friends were being put through who knew what.

The thickness of the crowd began to recede until it was just a straggler or two, the rest of them safely down to the Great Hall for dinner. He checked the map to make sure the coast was clear and then carried on towards the griffin that guarded the staircase to the headmaster's office. He slumped onto a windowsill once he reached the right corridor and examined the map once more, looking for any trace of Snape. There! Sat smack in the middle of the staff table in the Great Hall. He hoped Snape wouldn't linger too long over his dinner, Harry could hardly approach him now.

Time seemed to drag as he settled in to wait, horrid images of what could be happening to Ron and Hermione flashing through his mind. After a long twenty minutes, Snape's dot moved from the table and, much to Harry's relief, headed towards his office alone. Harry stood ready to intercept the professor but wasn't entirely sure how to go about it. Snape appeared at the end of the corridor, black robes billowing in a way that reminded Harry of a wind tunnel.

"Dumbledore," Snape said to the griffin and the spiral staircase began to corkscrew its way out of the smooth stone floor. Snape alighted it gracefully and Harry allowed him to rise a few steps before stepping on himself. As soon as his shoe scuffed the stone, Snape was facing him, wand drawn and pointing directly in his face. "Who's there?"

"It's me, sir," Harry said in a voice barely above a whisper, feeling a little daft. Snape tucked his wand away and turn to face forwards once more. Harry was reminded of the time he'd told Snape that Voldemort had Sirius, how he had acted like he was talking gibberish. Now, of course, he realised that Snape's reaction had been designed to deflect suspicion. He should have realised it then as well.

Harry followed Snape through the familiar office and through a door he'd never noticed before, tucked between a bookshelf and a large stained-glass window. Snape's quarters were surprisingly normal looking. The desks and bookshelves were hardly a surprise but the squashy leather armchairs and large dog curled up in a blanket came as a bit of a shock. The dog rushed over to its master, jumping up to greet him before rushing at Harry, dislodging his cloak. Not a fan of dogs in general (Ripper in particular) Harry backed away from the over-excited border collie and hit the wall with a dull thump.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here, Potter?" Snape asked, his voice reminding Harry of humiliating Potions lessons.

"I didn't know where else to come for help," Harry started.

"Help with what?" Snape ground out when Harry couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"I accidentally triggered the taboo."

Snape bore down on him, eyes cold with anger. Harry had never before appreciated just how much taller than him the professor was. "You did what?"

"I triggered the taboo and Snatchers arrived. Hermione thought quickly enough to hide me under the invisibility cloak," he held up the offending item, "but they were both captured. I tried to hitch a ride with them but couldn't reach them in time."

"Were they recognised?"

"Yes," Harry admitted. "They lied but Marietta Edgecombe was with them. She's hated Hermione since our fifth year and gave her away."

"Did they say where they were taking them?"

"Just 'the Manor'," Harry explained. "I didn't know where they meant so I decided coming to you was the best idea."

"They've taken them to Malfoy Manor, Potter." Harry's stomach turned to ice. "You'd better hope it isn't Bellatrix on duty today."

"What do we do?" Harry asked.

"We go and get them, of course." The professor disappeared through a door and reappeared without his usual robe, a Death Eater mask and bundle of material clasped under his arm. "Put the cloak on, Potter, and follow my instructions to the letter."

"Yes, sir," Harry said almost automatically and concealed himself beneath the cloak once more.

"Don't make me ask again, Miss Granger."

His wand was pointed directly at her stomach and Hermione struggled against her restraints.

"You can't honestly think I'm going to tell you that," she said##. "I know you're not that stupid, Mr Malfoy."

"Why you insolent little chit," he spat. "Spasmos."

Intense cramps began to radiate from her middle, making her muscles shudder and quake. She imagined that those unused to such sensations would find it unbearable but it was akin to the cramps she experienced on a regular basis, thanks to Mother Nature. She smiled at Lucius, distancing herself from the pain as best she could.

"Is that really the best you can do?" She couldn't help the retort though she knew it was a bad idea. This kind of treatment seemed to bring out her more rebellious side.

"Oh, don't worry, Miss Granger, this is just the beginning." Hermione found his voice disconcertingly calm. "Do you know the origins of the spasming charm?"

She wracked her brain; she was sure she'd never heard the incantation before, never come across it while reading.

"I see you don't," Lucius said with a smile. "The charm goes back, as far as I'm aware, to Roman times. Something long known about the Romans is their proclivity for indiscriminate fucking. That, naturally, led to indiscriminate pregnancies. It wouldn't do to have half-breed children running around, polluting the bloodlines, so one wizard, my namesake as it happens, created a spell to rid women of unwanted children. Spasmos," he cast again.

The cramping renewed itself, more intense this time, making Hermione gasp in pain. She wanted nothing more than to curl in on herself and cradle her stomach. "But I'm not pregnant," Hermione said once the cramps had receded. "Why use it?"

"Firstly," Lucius said, holding up a finger, "this kind of pain is exhausting. It will lower your defences. Secondly," he added a second finger to the first, "it causes lasting damage, the kind you may never recover from. Too many applications of this charm, Miss Granger, will destroy your uterus." She couldn't help the gasp of shock that escaped her. "And then, as the pain spreads, it will begin to damage other vital systems. Your kidneys, your bowel. The longer you resist, Miss Granger, the more damage you are inflicting on yourself. Spasmos!"

A fresh wave of pain engulfed her, more intense than before. Her body shook with the spasms, her bare arms rubbed raw by the expensive carpet beneath her and blood welled at her wrists and ankles, agitated by the restraints. He was slowly tearing her apart.

He cursed her again.

This time, Hermione felt hot liquid seep from between her legs.

Ron was wrestling against his restraints, grunting screams silenced by the thread through his lips.

"Now, Miss Granger," Lucius strode over to her, kneeling on the floor, straddled over her waist, "let's see what you have in that pretty little head of yours. Legilimens!"

She was glad of the warning, it gave her just enough time to light a fire in her head.

"How quaint, someone's taught the little mudblood to Occlude," mind-Lucius taunted. She ignored him, hiding behind her fire. "Come out, come out, mudblood." He prowled towards her flames, pushing in an experimental hand. He recoiled quickly, his sleeve singed. "Aguamenti," he cast, water spraying from his wand.

The flames sizzled and hissed but refused to yield. He was not getting inside her mind. She could no longer feel his weight on her chest, no longer feel the pain of her body. All she knew was the fire in her mind. It flared as she concentrated, letting it engulf her in its delicious heat. Mind-Lucius was pushed further from her secrets. She let her need to protect Harry and Severus fuel her flames and a violent gout of blue flame forced the intruder from her mind.

Lucius stumbled away from her, catching himself on the back of a chaise longue. He turned to face her, blonde hair stuck in sweaty strands to his forehead and panting. "Fire may protect you in there, but it can't save you out here."

She saw Ron's eyes widen a split second before reality smacked her in the face. She centred herself and summoned a spark.

Fire, after all, is catching.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

The curtains started to smoke.

Blue fire began to eat its way upwards from the bottom of the burgundy drapery. The two silent, cloaked figures immediately rushed to the windows and started to douse the curtains in water with shouts of aguamenti to no avail.

"What in Merlin's name?" Lucius muttered and rushed over to the curtains himself to investigate. Keeping half her mind on the blazing curtains, Hermione concentrated on her bindings. She thought of the lasers she'd seen on television and tried to replicate the effect with her fire, cracking her restraints one at a time and clambering to her feet.

Ignoring the pain and the stickiness that coated her thighs, she made her way over to Ron. He strained against the thread sealing his mouth so she raised a finger to her lips. He would only tear his skin if he tried too hard. She crept to his bindings and disintegrated them in a flash of blue fire.

Too bright a flash, apparently.

Lucius spun around at the sudden burst of light, curtains forgotten. "No!" he screamed, his voice strangled. Ron jumped to his feet and charged him, slamming his head into the blonde's chest and knocking him to the floor.

The other two Death Eaters had twirled at his shout and had their wands pointed straight at her. Without a moment's hesitation, she arced her hands into the air, a ribbon of fire trailing from each. She snapped her hands downward and electric blue whips rippled, snapping at the torso of each man. Their robes caught beautifully; from a single point of blue, fire bloomed over the inky darkness of the material, crackling merrily to leave only burnt flesh behind.

Ron was wrestling their wands from Lucius. He'd managed to send Lucius's own wand half-way across the room and was currently punching the older wizard in the face. Hermione heard the crunch of bone over the fire as Lucius's nose crumpled beneath by Ron's fist. Malfoy's were never prepared for a physical attack.

Hermione gave the Death Eaters another lick with her whips, this time aiming for their masked faces. One of them screamed, dropping to the floor and rolling madly whilst the other kept trying to extinguish the flames with his wand.

Ron finally wrested the wands from Lucius and jumped to his feet, giving the Death Eater a kick in the side for good measure, and threw Hermione her wand.

"Evanesco," Hermione cast, vanishing the stitches holding Ron's mouth together. If he was going to be of any use he needed to speak, never having properly got the hang of non-verbal casting. "Let's go!" she said, setting fire to more items of furniture as she did so. They burst into the corridor, surprising the robed figure on guard outside the door.

"Stupefy," Ron jabbed his wand forward just as the guard sliced her wand through the air.

"Protego!" Hermione forced a pearlescent shield in front of Ron, sending the yellow light of the curse straight back at its caster. She retched as the fabric and flesh of the woman's stomach ripped open, sending her slimy pink intestines cascading to the floor, forming a mountain of entrails before their owner collapsed.

"Thanks for that," Ron said, his freckles a sharp counterpoint to his fair skin as the blood fled his face. They dashed down the corridor, retracing the route they had taken earlier.

Hermione lit fires as they ran. Focusing on razing the manor to the ground helped her ignore the cramping pain radiating through her torso. She torched curtains and paintings (sending the once-glowering occupants running). They wound their way out of the building; she was worried that each turn would bring them face to face with more enemies, but they were lucky. All she could feel was relief when they emerged into the fresh evening air, leaving the stench of burning behind them.

She yanked the beaded bag from the back of her jogging bottoms and stuck her arm inside, searching. Ron looked amazed as she pulled Harry's Firebolt from the bag's depths and thrust it into his arms. "You're going to have to pilot it."

Ron swung his leg over the broom and Hermione climbed on behind him, grasping his waist for dear life as they shot into the air, leaving the burning manor behind them. Sitting astride the broom hurt like hell but Hermione daren't let go of Ron to cast a cushioning charm or rummage for a pain potion.

"Where to?" Ron yelled over the wind. He was pushing the Firebolt for all it was worth.

"Just fly as far as you can," she screamed back.

Luckily for them, the wards were designed to keep people out, not to keep them in. They flew through the estate's barriers with barely a shudder and fled to the countryside. Ron wove his way through the low hills, keeping to the natural dips in the landscape, slowing down for more control.

"I'm not up to apparating right now, just keep flying," she said into his ear and clutched him tighter.

Safe.

They were safe.

Severus appeared at the boundary of Malfoy Manor with an invisible Potter in tow.

The manor was aflame and Hermione was in there.

But wait, the fire was unusual. A brilliant blue with arcing sparks that looked almost electric against the dark sky. He knew this fire almost as well as he knew her.

"We have to go and get them," Potter said, voice panicked at the sight of the flames.

"That's Hermione's fire," Severus pointed out. "It can't hurt her."

"It could hurt Ron though."

If he was being honest, he'd forgotten all about Ron. "She won't let it hurt him either, she has remarkable control." He hoped.

People were streaming out of the manor and on to the lawn, but a quick magnification charm revealed no sign of either of them. "We'll have to go in," Severus concluded, "I don't know how but-" a sharp whistling came from his pocket and he pulled out his small red beacon. "They're calling us. Hand, Potter," Severus demanded, holding out his hand for the invisible boy to take.

He concentrated on the beacon throbbing in his palm and turned into the unknown.

They arrived next to a stand of willow trees. A broomstick lay discarded to one side and Hermione was laid out on the floor beneath a conjured lantern, head cradled in Ron's lap and her jogging bottoms stained with rust. Severus was next to her in seconds, feeling for her pulse.

There.

It was faint but still thrumming in her neck.

"What happened?" He looked to Ron.

"They wanted to know where Harry was. Lucius Malfoy was there, he sewed my mouth shut and we were both taken into the manor. He said he wanted to make me watch as he questioned Hermione. It was lucky my mouth was sewn shut else I'd have given him what he wanted straight away. He used a spell on her over and over and then invaded her mind. She didn't give him anything though. The curtains caught fire and Hermione went full Fury. I've never seen anything like it. I'd be very surprised if there's any of the manor left." He said all this very quickly, barely pausing for breath never mind to take questions. Severus was going to kill Lucius the next time he saw him, friendship and the Dark Lord be damned.

"What spell? Cruciatus?"

"No, it was something I've never heard of before. Spasmos." Hermione flinched in response to the incantation.

"Fuck." He cast a simple diagnostic charm and stared in horror at the mess of purple and blue that stained her lower torso.

Internal bleeding and nerve damage.

"I can't fix this by myself," he admitted. "Expecto patronum." Nothing happened. "Fuck."

He concentrated hard on Hermione's face, blocking out her injuries and tried again. This time his silver doe burst from his wand and took his message.

"I need one of those first aid kits." Harry had his out in a flash and handed it to him. Severus selected the blood replenisher and a pain reliever. Carefully, he tilted her head back and poured the liquid down her throat. He was relieved that she swallowed reflexively; that was a good sign. He repeated the process with pain reliever before cleaning the wounds that encircled her wrists and ankles, healing the bloody manacles with a whispered song. He climbed to his feet, legs stiff from the kneeling position. "That's all I can do safely until help gets here. I'll cast some wards. Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Where's the tent?"

"I had to leave it in the other clearing."

"Is it hidden?"

"Yes."

"Go and get it, we need to get her somewhere warm. Put the cloak back on. The wards will recognise you when you get back." Harry disappeared. "And Potter? Don't forget this." He held out his hand, offering the beacon from the first aid kit Potter had given him.

A loud crack announced his disapparation.

"What should I do?" Ron asked from the floor.

"Just stay with her. Make sure she knows we're here."

He prowled in a large circle, casting every ward he knew. He focused solely on his task, if he didn't he was sure that he would fall to pieces. He couldn't let that happen.

Potter reappeared with the tent and Severus helped him set it up. Thank Merlin for spells, this would have been a pain in the arse without them. Severus ducked inside and ran his wand along the length of the table, transfiguring it into a bed. The bunk beds were all well and good for sleeping but they were not conducive to healing. Outside, he scooped Hermione up in his arms as he had done earlier that day and laid her down on the bed.

"Does she have a nightgown or something?" he asked the boys who had followed him inside. "These clothes are going to get in the way."

Ron handed him a large t-shirt bearing the slogan An apple a day can cause tooth decay! Brush your teeth! Severus used a switching spell to swap her running top for the t-shirt and then set to work on her jogging bottoms. He spelled them clean and watched in shock as bright crimson blossomed on the grey fabric once again.

"One of you find clean sheets or something," he snapped at the boys. "We're going to need them."

A brilliant silver hedgehog burst into the tent, startling Potter and Ron. Bel's voice emanated from the tiny animal: I'm in place.

"I'm going to go and pick someone up," he told them. "Keep her safe."

He didn't wait for a response before striding out of the tent, clearing the wards, and twisting into nothingness.

Bel was waiting for him just outside the school gates, hidden in a clump of bushes.

"What's the problem?" she asked. "Who's hurt?"

"Hermione. She was captured by Snatchers. They used spasmos on her."

"Fuck." She grabbed his hand. "Take me to her."

Hermione was in exactly the same condition as he'd left her in. A pile of folded sheets, towels, and pillowcases had been stacked up on a stool beside her. Bel rushed to her side and started muttering charms. The familiar mess of blue and indigo appeared above her abdomen. Bel pulled off Hermione's jogging bottoms and pants, covering her with a sheet.

"Sev, I need a vessel repair potion straight away." Severus had the potion out of Bel's bag and in her hand in seconds. She spelled the liquid straight into Hermione's bloodstream where it would work the fastest. The indigo began to recede and the stain spreading through the white sheet grew more slowly. Bel lifted Hermione's t-shirt and placed her hand directly onto her skin and began singing in a slow, low voice. Recognising the chant, Severus joined his voice to hers and placed his hand over her smaller one.

Verse after verse, the colours began to fade. When the last trace of blue and indigo disappeared they removed their hands and collapsed onto stools.

"I'm not sure that all the damage has been repaired," Bel panted. "I've never seen damage that bad. How many times was the spell used?"

"Six or seven, I think," Ron responded. "What do we do now?"

"Make a pot of tea," was Bel's practical answer. "We can't move her until she wakes up and, even then, she'll struggle." She used a cleansing charm on Hermione and replaced the sheet with a fresh one, folding a blanket over the top.

Severus moved his stool to be level with Hermione's chest and slid his hand around her clammy one, entwining his fingers with hers. Her forehead was smooth, now free from the wrinkles of pain, and her breathing deep and even. Not caring who was watching, he rested his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes, exhausted.

She awoke to warm pressure on her shoulder and a hand clasped in hers. The pain had receded to a throb below her stomach and she was laying on something soft and warm.

"Severus?" she croaked, unwilling to open her eyes just yet.

The pressure lifted from her shoulder and the hand in hers squeezed. "Yes, it's me." His voice was gentle and close to her ear.

"Water?" With barely a pause she felt a cold metal straw being pressed to her lips. She sucked as best she could and the ice-cold liquid flooded her mouth, soothing her hot throat. It felt like life.

She slowly blinked her eyes open and found herself face to face with him in the dimly lit room. "What time is it? Where is everyone?"

"It's nearly four in the morning, the boys and Bel are asleep." He kept his voice low, presumably not to wake anyone.

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?

"I was mad when I woke up and went for a run. Harry broke the taboo as I got back and we were taken by Snatchers, a grimy man with dreadlocks was in charge," she shivered at the memory of the way he had touched her. "Thank god we got Harry covered in time. I can't even imagine what would have happened otherwise. Lucius Malfoy was waiting for us." Severus's face twitched into a snarl. "He tied Ron up and pinned me to the floor. He used that awful miscarriage charm on me. Gave me a fucking lecture while he did so. He tried to force his way into my mind but I wouldn't let him in. I need to teach the boys Occlumency." She knew she was rambling but couldn't seem to help herself. "He said that it was too bad fire wouldn't save me outside my mind. I can't believe I didn't think to use my fire before then! I'm such an idiot. All I remember after that is fire."

"There's not much to add. You escaped, leaving the manor burning behind you. Ron flew you both as far away as he could. He landed when you lost consciousness and cracked the beacon. Harry had snuck into Hogwarts to find me, we apparated to the manor to find it burning and then my beacon went off and I followed it to you."

"Why is Bel here?"

"I didn't know how to fix the damage myself. She's had first-hand experience with that spell."

"Did she manage to fix it?" Hermione asked, afraid of the answer.

"She fixed the worst of it but …"

"But what, Severus? No sugar coatings, remember?"

"I remember. She doesn't know if your uterus will function properly after that kind of trauma. You'll have to see a healer once it's safe."

It was what she'd expected but the tears came as a surprise. Not the body-wracking sobs of that morning. These were the kind that fell in silent runnels down her cheeks, dripping into her ears and along her neck. Severus pressed a kiss to her temple and dried them away with an ever-present handkerchief.

"I'm so glad you're safe." Her breath hitched at his words and she turned to face him. His eyes were as soft as she'd ever seen them but the deep crease between his eyebrows spoke of his worry. She just lay watching him until he spoke again. "Why were you mad?"

"What?" she asked.

"You said that you went for a run because you were mad? Why?"

"It's not important," she said. She didn't want to talk about it.

"If it made you leave the safety of the wards, it's important."

"I was mad at myself."

"Because …?" he prompted.

"I was mad that you being in love with Lily hit me so hard." Each word hurt.

"Hermione," his voice was so full of concern she turned her head away from him, "I'll admit that I was in love with her." Her heart quickened, she didn't want to hear this. "But, despite trying to avoid it, I have fallen hard for you over the last year." This was not what she'd been expecting to hear. She turned to face him again, needing to see his face. "You are the brightest, fiercest person I have ever met. Every day I don't see you is agony. Seeing you in pain breaks my heart. Your beautiful smile is all I want to see. I love you, Hermione. Only you."

She was crying. Again. Completely overwhelmed by his words. She'd convinced herself so thoroughly that she didn't stand a chance, that he would never love anyone else. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, burying her nose in the stubble-roughened skin she found there. She kissed her way to his chin, lips barely brushing his skin, and then to his waiting mouth. His lips were warm and soft against hers but chaste, almost hesitant. She opened her mouth to him and he snaked a hand into her hair. He deepened the kiss but was careful not to jostle her body. His hand cradled the base of her skull, his thumb caressing the delicate skin behind her ear. When it became too difficult to focus on breathing, she pulled away and dropped a kiss on the end of his beautiful nose.

"I love you, Severus. I never thought it was possible to feel this way about a single person, to hold so much love inside me." It may have been the poor lighting but she thought she saw a tear of his own roll down his cheek.

"You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that," Severus whispered, his breath tickling her neck.

"I think I might have an idea," she replied with a smile.

"We should get some sleep."

"Don't leave." She winced at the pleading tone that wheedled its way into her words. "Can you just widen the bed? I need you here."

She felt the bed shift slightly as he ran his wand along its length and then felt the mattress dip beside her.

"Lift your head." She did as she was bid and snuggled into the hollow between his arm and chest. She turned so her back was to his chest and he carefully draped an arm over her waist.

"Good night, my love," he breathed and kissed her hair.

She was asleep within seconds.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

She awoke for the second time to the sound of the kettle whistling from the tiny kitchenette. Severus tightened his grip on her at the noise and kissed the back of her head. She was very aware that they were lying, wrapped around each other, in the middle of the tent. She lifted his hand from her tender stomach, kissed his fingers and then slid out of the bed. Someone had dressed her in one of her dad's old t-shirts. She took a step and felt her knees begin to buckle, she'd barely reached for the bed to steady herself when someone was next to her and supporting her.

"Easy, hun," Bel said, not troubling to keep her voice down. "One step at a time."

"Thanks," she said, leaning into the older witch. "Can you help me to the bathroom?"

"Sure thing, doll." She deliberately jostled the bed as they passed. "Sev, get your ass out of bed. We have a lot to do today."

The half-asleep man grumbled but didn't move.

"Now!" She kicked the bed for good measure.

They made it to the bathroom with relative ease but Hermione knew she wouldn't have managed it without the help. Her core muscles were incredibly tender. She dropped to the loo as soon as the door was closed.

"Do you want me to leave?" Bel asked.

"Oh, I don't really mind. Whatever you're comfortable with. Sharing a tent with two teenage boys for a month kind of knocks the modesty out of you."

"Not to mention sharing a dormitory," Bel said with a smirk.

When Hermione managed to pee, she gasped in pain, her hand clutched the sink so hard her knuckles grew white.

"It's going to hurt for a while, hun," Bel said, her voice sympathetic. "And don't use toilet paper, stick to a cleansing charm."

"I left my wand … somewhere," she said with a wince. "I don't actually know where. And this is one spell I'd rather do myself."

"Back in a flash." Bel disappeared back through the bathroom door, careful not to reveal the inside of the room to the entire tent.

Whilst she was alone, Hermione lifted her t-shirt and examined her stomach. It looked just like it had before she'd encountered Lucius Malfoy. She'd been expecting some kind of physical reminder like the scar she had from Dolohov's attack. She looked over her wrists and ankles. The skin there was baby smooth, only the lack of hair revealing where she had been manacled to the floor and even that would grow back in time. She wasn't sure how she felt about her unmarked skin. It almost made it feel like the whole experience was all in her head. Her muscles gave a twinge and she supposed she wasn't completely unmarked, after all. It just wasn't visible.

Bel came back clutching her wand and a pile of clothes and helped her into the comfortable joggers and sweatshirt once she'd finished on the loo. Brushing her teeth after twenty-four hours felt unbelievably good. When she left the bathroom, helped once again by Bel, her bed had been turned back into a trestle table and Severus, Ron, and Harry were all sat around it pointedly ignoring each other. Waking up to her and Severus sharing a bed must have come as a bit of a shock. It had been a bit of a surprise for her too.

She seated herself next to Severus and rested her hand on top of his. He twitched slightly but didn't shake her off. "So," she started, "what now?"

"We need to do more research." Hermione had almost forgotten about the failed protean potion.

"Research for what?" Bel asked, brow furrowed.

"I'm not sure we can say," Hermione said. "We need to discuss it before bringing anyone in."

"Agreed," Ron said whilst Harry glared at Severus, though not with the hatred that had been there before.

"Well, you can't stay in a tent," Bel said. "Let me help by putting you up. I have a flat in Greenwich you can use."

"We couldn't put your home in danger like that," Hermione replied.

"I insist. It's unplottable and Sev used his best wards on the place." Hermione thought she looked a little excited at the prospect at opening up her home to them. "And it's not connected to the floo network."

"It would be nice to stay somewhere with a bath," Hermione said with a sigh.

"Not to mention solid walls," Harry said. "Is it safe?" To Hermione's surprise, he looked to Severus as he asked.

"It's no less safe than this tent. And Hermione needs to recover properly. I don't see the harm." Relief flooded through Hermione's system.

They packed up quickly. Or rather, Hermione sat down on a stool whilst everyone else packed up. Bel apparated with Harry and Ron, leaving Severus and Hermione alone in the clearing.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, pulling her into his embrace to apparate.

"As well as can be expected," she said. "Last night really happened, right?"

"Yes."

"All of it?"

"All of it." He leant down and kissed her mouth gently. "I love you, Hermione."

"I love you, Severus."

She buried her head in his chest and she was pressed tightly against him as they took a shortcut through space.

It was pitch dark when they arrived. Hermione moved reluctantly away from Severus's warm body and filled her cupped palm with blue flame. They were in a broom cupboard, cleaning supplies lined one small wall and a mop stood propped against the corner.

"You know, you don't need to whip fire out at every opportunity just because you can."

Hermione felt herself pout. "But it's fun. Lumos is so overrated."

He chuckled. The rich sound vibrated through her chest, pulling a smile to her lips. "C'mon. They'll wonder where we've got to."

He opened the door into the hallway and fluorescent lighting invaded her eyes. The space was tiled with awful avocado green walls. Severus led her to the third door down, number 43, and twisted the ornate handle. Walking into Bel's flat, Hermione got the distinct impression she was on a boat. Large ocean landscape paintings lined the walls of the living area, shadowed by the lights that hung from the low ceilings. A large desk of gleaming dark wood dominated the space in front of the bay window. The leather chair behind it matched the dark green Chesterfields. A display case held a bronze telescope, a set of instruments that wouldn't have looked out of place in the headmaster's office, and an intricately crafted compass held on a small blue cushion.

"This place is like a boat," Ron blurted out.

"Thank you for that assessment," Bel said as she filled the kettle, Hermione could hear the warmth in her voice. "My father was an American attaché to the Royal Naval College." She pointed to the enormous white building across the road. "He loved this place. I moved in as soon as I finished Hogwarts." Hermione decided that now was probably not the time to ask what had happened to him.

Tea was poured and Hermione sank into the comfortable couches. She wanted to prop her feet up on the coffee table but managed to restrain herself. They all sat in an awkward silence, sipping their tea. Severus was next to her and she shifted, allowing her thigh to meet his; she was rewarded as he moved his hand to rest lightly on her leg.

Bel drained her tea with a slurp. "Right! You guys clearly need to talk about stuff, I'm going to go out for supplies. Any requests?"

"Hot chocolate, please," was Hermione's immediate response.

"Treacle tart, if you can find any." That was Harry, the boy was a fiend when it came to his favourite dessert.

"Beer?" Ron tried.

"And cigarettes. Beer and cigarettes." She giggled at the twin looks of surprise Harry and Ron had at Severus's words.

"I'm not buying those filthy, muggle deathsticks for you, Sev."

"Worth a try."

She waved to them all and left, the front door closing with a satisfying click behind her.

"Okay," Harry started. "What's next?"

"We need to rework the potion and find another horcrux," Hermione replied promptly.

"Oh, is that all?" Ron asked, voice heavy with the sort of sarcasm she would have expected from Severus.

"That's not helpful," Harry retorted.

"Yeh, I know. Sorry."

"I can work on the potion at Hogwarts," Severus said. "I think it was only slightly off so it shouldn't take too long."

"And we'll try and find a solution to where the next horcrux is," Hermione added. "How long can you stay today?"

"I should have left already, really. Bel's a habitually late sleeper so she won't be missed until lunch. She continually flouts my new rule about staff presence at mealtimes. And I need to get back to Butch."

"How is she?" Hermione missed her morning companion.

"She's well but she'll be pissed at me for keeping her couped up for so long."

"Who's Butch?" Ron asked.

"My dog," Severus responded, far less curtly than he would have even a day ago.

"Oh."

They sank back into silence, Hermione leaning her head against Severus's shoulder. Though she hadn't been up long, she was already knackered.

"Maybe we should go over the arithmancy for the last formula while I'm here," Severus suggested.

"Good plan." Hermione dug about in the beaded bag and fished out her notebook. "I think I have an idea of what the problem is."

After a few bacon sandwiches, Severus and Bel took their leave. He hated saying goodbye to Hermione, especially after what she'd been through, but it was necessary. He was needed at Hogwarts. He'd been more than a little embarrassed saying goodbye in front of the Terrible Twosome but it hadn't stopped him from kissing her and whispering his love to her.

"So … Hermione?" Bel said as they made their way to the apparition point. "When did that happen?"

"June."

"When in June precisely?" she prodded.

"The night I killed Albus." He didn't really want to talk about this.

"Awkward timing."

"You could say that, yes."

Inside the broom cupboard, Severus cracked himself over the head with a disillusionment charm, shivering as the cold sensation dripped down his neck.

"Can you do mine?" Bel asked. "I never got the hang of doing it myself."

"It would be my pleasure," Severus purred and whacked her over the head as well.

"Fuck, Sev, that hurt."

"Awww, poor baby." She blew a raspberry in response. "See you at the gates? In a manner of speaking."

She cackled and let a loud crack announce her departure. Severus followed with slightly more finesse.

The grounds of Hogwarts were always a welcome sight. The giant squid was making a fuss in the lake and the Whomping Willow swayed innocuously in the breeze. Students were clustered around a paddock of unicorn foals near Hagrid's hut; it was nice to see that so many of them were innocent enough to get close to the gorgeous golden horses.

"How do we get in without being seen?" Bel whispered.

"You can take the dungeon entrance, do you remember the way?" The dungeon's labyrinthine passageways could be treacherous for the unprepared.

"Yeh, I memorised the path years back." He could hear the smile in her voice. "What about you?"

"I'll skirt around the castle and go up through the jetty. It's been a while since I patrolled down there, it'll give me a chance to check on the boats."

"It's really too bad smoking will render these charms useless. I miss hanging out with you." She threaded her arm through his and leaned against him as they walked.

"Me too. The sooner we get this war over with, the sooner we can get back to getting shit-faced in my living room."

"Hear hear!"

They quickly reached the trapdoor that led to the dungeons. It had been installed specifically for Severus's use during the first war. The flagstone blended in with the others perfectly and was hidden from view of the castle by a nauseatingly quaint little rose garden. Bell's almost-invisible form gave his rough cheek a kiss before the flagstone melted away and he heard her making her way down the slope. There was originally a ladder but Severus had nearly killed himself tumbling down it after a particularly brutal meeting and insisted that Albus change the design.

He enjoyed the walk around to the jetty, he rarely explored that part of the grounds. Though the day was cold, the sun shone brightly. He'd have to get out with Butch as soon as he could, she'd been alone for far too long. She'd be driving herself spare. The cave that housed the wooden jetty was still and empty, the water undisturbed by the antics of the giant squid. Wards had been in place for years to isolate the squid from various portions of the lake. The merfolk despised the creature and used their own form of magic to reinforce the wizard-made wards. The boats were all stacked up in rows along one wall to protect them from water damage, no doubt the work of the Keeper of the Keys. Severus resolved to look into Hagrid's salary at some point, with everything he did around the grounds and castle it was improbable that he was being paid accordingly. Albus’d had a tendency to overlook the more mundane aspects (such as finances) of running a school.

Severus cast a few charms to check that he was completely unobserved before cancelling his disillusionment charm. He walked up the stairs and through a door into the Entrance Hall. His first ever trip through that door seemed like such a long time ago now. Unwilling to get lost in nostalgia for his school days, he shook himself and climbed the stairs, heading to his office.

"And where have you been?" Albus's voice greeted him as soon as he stepped through the door to his office.

"I didn't realise I had a curfew."

"You know very well that isn't what I mean," his voice was stern and no twinkles graced his eyes.

"I've had to kowtow to you for nearly my entire life, Albus, and I refuse to allow an imprint of you the same courtesy."

"But you don't understand, Severus. There's more at stake than you could possibly appreciate."

"I understand more than you think," he snarled and stormed off into his room.

Butch greeted him with excited barking and a damp carpet. Once she had finished fussing, he scourgified the rug and grabbed her lead. She came to heel immediately and waited patiently for him to attach it. He really had to stop leaving her like this. The house elves were responsible for her food and water and he thanked Merlin for that small blessing.

Outside, Butch ran and played, dipping her toes into the lake, chasing the ball Severus threw for her and defiling a rather attractive rose bush. They stayed outside for almost an hour, work be damned, only retreating inside when it started to rain. Dropping Butch off, he barely made it to lunch on time.

Every day he was glad to hear the laughter and shouts from the students at the house tables; sure, the war still touched the castle but these long stretches of normalcy made him proud. Proud of the students, proud of the staff (well, most of them anyway), and proud of himself. He poured hours of every day into ensuring that Hogwarts was as safe a haven as it could be. He longed to get rid of the Carrows but he settled for keeping them extremely busy as his "most trusted deputies." He was lucky the Dark Lord hadn't installed more intelligent lackeys.

Around him, his teachers were gossiping. Who wasn't performing well in class, who was becoming cheeky, who had taken to night-time wanderings. Severus absorbed it all. He was finishing off a delicious steak and ale pie when he dropped his forked and scanned the hall. Minerva was eying the room as well. Something was about to happen. In a moment of odd unison, they both jumped from their chairs and strode to the Hufflepuff table. They had just arrived as a group of fifth years pulled wands on each other.

He supposed this could be considered a part of normalcy.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry had spread their books out across Bel's beautiful dining room table. Barely any of the dark, gleaming surface was visible. Ron slammed his head into the open book in front of him. They'd been at it for days and weren't getting anywhere.

"C'mon, Ron," Harry chided, looking up from the enormous text he was reading. "We need to keep at it."

"I think he's right, Harry. We need a break." Hermione hated to respond to his enthusiasm like this but she was at her wit's end.

"Shall I grab that beer, then?" Ron asked, hopefully.

Hermione just rolled her eyes. "I actually had something else in mind."

"What?" asked Harry.

"Occlumency." Both boys groaned. "I'm serious! Do you have any idea how lucky we were for Malfoy to choose me first for interrogation?" Ron winced. "I was able to keep him out of my mind, would either of you have managed it?"

Their frowns said it all.

"Fine," Ron yielded but Harry still looked unsure.

"Harry, your head is far too important to leave unprotected. Surely you get that?"

"It's just … well," he mumbled, cheeks flushing pink, "I think it's important to monitor You-Know-Who's thoughts."

"I'm not saying you have to Occlude all the time, Harry. That would be exhausting. But, I really think you should try to learn it again. It may even give you an edge for duelling. I know I've become a better fighter for it." She flushed as she remembered the fight she and Severus had after her parents were killed.

Harry sat tapping his fingers on the table for a while before he spoke. "Fine, but I seriously hope you're better at teaching it than Snape."

"I'm sure mutual animosity and an unwillingness to be there served as rather a hindrance." Harry cracked a smile and she knew that he was fully on board.

"Where do we start?" Ron asked, looking eager.

"First, we meditate."

She laughed as the boys groaned once more.

I need your advice. How on Earth should I start teaching Harry and Ron Occlumency? I really don't want the first mind I break into to be one that's thoroughly undefended. What if I do something wrong?

Severus could tell from the slight smudging and the undotted "i" that she'd written in a flood of thoughts. He could almost hear her as he read; the way her voice would become shrill and speed up so as to be almost incomprehensible. It'll be fine, love. How he adored calling her that. What if you practised on me first? I could let you know if you're doing it wrong. He couldn't justify going to see her unless it was necessary but he was selfish enough to jump at any opportunity.

Yes, please! she wrote back almost immediately. When?

Tonight? Sleep was overrated anyway. It's safest for me to come when the castle's asleep. Midnight?

I'll take a nap. See you then.

He closed the lab diary, satisfied.

As headmaster, a large part of his job involved paperwork. He had to keep abreast of new Ministry policy, reassure worried parents, and order a multitude of supplies. Bel had done a lot of this during Albus's time as headmaster, but Severus couldn't allow his job to fall too heavily on someone else's shoulders. More than a few people wanted him to fail at running the school and he refused to give them any excuse to target Bel as a way of accomplishing that.

Before long, his paperwork was done, Butch had been for a walk, and it was time to leave the castle. Hermione opened the door before he'd even knocked. She'd clearly been waiting for him.

"The boys are in bed," she whispered, closing the door quietly. Ron was asleep on the couch, snoring softly, and the door to the guest bedroom was closed. Hermione beckoned him into the main bedroom and closed the door behind them. A king-sized bed, covered in a textured, cream duvet, took up the majority of the room. There was nowhere else to sit. "I think this is the best place, I don't want to wake the guys," she said with a shrug.

"This is fine. Have you warded the room?" She nodded and he shucked his boots and outer robe, followed by his frock coat. He may as well be comfortable.

Hermione looked faintly embarrassed as she sat down, cross-legged in the middle of the bed. He climbed on after her and propped himself against the headboard, it had been a long time since he'd been able to sit with his legs crossed.

"First things first," he said, feeling himself smile. He leant forward and kissed her gently, feeling her lips quirk into a smile beneath his. "Hello," he breathed against her mouth as he pulled back.

"Hello." Her smile was almost shy.

"I think it's really important that you teach them both Occlumency. Hopefully, you'll have more luck with Potter than I did."

She giggled, getting over her shyness.

"I think it would be difficult not to," she said with a cheeky grin.

"Fair."

"Where should we start?"

"Well, you know the incantation. The most important part of Legilimency is intent. You want to envision yourself slipping unobtrusively into someone's mind. I'll keep my shields up the first time, so you can experience them, and then we'll try again with them lowered. Ready?"

"What? Just like that?" Panic flickered through her eyes.

"You'll learn best by doing. It's easier with skin contact, shuffle closer." She did as he suggested.

He grasped her left hand in his and rested it on his cheek in a more tender approximation of a Vulcan Mind-Meld.

"Ready?"

She nodded, raising her wand. "Legilimens."

He felt her presence slip into his mind, floating on the surface of his lake.

This was one of the weirdest sensations of Hermione's life. She'd imagined that it would be similar to using a pensieve. How wrong she had been. Severus's mind was cool and dark and she found her consciousness floating in a lagoon. Mind-Severus stepped out to greet her, traversing the water like a pond-skater. He looked different somehow. He was dressed in black, flowing robes. His cheeks were hollower, his eyes darker. His skin was almost translucent and, as he came closer, she saw it was covered in scars.

"Welcome," he said, his voice the same deep, smooth wave she was used to. It washed over her, sinking into her bones (or at least what felt like her bones). "How do you like it?"

"It feels so odd," she tried to stand on the water as he did but couldn't manage it, sinking through the surface. "What should I do?" she asked.

"Try to get inside my mind, breach my defences."

Working on instinct, Hermione took a deep breath and dived beneath the surface of the water, swimming down, down, down.

Beneath the water was simply more water. The further she swam, the greater the pressure was. Crushing her from all angles. When her lungs began to burn, she tried to swim upwards but she no longer knew up from down, left from right. Her vision swam, bright lights bursting in front of her eyes. And then a hand was in hers, pulling her up, up, up. She gasped as she broke through the surface and gulped down life-giving air.

He froze a section of the lake and helped her sit on it.

"What did I do wrong?" she asked once she could breathe normally again.

"Memories don't buckle under pressure, people do. If you want to penetrate my mind you'll need to see yourself as just a consciousness. That could take a lifetime to master."

"I see," Hermione said thoughtfully. "How does this lagoon fool You-Know-Who? Doesn't he see that you're Occluding?"

Instantly, memories rose from the depths and began to populate the surface of the lake. She saw Severus as a child, crying in his mother's arms. He was at Hogwarts, practising a particularly tricky transfiguration. He was having a drink in The Three Broomsticks, laughing as Madam Hooch made a fool of herself at the karaoke machine. They were laughing together in his office.

"When I populate the surface with memories, he thinks he knows my mind. I occasionally hide a few deeper. Moments he would see as shameful," he explained.

"So he thinks he has penetrated your mind?"

"Exactly."

"But, if he thinks your Occlumency so weak, how did he think you could protect your thoughts from Professor Dumbledore?" The surface of his lake rippled as she spoke the name.

"Simple. I convinced him that Albus considered Legilimency dark magic and would never use it."

"But it would only take one slip from someone else to reveal his abilities."

"Albus was a master Legilimens, far greater than the Dark Lord could ever hope to be. When he entered a mind, no one ever knew it. It goes a great way to explaining his ever-present omniscience." Laughter bubbled out of her, echoing across the water. It was possibly a trick of the mind but his skin seemed to glow as she laughed, the scars becoming almost unnoticeable. "Would you like to enter an unguarded mind?" he asked.

"Yes! How do I leave?"

"Blink and will yourself back inside your own mind."

She blinked and opened corporeal eyes. She fell to the side, catching herself on an unsteady arm. Severus seemed completely unperturbed.

"That was intense," she said.

"Indeed." He was smiling. "Are you okay to continue?" he asked, voice tinged with concern.

"Yeh." She was ninety percent sure she wasn't lying. She shuffled closer, placing her hand on his face, caressing his cheek lightly with her thumb. "Legilimens."

She slipped into his mind and emerged into chaos. Memories flicked past her in rapid succession. He was climbing a bedraggled tree. Skinning his knee. Tugging down too-short sleeves. He was on a bus with an elderly woman. His mother was tucking him in. His father back-handed him across the face, sending him sprawling. Eating. Fighting. Drinking. Smoking. Duelling. He was clutching Lily Potter's body to his chest. More drinking. Shattering plates. Downing vials of Dreamless Sleep. Bel. Laughter and smiles. Years upon years of teaching. Excruciating pain.

And her.

She blinked hard and forced herself back into her body.

"It's absolute chaos inside your head," she said.

"Maybe to you."

"How can anyone glean information from such a jumble?"

"With practice, you can slow the memories down, distinguish the important ones, follow the threads that link them together," he explained.

"Can you do that?"

"Absolutely."

"Creepy," she said with a shiver. She moved once more to sit against the headboard, her side pressed against him. "Severus?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can you tell me about your mother?" She was a little nervous, the question felt intimate in a way that going through his mind hadn't.

"What would you like to know?" he asked.

"Everything, I guess."

"My mam was an absolute saint." She smiled as the north slipped into his voice. "She was the first Prince to go to Hogwarts; it turned out that she was particularly good at Potions and Herbology but had very little magical power. She left with a handful of NEWTs. She met my father in a pub not long afterwards. What was supposed to be a one-night-stand turned into a shotgun wedding and a lifetime of loathing. He resented our magic, tried to make me feel responsible for his lot in life. My mam though, she never made me feel like a mistake. No matter how bad stuff got (and when the mill my father worked at closed, it got really bad), she never once blamed me. She'd sew for hours into the night to keep our clothes in good order. She served herself smaller and smaller portions before she'd ever reduce mine. She taught me how to escape into books, how to experiment."

Hermione looped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him.

"We used to go for long walks on the moors around our town and she'd tell me stories of our ancestors. Have you ever heard of the Pendle Witches?"

Hermione thought back over her six years of History of Magic. "Weren't they a group of muggles accused of witchcraft in the seventeenth century? Most of them were hanged, weren't they?"

"A lot of muggles were hanged, yes, but the authorities were suspicious for a reason: there was, and is, a thriving magical community around Pendle Hill."

"Why didn't we learn about them in class?" she asked.

"They are what you could call hedge-witches. The Ministry doesn't like word of them being spread because they aren't restricted by a lot of the Ministry's laws and regulations."

"It wouldn't be the first-time information like that has been neatly skipped over," Hermione observed, thinking of the dearth of house elves in Hogwarts: A History. "Why do they fall outside regulations?"

"Rather idiotically, quite some time ago, it was determined that the wand makes a witch or wizard. The so-called Pendle Witches actually consider themselves to be mages. They focus their energy on natural magics, no wand required. Tinctures, ointments, and herblore are their more mundane practices but they also have some rather startling abilities."

"Like elemental magic?"

"Precisely. My family has always been particularly gifted with water. My grandmother once told me about a friend of hers who could quake the earth and shape stone with her bare hands. Some could commune with animals and take their shape. Others could still a howling storm." He looked at her thoughtfully. "Though I've never heard of any mages having an affinity for fire. As I said before, it is a rare gift."

"So there's a community of magic users we're never told about? Because they do things differently?"

"Exactly so."

"The Ministry are morons."

"They fear difference. It's the root of the majority of problems in the wizarding world. It's what spurs on the Dark Lord. Well, that and hatred." Severus's brow was creased in thought.

"So, what else did your mum teach you about?" Hermione asked. She didn't want to talk about the war, she needed something lighter.

"On those walks, she would teach me about the plants we passed. Because the area is so inherently magical, it’s a hotbed of all sorts of useful potions ingredients. We'd scramble up steep slopes to explore the flora at their summits. I once fell into a river trying to reach some of the weed that grew along its bank. Once I clambered out, mam watched in shock as I just shook off all the water, I was left completely dry."

"But why was she surprised? She knew the stories?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Mam never had much of an affinity for water. She always enjoyed being in water, swimming in it, but she'd never been able to control it, never mind produce it. She assumed the ability had left our bloodline. My gran had been able to freeze a tray of ice cubes or rewarm her tea but that had been it. They thought the skill was lost."

"That must have been amazing, learning it was reborn." Hermione remembered the thrill of discovering her fire, she still felt it sometimes.

"It was! She swung me around when she realised, laughing. She so rarely laughed at home that the sound of it felt like magic to me." His voice was soft and Hermione could tell without looking that he was smiling.

She wanted to hear more but a huge yawn escaped, shuddering her body. If she listened any longer, she'd fall asleep.

"I should go," Severus said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

"Or you could stay?" she ventured.

He took his time thinking about it, his head resting against hers. "I suppose that wouldn't hurt."

She turned her head to kiss his cheek, only to be met by his lips instead. She tried to deepen the kiss, longing curling in her belly, but he pulled away.

"Now, now, love, I already said I'd stay. Don't start something you can't finish." His voice was light and teasing.

She groaned and he laughed.

She used the small en-suite bathroom first, brushing her teeth and pulling on another of her dad's old conference t-shirts (this one had a cartoon tooth saying You're never in too much of a rush to give me a clean with a good toothbrush!). Severus slipped in when she'd finished, having found some pyjamas from somewhere. She slipped under the covers and turned the light off. Though she had no intention of doing anything other than sleeping, she felt nervous. Sure, they'd shared a bed before but she'd been half delirious when she'd begged him not to leave her. This felt different somehow.

The door to the bathroom opened and closed, briefly revealing Severus's half-clothed silhouette. She felt him sink into bed and stretch out. Scrounging up some courage, she shuffled over and pressed her face to his bare chest, the skin coarse with hair, and snaked an arm around his middle.

"I could so easily get used to this," he sighed, pulling her more tightly to him.

"Me too."

They stayed cuddled like that, neither willing to stay good night, until they were both carried off into sleep.

He was gone when she awoke.

A note rested on the pillow next to her: Duty calls. You looked so peaceful, I couldn't bear to wake you.

Though she was disappointed not to wake up next to him, her heart swelled. Every new insight into who he was only served to further whet her desire to know him better.

In the kitchen, Harry and Ron were cooking breakfast. Well, Harry was, anyway. Ron was getting in the way and making a mess.

"Morning, 'Mione!" Ron said cheerfully. "Egg and mushroom butty?"

"Sounds great. Has anyone put the kettle on? I'm dying for a coffee."

"I'll do it now." He filled the teakettle and set it over a flame on the stove, accidentally elbowing Harry in the ribs as he did so. "Sorry!"

"Watch where you're going!" Harry jokingly elbowed him back. "Who wants butter on their roll?"

They both replied in the affirmative and they were soon settled at the table, mugs of coffee and sandwiches oozing golden yoke in front of them.

"I slept so well last night," Harry said between mouthfuls of breakfast. "Meditating really set me up for it."

Ron seemed to agree though his actual words were lost behind his food.

"And you think you're up for teaching us?" Harry asked. "Have you ever used the spell before?"

"I know the theory," Hermione evaded. She was not ready to tell either of them about her overnight guest, they'd only jump to the wrong conclusion. Though, of course, that conclusion was exactly what she wanted to happen in the near-future. "I think it'll be fine."

Once they were fed, washed, and dressed, she had them push the couches towards the walls and they sat in a triangle on the thick rug. Hermione was forcibly reminded of story time in Primary School.

"Right, the key to keeping someone out of your mind is to hide your thoughts and memories away from potential viewers." Slipping into lecture mode felt completely natural.

"What do you use?" Ron asked.

"Fire. When Malfoy tried to invade my mind, he couldn't get through my shields without feeling as though he was being burnt. He tried to douse them in water but I wouldn't let that work either. Force of will is very important. You can also use something to hide your memories instead of just shielding them. I read about someone who built their Occlumency up like a library and tucked secret memories between the pages of books. The most important thing for people like us is that no one can force our memories to the surface. You can even hide them from yourself if someone uses Veritaserum on you."

"What do you mean by 'people like us'?" Harry asked.

"People not living double lives. Severus has to mask memories whilst looking like he's telling the absolute truth. His Occlumency shields are far more complex by necessity."

"So it can be anything?" Ron asked.

"Pretty much. If you go the barrier route, it has to be something you can pour all your concentration into. It works better if it's designed to do the intruder harm. It won't physically hurt them but it will deter them."

"What if we decide to hide memories instead?" Harry looked intrigued.

"It's best to pick something you know well. Spend time in that place inside your head, hiding away the important stuff. Are you thinking of doing that, Harry?" she was pleased he was interested in the more challenging of the two techniques.

"Yeh. Can you practise with Ron first? I need some time to think about this."

"Fine by me, mate."

"Okay," Hermione said, shuffling closer to Ron. "It works more easily for me with skin contact." She held Ron's hand loosely in her own. "Are you ready, Ron?"

He nodded, a look of concentration on his face.

"Legilimens," Hermione cast and was catapulted into his mind. She emerged in an eerily familiar chamber. Blocking her path was a row of white marble figures who cast gargantuan shadows across the checked floor. Behind them, another row loomed. She spun around and saw double lines of black figures. There was no way she could beat Ron at his own game. Mind-Ron was sat, smiling, on the back of one of the white horses, replacing a knight as he had done all those years ago.

Hermione withdrew her wand from her sleeve and pointed it directly at the dusty surface of the chessboard. "Bombarda!" A large crack appeared on the board. She cast again and again until, eventually, she'd broken through the shield and into Ron's mind. Unwilling to see what was in there, she blinked hard and reopened her eyes to Ron clutching her hand rather harder than was comfortable.

"That was such a great first try!" she said enthusiastically.

"But you got in!"

"You did far better than I did on my first try. You just need to work on your concentration. If I try and bombard my way through, concentrate on the integrity of the floor. If I try and flood the place, imagine an excellent drainage system. Get it?"

"Yeh! Can we try again?"

It took three tries before Ron could successfully keep her out. When she'd tried to burn the board to the ground, he'd flooded the room with water before having it drain away leaving her panting and soaking wet.

"That was incredible, Ron!" She flung her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "If we keep practising, you'll have no trouble when faced with Death Eaters." She turned to Harry. "Are you ready to try?"

"I think so," he looked a little uncertain.

"Okay, let's just give it a go!" she said brightly. She grasped his hand in her own and looked into his eyes. "Legilimens."

She materialised in a cavernous chamber filled with an odd assortment of, well, everything. Stacks of furniture, both broken and unbroken, stood in precarious towers. Cauldrons filled with odds and ends were dotted around the room. A plastic Christmas tree was planted in an umbrella stand. A chandelier was slumped over the floor like the skeleton of a prehistoric behemoth. She wandered amongst the trunks and chests that littered the room looking for the mind-Harry she had been expecting to see.

She couldn't find him and started to try breaking through his defence. It wouldn't light on fire, she couldn't conjure water. She tried hacking at the chests only to find they wouldn't break. None of the unlocking spells she knew worked on the locks. She was about ready to scream in frustration when something shiny caught her eye: shoved on top of a cabinet, a glistering tiara perched atop the wigged statue of a rather ugly warlock.

She blinked hard.

"Harry! Is your shield modelled on a real place?" she asked, anticipation quivering inside her chest.

"Errr yeh, it's the Room of Requirement," Harry replied looking more than a little confused at why that was her first question.

"Ravenclaw's lost diadem is at Hogwarts!"

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

Severus was disillusioned and pacing in front of a blank stretch of wall. I need the place where everything is hidden, he thought feeling incredibly silly following the precise instructions Hermione had sent him that morning. I need the place where everything is hidden. I need the place where everything is hidden.

A door popped into existence in front of him and he gingerly tried the handle, looking left and right to ensure that he remained undetected. He emerged in what could only be described as a cross between a Sunday morning antiques fair and Aladdin's Cave of Wonders. He half expected a little old lady to come around the corner escorted by a genie.

He opened his lab diary and followed the hastily scribbled instructions, coming to a stop in front of an ornate cabinet that had certainly seen better days. The wood was warped with acid scars and the door was hanging on by a single hinge. Just as Hermione had promised, an ugly bust wearing an even uglier wig was resting atop the cabinet, the lost diadem of Ravenclaw perched at a jaunty angle over the wig. Trust The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Pain-In-His-Arse not to notice when he was holding one of the lost treasures of Hogwarts.

Pulling on a pair of dragonhide gloves, Severus lifted the diadem from its ignoble perch and tucked it safely into his satchel. He was about to leave when something inside the cabinet caught his eye: a cloth cover of a book. He snatched it up and ran his fingers over the familiar wear and tear of Advanced Potion Making. He flicked through the pages and saw them dense with his adolescent scribbles. He'd always taken notes like this. Parchment was a necessity for homework, but a luxury when it came to note-taking. He'd quickly learnt to use the margins of his mam's old books to highlight important topics, add extra information his teachers had given him, and to make his own observations. Nowadays, he couldn't read a book without scribbling in it.

He slipped his textbook into his satchel alongside the diadem and escaped the room, relieved to have left the furniture graveyard. He made it through the castle mostly unobserved (he shooed away Mrs Norris with a well-timed spray of water) and into his office. At his desk, he pulled out the diadem and his old book and set them on the blotter.

Every portrait in the room gasped when the realised what they were looking at.

"Where did you find that?" Armando Dippet breathed trying to get as close to the diadem as his frame allowed.

"Severus, what do you think you're doing with that?" Albus asked sharply.

"I'm storing it so that it may be destroyed at an opportune moment, Albus." Severus tapped Albus's frame in a complicated pattern and swung it to one side, revealing the cavity behind. He moved the diadem to its temporary home, slammed the frame shut, and removed his dragonhide gloves.

"Do you have any idea what you have there, Severus?" Albus would not be deterred.

"One of the Dark Lord's seven horcruxes," Severus replied baldly.

Every single one of Hogwarts's former headmasters and headmistresses gasped.

"How do you know about the horcruxes?" Albus demanded.

"I think the real question here is why didn't you tell me about them?" Severus's voice was seething with quiet rage.

"You know the answer to that."

"Yes, yes. You wanted to avoid placing too many eggs in a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of the Dark Lord," he hissed.

"So how?"

"Hermione."

"Hermione?" Albus questioned.

"Yes, you know, Hermione Granger. Gryffindor Princess. About this high," he held a hand level with his shoulder, "with a shock of hair. Normally has her hand raised."

"I know who Miss Granger is, Severus," Albus said. "What I don't know is when she became Hermione."

"Why does that matter?" Severus snarled.

"You shouldn't be keeping secrets from me."

"Pot," he pointed to Albus. "Kettle," he pointed to himself.

"Even so," Albus looked at least a little contrite, "I think it's time you told me everything."

It was just before closing time and Hermione was amazed at how busy Weasley Wizard Wheezes was. She was hidden safely under the invisibility cloak in the Muggle Magic Tricks section of the store. Customers were avoiding it like they would dragon pox. Though they were all clearly having fun as they perused the brightly packaged products lining the shelves, she couldn't help but notice that people stayed knotted together. Friends walked with arms threaded, parents kept their children's hands clasped tightly in their own, and when people accidentally bumped into one another they would glare suspiciously.

Closing time came and George dropped a stink bomb onto the shop floor. She barely had time to slip a bubble-head charm in place before the tiny sphere burst and released its awful stench on the shoppers. They left quickly, noses wrinkled in disgust, swearing they would never return (albeit rather unconvincingly). As the last customer left, George warded the door and shutters collapsed over the windows, hiding the brilliant displays from the people on the street outside.

Fred came out from a back room and had his wand out in an instant. "Who's there?" he demanded. At his words, George's wand was out as well.

Hermione swept off the cloak. "Hi," she said, shyly.

"Hermione!" George said, clearly happy to see her, but didn't lower his wand.

"We need to ask her a question -"

"But what would only our dear Hermione know?"

They both pondered dramatically for a moment before Fred smiled wickedly.

"What was in the card I sent you Valentine's before last?" he asked.

"You sent her a card? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You knew I fancied her. You should have known I'd send one."

George shrugged and smiled at his brother.

"It said," Hermione started, drawing attention back to herself, "and I only remember this because it was so terrible: Roses are red, an oak is a tree, you should ditch Ron and come hang out with me."

George's face cracked into a massive grin. "No wonder you didn't tell me if that was the best you could come up with."

"I'd like to see you do better!"

George cleared his throat. "Snowdrops are white, roses are red, I think you'd look great splayed out on my bed."

Hermione felt herself blush and glared at both of them. "Don't regret making me come here."

"Why did you come here, anyway?" George asked.

"I need to arrange an Order meeting and I thought you two would have an idea as to where we could do it," she explained.

"Requirements?" Fred asked.

"Big and needs to be somewhere people can stay over if they need to. Any ideas?" She wasn't too hopeful.

"I think we can think of something."

"As soon as possible, please," she said sweetly. "Send a patronus with the details."

"Of course, Hermione," they said in unison, giving her identical kisses on the cheek.

"And, boys?" she asked as she made for the door. "Make sure it's secret kept."

She swept on the cloak and disappeared into the street, twisting away as soon as she stepped through the wards.

The new headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix can be found at the Hog's Head, Hogsmeade.

The handwriting was vaguely familiar but Severus was having a hard time figuring out who it belonged to. He set the parchment alight with his wand and briefly thought of Hermione and the way her beautiful blue flames crackled from her fingers. The walk through Hogsmeade was unnaturally quiet. Many of the shops had transfigured their windows into brick and CLOSED signs hung from many of the doors. The once cheerful town was grim and desolate, the buildings now simulacra of the Shrieking Shack.

He lit a cigarette (the lighter an awfully sparkly creation that was oddly reminiscent of a mirror-ball) and took a pull, exhaling the smoke into the silent street and wishing he could make it into cool shapes like Gandalf. Maybe there was a spell for it? He shook himself. He needed to focus. It wasn't until he'd almost reached the end of the high street that the dishevelled facade of the Hog's Head shimmered into view.

The door opened with a creak of protestation and Severus strode into the dull interior, robes billowing. Aberforth barely looked up from the beer mug he was wiping with a filthy rag.

"Morning," he said as he got to the bar. Aberforth put the beer mug down with exaggerated care and looked at him, his blue eyes familiar and yet so different, clouded as they were by years of alcohol abuse. "I believe you're expecting me," Severus said when no greeting was returned.

"Aye, I am," Aberforth said. He slid a key from a hook onto one gnarled finger and handed it to Severus. "Room thirteen."

Not one to waste words on those who didn't want them, Severus took the key and made for the stairs at the back of the barroom. A soft clink behind him suggested that Aberforth had gone back to cleaning his beer mug, apparently unfazed by the appearance of a Death Eater in his pub. The stairs were rotten with age and neglect; Severus resisted the urge to cast several structuring charms and instead trod carefully. It had been years since he'd used them and he couldn't help but think about the night he overheard the prophecy. The night he'd been atoning for ever since.

His room was at the very top of the building; a small attic space with sloping walls and a double mattress taking up most of the floor space. He used a few cleaning charms, freshening the air and clearing away the dust, before laying back on the dingy sheets and settling in to wait for the arrival of the rest of the Order.

Hermione found herself engulfed in a hug as she walked into the bustling barroom of the Hog's Head.

"School's not the same without you, dear," her Head of House said as she released her. She looked to Harry and Ron. "It's not the same without any of you."

It looked like everyone had arrived before them. The red heads of Weasleys were dotted about the crowded room, Order members she knew well and those she only knew by sight were in attendance, and a large portion of the DA was present. Ron was quickly scooped up by a stern Mrs Weasley and Harry was cornered by an apologetic Remus.

"How did we do?" a voice said next to her ear.

"It's perfect," she said beaming at Fred. "Who's the secret keeper?"

He cupped a hand to her ear and whispered, "Lee. We figured no one would guess it was him."

"Good idea, I'll have to thank him later."

"He's happy to do it. Glad to be doing something that could make a difference. We all are." He smiled at her and directed her to a table with a Reserved sign on it. "Table of honour for the Golden Trio."

"Don't you dare call us that again," she scowled. "It's bad enough having Harry labelled as the Chosen One. I think he actually prefers Undesirable Number One."

She checked her watch before climbing onto her chair and touching her wand to her neck, casting a non-verbal sonorous. "Welcome, everyone. Please find a seat and we'll get to the reason I called you here today."

The chatter died down and people began to find seats. There had to be about fifty people crammed into the room; she imagined the room was the fullest it'd ever been. Once everyone was settled, she stood and faced the crowd, more than a little nervous. "I've gathered you all here today because someone in particular wants to have a word with you."

She gestured to a large frame propped up on a chair, the painting itself covered with a dust sheet. She pulled the sheet away and the room made a collective gasp. Severus had been the only living person to talk to Professor Dumbledore since his death.

"Good afternoon, everyone," the venerable old man started as Hermione retook her seat. "It's such a pleasure to see you all!" His eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles. "Now, I have some information that is going to shock you all but I insist on you hearing me out. I wasn't murdered by Severus Snape."

A shocked muttering rippled across the room. Tonks spoke up, "Are you trying to tell us that you're alive?"

"Nothing like that I'm afraid. I'm simply trying to tell you that Severus didn't murder me; he did me a mercy. I'm sure you all saw my hand last year; I'd foolishly triggered a curse. Dark and powerful, it would have killed me far more quickly had Severus not been there to intervene. He trapped the magic in one hand but I was still dying. Severus discovered that young Draco Malfoy had been tasked with the mission of killing me and, to save the boy's soul and myself from torment, I asked Severus to be the one to do it instead. I asked him to kill me and cement his cover with Tom Riddle in the process."

The room was deathly silent. No one moved, no one spoke, until:

"Are you telling me that you forced Severus to act the traitor, kill his mentor, and cut himself off from everyone he knows and cares about just so that he could keep his cover?" Professor McGonagall was on her feet, glaring daggers at the late headmaster.

"Yes?" His voice was small and uncertain.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore! If you weren't already dead, I'd kill you myself-"

Hermione left the barroom as her professor started to berate Professor Dumbledore and slipped up the stairs, making for the top floor.

It was time to reunite Severus with the Order.

A knock at the door pulled Severus from his slump on the bed. He opened the door and found himself with an armful of Hermione.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, smirking into her hair.

"Oh, be quiet," she replied and slipped a hand behind his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. He would never get used to Hermione's kisses. They were freely given and never came alone. She couldn't seem to help herself, the long kiss of welcome followed by several short ones.

"How did it go?" he asked when she finally released him.

"Better than I'd expected. Professor McGonagall is furious with him."

"Furious with him? I hadn't expected that. I thought she'd be relieved to talk to him again." For as long as he'd known her, Minerva had always been full of surprises. It was good to know that he had supporters though.

"She used his full name and everything."

"What about everyone else?" he asked, a little nervous.

"I didn't hang around to find out." She shrugged.

"I guess it's time to face them then." He made to step into the hallway but one of her hands closed around his wrist.

"Just one more? Please?" She looked at him with wide, hazel eyes. He'd never be able say no to those eyes.

"Just one," he said and kissed her.

They made it down to the barroom a few minutes later. Everyone went silent as he walked into the room. The kind of silence that lets you know that they'd all just been talking about you. Severus squared his shoulders and followed Hermione to a table, robes billowing behind him. He sat down in the chair next to her and ignored the rest of the room, giving Albus his full attention.

"Welcome back, Severus!" Albus looked around the room, twinkling madly. "Now that you've all settled down, I think we should get into the plans our Golden Trio has been cooking up to defeat Tom Riddle once and for all." Severus saw Hermione shudder at the name.

As she had done many a time in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione was ignoring the party going on around her. They'd clued the Order in on how they planned to lure You-Know-Who into a trap but, try as she might, Hermione couldn't get her arithmantic equations to balance. The horcrux in Harry's scar was too much of a wild card.

"C'mon, 'Mione!" Ron sat down next to her, handing her a bottle of butterbeer. "Put down the maths and join the party!"

"I can't! It doesn't balance! I can't let Harry walk in there without a sure outcome." She could hear the strain in her voice and gulped down some of the warming drink.

"Nothing in life is certain," Ron said sagely. "We've got some of the finest minds in Wizarding Britain in this room. Have a little faith."

"But, what if -"

"No. No what ifs, no how abouts, no buts. Now, put that paper away, drink some more, and help me set up the karaoke."

"The Hog's Head has karaoke?" she asked in shock.

"Fred and George brought it. I guess they thought some levity was in order."

"I guess I've got to see this." She tucked her paper away into her bag and followed Ron into a corner as music filled the room. She guessed they were too late to help.

I made it through the wilderness, somehow I made it through-oo-ooh. Didn't know how lost I was until I found you.

Lee Jordan's smooth baritone filled the room as he sang into the microphone and people clapped, cheering him on. Hermione spotted Severus at a table with Bel, Professor McGonagall, and Bill Weasley. She made her way over to them and settled in the chair next to Severus.

"Hermione!" Bel welcomed her. "Enjoying the shindig?"

"I am now," she said with a smile, giving Severus's leg a subtle squeeze beneath the table.

"So how does this machine work?" Professor McGonagall asked. "It looks nothing like the one at The Three Broomsticks."

"I didn't realise you were a regular karaoke-goer, Professor" Hermione said cheekily.

"Every third Thursday. And I think, given the circumstances, Minerva will do just fine, Miss Granger."

"Just as long as you call me Hermione."

"Right you are, Hermione," Minerva said with a nod. "But how does the machine work?"

"I believe they charmed a muggle karaoke machine to run on magic," Bill began to explain. "The words appear on the screen and, once the song is over, the screen chooses a person to sing next and the best song for them appears as well. They used some kind of arithmantic charm to make sure only those who want to sing are picked."

"That's really quite clever," Hermione said, impressed. "Those two continue to astound me."

"Did you know they took my class?" Bel asked. "They didn't have the grades for it but they showed me some of their inventions and convinced me to let them in anyway. They submitted the Skiving Snackboxes as their final project. I was really very impressed, no wonder they managed to fool that Umbridge cow." Severus chuckled at her assessment of their former colleague and Minerva raised her glass in salute.

"So, what about you, Hermione?" Bill asked. "Been up to much?"

"Oh, you know, this and that. Sorting out bits and pieces." Though they'd let everyone in on their plan to ambush You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters, they thought it best not to mention the horcruxes. They'd simply been told that killing Nagini was a priority. "And living on the run is no picnic."

"Neither is living in a castle run by Death Eaters," Neville said, joining their table. "No offence, sir." He looked to Severus.

"None taken, Longbottom. The fact that you considered me as such meant I was doing my job properly," Severus said, civilly.

"It's not even been two months! How much trouble did you get up to?" Hermione asked.

"Longbottom was in detention as much as he was out of it. I believe that graffiti was a particular favourite."

"That wasn't actually me, sir. I just copped to it so that one of the third-years could keep doing it undetected."

"Care to share which third-year?" Severus asked, his voice low but not quite dangerous.

"Not particularly," Neville said coolly. This wasn't the shy, unsure Neville she'd left in the summer. In their absence he seemed to have grown in confidence; aside from the Forbidden Forest detention in their first year, she didn't think he'd ever risked upsetting his teachers (Severus excluded, but that wasn't for lack of trying) never mind getting into trouble on purpose.

"I applaud your loyalty, Longbottom." Severus raised his glass.

"Thank you, sir."

"Yes, Mr Longbottom," Minerva chimed in, "keep up the good work."

A light blush stained Neville's cheeks and he was saved from answering as a round of applause rippled across the room.

"That was our very own Lee Jordan singing 'Like a Virgin.' Thanks for the lovely performance, Lee." Fred Weasley had commandeered the microphone. "Next up we have Neville Longbottom singing 'Midnight Train to Georgia.' Can I have a huge round of applause for Neville?" Everyone cheered and Neville made his way up to the small platform stage Hermione was sure wasn't there half an hour ago.

He's leaving, on that midnight train to Georgia …

Hermione was sure she heard a gaggle of girls sigh as he started the song but ignored them. Ron came and sat in Neville's vacated seat.

"Where is Georgia anyway?" he asked, picking up a sausage from the plate of food he'd brought with him.

Severus rolled his eyes but Hermione decided to indulge him. "It's in the United States."

"Ahhhh!"

"Don't talk with your mouthful," Hermione said just as Bill and Minerva said exactly the same thing. Ron had the grace to look embarrassed.

"Right!" Bel said, standing up. "I'm getting some food, anyone coming?"

"I will," Hermione said and then, more quietly, "Can I get you anything, Severus?"

"I'll have whatever you're having," he said with a lopsided smile, kissing her cheek and then freezing.

"Erm, okay," Hermione squeaked out, beating a hasty retreat.

Not hasty enough to avoid hearing Minerva say, "Just how close exactly are you with Hermione Granger, Severus?" she growled. "First you chase a colleague and now a student?"

Bel chuckled as they made their way over to the buffet table that had been set up near the bar. "Min never did understand that we're just friends," she explained to Hermione. "When he was a student, she caught him making out with one of her lion cubs and she's assumed he's some kind of man-whore ever since."

"Severus doesn't really look like the man-whore type, does he?" Hermione asked, playing along.

"Absolutely not. He looks more like the type who'd have someone tied up in his basement."

"Hey! That's my … boyfriend? That sounds weird. That's my … errr … man you're talking about!"

"How about lover?"

"That just sounds creepy. Besides, he isn't yet."

"Yet? So he will be?" Bel asked.

"He will if I have anything to say about it," Hermione said with a shy smirk. "There's only so much cuddling a girl can put up with."

To say Bel exploded with laughter would be an understatement.

Hermione filled two plates with jacket potatoes stacked with cheese and baked beans, salad, and coleslaw and wove her way back through the barroom. Severus and Minerva were arguing, each clearly thinking they were in the right.

"But you're so much older than her!" Minerva's brogue was the thickest Hermione had ever heard it.

"Urquart was at least twenty years older than you when you married him!"

"Don't you dare bring Ely into this, Severus Snape. And I wasn't a child when I made that decision."

"Neither is Hermione."

"But she deserves-" Minerva cut herself off.

"Go on, say it: She deserves someone better than me." Hermione was about to jump to his defence but he did it himself. "So fucking what? She may deserve better, but she wants me. I love her. That's not about to change."

"Severus, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," Minerva said in a soft voice.

"It's fine. I'm used to it."

Hermione sat down and it was clear that they were both noticing her for the first time. "For the record, though I don't see how it's anyone else's business, I love him back."

"But what about when you return to school?" Minerva asked.

"I don't need to return to Hogwarts to take my NEWTs, I can take them at the Ministry," she'd been thinking about this for a while. "And anyway, we need to win the war first."

"And she certainly doesn't need her NEWTs to do an apprenticeship with me," Bel said. "If you're interested, that is?"

"Interested? Are you kidding? I absolutely want that. I've wanted that since your first class. Possibly since even before then."

"Once this war's over, it's yours," Bel said, extending a hand.

As Hermione shook it, Fleur started singing at the karaoke machine, prompting Bill (who had been trying to ignore the drama at the table) to whistle loudly in appreciation.

You're so vain, I bet you think this song is about you. You're so vaaai-n …

And just like that, the tension was broken and they tucked into their food.

The karaoke took a downhill turn after Fleur left the stage to tumultuous applause. Hermione almost choked on her drink when Lavender and Parvati took to the stage.

… slam your body down and a zigga zig ahh …

The dance move that accompanied that line had Minerva muttering about impropriety in a choked voice and Ron cheering loudly.

He wasn't quite so happy when his name was called out accompanied by a Cher song.

If I could turn back time, if I could find a way …

"You couldn't pay me to turn back time again. One year with a time-turner was enough for a lifetime." She knew it was a terrible joke but couldn't help herself. Half the table looked confused but Severus smirked and Minerva choked slightly on her gillywater.

Many drinks later, Harry was called up to the stage to much cheering and clapping. He dedicated it to He Who Must Not Be Named, shocking his audience into silence until …

I get knocked down, but I get up again, you are never gonna keep me down!

… And the crowd broke into applause once again.

"Up next we have four lovely witches who are just about sloshed enough to give this a go! Please welcome to the stage Minerva McGonagall, Belinda Bagshot, Molly Weasley, and Poppy Pomfrey!"

Hermione and Severus cheered as the tipsy witches trudged up to the stage and clustered around the microphone.

"This one's for Severus," Bel said, giving the audience a cheeky wink.

I met him at a candy sto-ore, he turned around and smiled at me, you get the picture? … That's when I fell for the leader of the pack!

"I'm never going to live this down, am I?" Severus asked her, resting his head on her shoulder.

"Absolutely not. I'm going to ask them to perform it at every major event for the rest of our lives." The words were out before she'd really thought about them.

"For the rest of our lives?" He lifted his head and turned to look at her properly.

"If you'll have me."

"It would be my pleasure." He clasped her hand in his own and brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

As the song drew to a close, Severus's face grew determined. "I think I could sing something. I used to be pretty good when I was younger."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when George called him up to the stage. "And here's Severus Snape with a Johnny Cash classic."

Well, you wonder why I always dress in black, why you never see bright colours on my back …

Hermione was torn between laughing at the song choice and being seriously impressed. Severus's low, silky voice caressed the notes in a way that could only be described as "knicker-dropping." By the end of the song, she was wet-through and squirming in her seat. She'd never had such an intense reaction to a song before. It didn't help that he was staring at her throughout, his eyes liquid with intensity. Her skin felt hot and desire pooled between her legs, sweet and aching.

She looked pointedly towards the door to the stairs as the room burst into applause and left her seat. The hallway was blissfully empty.

The hallway was dark when he stepped inside, the music of the other room cut off as the door swung closed. He didn't need to see her to know she was there; he could feel heat emanating from her in waves. His hands found her shoulders and he let his fingers coast down her arms, feeling her shiver in their wake. He squeezed her hand once before his hands settled on her hips, pushing her firmly into the wall. His face was so close to her own that he could feel her ragged breaths, the hot air caressing his cheeks.

"Please, Severus?"

He pushed his body firmly against hers, allowing himself to feel her every curve and knowing that she could feel his hard length in return. He cupped the back of her head, fingers entangling themselves in her unruly curls and was about to give in and claim her lips with his own when she grew impatient, launching herself at him instead.

Her lips were hot and soft against his own and moved with a fevered energy as she desperately sought entrance. He yielded control to her, let her seeking hands caress his body. She led, their mouths partners in a teasing dance of light touches, wet caresses, and nipping teeth. He gasped aloud when she sucked his lower lip between her teeth, biting it gently, the sensation speeding straight to his dick just as her hot little hand found it through his trousers, palming his hardness roughly.

No longer able to help himself, he lifted her straight off the floor and was rewarded as she squirmed against him, her legs locking behind his hips. He pulled back for a moment, took a deep breath and apparated them straight into his bedroom with an embarrassingly loud crack, the compression of apparition pushing their bodies still more closely together.

She squealed as they landed and he over-balanced, toppling them onto the bed. Quicker to react than himself, Hermione straddled him and pulled out her wand. Given the situation, he was quietly impressed when she wordlessly banished their clothes. And then he could feel her wet centre pulsing hotly against his lower stomach. She leant down, her mouth next to his ear, dragging her hard nipples across his chest as she did so.

"I want you, Severus," she whispered, sending goosebumps down his neck and pleasure straight to his aching dick.

At her words, he flipped her over, trapping her beneath him.

Holy fucking shit. Hermione had never been so turned on in her life. Severus's teeth rasped over her collar bone, the sensation jolting straight to her clit. He kissed his way down her breast, swirling his tongue gently around her nipple. She felt her sensitive skin tighten further, pebbling, wishing she could see him kiss his way to her other breast. She barely had to think about it before the sconces were filled with the iridescent blue of her flames, drenching the room in ethereal light.

She watched enraptured as his lips captured her other nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He released it with a wet pop, casting its purled shadow against his cheekbone. He smiled up at her, speeding her heart, and kissed his way further down, treating the large scar between her breasts as just another part of her skin. Neither paying it special attention nor avoiding it.

She spread her legs wider as he neared her aching centre, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses on the skin there, teasing her. She almost forgot to breathe when his tongue found her clit. She moaned as the jolt of pleasure made her knees twitch and her hips flex upward. It never felt this good when she did it herself. She felt him smile at her reactions and continue to tease her.

To her annoyance, he moved away from her slightly, only to slip a finger inside her, caressing her walls and slowly pumping her cunt. She started panting as he added a second finger, tongue returning to her swollen clit, and she became distantly aware that she was moaning. Each thrust of his hand increased the pressure building inside of her, his fingers hitting just the right spot and his tongue electrifying her flesh.

And then it was too much.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

She convulsed around his fingers, the pressure exploding inside of her.

"More," she gasped, still awash with her orgasm. "Need more. Need you."

He moved back up the bed, claiming her mouth, her arousal coating his lips and tongue. She kissed back greedily as he settled his cock against her folds, teasing them.

She pulled her face back and looked him straight in the eyes. "Now, Severus." She watched as his eyes grew darker, the pupil expanding into the dark chocolate of his irises, as he guided himself inside her, the slight sting of lost virginity barely even registering.

He groaned as he entered her wet centre, her tight walls pulsing against his dick. Hermione was magnificent, her hair spread out in a halo around her head, her eyes bright with fire, and her skin luminous in the glow of her flame.

"Oh fuck, Severus," she gasped as he upped his pace, slamming into her. "Harder," she moaned.

Who was he to deny this beautiful witch anything? He lengthened his thrust, filling her over and over again. Her lips were moving in a stream of silent words. Her eyes widened. He could see she was about to come and found himself slipping into her mind. He experienced the full force of her orgasm, the explosion triggering his own release.

They fell over the edge together, down a waterfall of fire and ice. Into a place where their magic made sense, where their elements worked as one.

They saw the power they had to protect the pure, to destroy the impure.

They were bonded together, like calling to like. Essence, egg, and the elements quickened between them and they saw the future coalescing in front of them before they passed into oblivion.

The next morning when they awoke, they knew what they had to do.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

Malfoy Manor was no longer the place it once was. The carefully tended lawns were charred and scuffed, the topiary animals were missing limbs, and the building itself was a skeleton of the home it used to be. Hermione had done a real number on the place.

The East Wing was still largely intact, as were the wards, and so that was where he was heading. He wove his way through crumbling doorways and over fallen furniture, glad to see that someone had had the foresight to use reinforcing charms on the wreckage.

The Dark Lord was in his usual parlour. Wormtail was scuttling about the room trying to look busy whilst the Dark Lord thoroughly ignored him.

"Severus, what brings you here?" The unspoken "away from where I have ordered you to be" hung in the air between them.

Severus bowed low, kneeling before his lord. "I have information for you, my lord."

"Information?" He did not bid his servant to rise.

"Yes, my lord, information about Potter." The snake-like man's ruby eyes lit up, his posture stiffening. "Before they left the safety of the old Order of the Phoenix headquarters last month, they took an old portrait from one of the bedrooms and kept it locked away in some kind of magical container."

"Whose portrait, Severus?"

"Phineas Nigellus Black, a former headmaster of Hogwarts and one who sympathises with your noble cause."

"And what does this Black have to say?"

"The children normally have the container closed, possibly a bag of some sort, but they appear to have been less stringent of late. He heard them discussing plans for Samhain."

"What plans, Severus? I must know."

"Of course, my lord. It seems that Potter is planning some form of seance. He wishes to communicate with his parents."

"And where will he be doing this?"

"Pendle Hill, my lord."

"Why there?"

"As I'm sure you're aware, this kind of magic is strongly bound with family ties, particularly maternal ties. Pendle Hill is the closest place of power to where his mother was born. A seance conducted there will have the best chance of succeeding."

"Show me."

Never using subtlety where force will suffice, the Dark Lord tore into his mind, devouring the carefully staged memory between himself and Phineas. Severus reeled back ever so slightly as his master exited with a vicious tug.

"We will have to make sure that Harry Potter doesn't get to reunite with his mudblood mummy. A fortnight is plenty of time to make preparations. You have done well, Severus."

"Thank you, my lord. Anything to help bring about the new order this world so desperately needs."

When the Dark Lord turned away, he knew he was dismissed. He rose from the floor, ignoring the creak of protestation from his knees, and backed silently out of the room.

He was nearly over the manor's crumbling threshold when a voice called him back.

"Severus!" He turned to face Lucius, forcing down the bile the rose in his throat on seeing his old friend's face. "How the devil are you? It's been weeks. You wouldn't believe how dull it gets here."

Severus curled his hands into fists, letting his fingernails bite into his palms. "Oh, I don't know, it looks like you've had some excitement here recently." He gestured to the broken shell of the once-beautiful building. "And I'm sure the Snatchers bring plenty of … entertainment your way." He focused on the plan - it was crucial to keep his cover intact if they wanted to bring down the Dark Lord.

"I suppose that's true," Lucius said with the half-smile Severus had always found so charming, humour twinkling in his grey eyes. "I did enjoy making that mudblood bitch scream before she burnt my house down." Breathe, Severus, breathe. He reminded himself that Hermione was okay. She'd survived and was stronger for it. "That was the most extreme case of accidental magic I've ever seen in an adult." If Lucius had ruled it as accidental, Severus wasn't about to correct him. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised at his friend's mistake, Draco had nearly burnt down his nursery when his favourite toy had been taken away from him. "It's a miracle I made it out alive."

"Not everyone did though, did they?" he asked as though genuinely curious.

"Unfortunately not." The deaths of his colleagues didn't keep the smile from his face for long. "Can I tempt you into my temporary study for a Scotch? I could use some company."

"I'm afraid not, Lucius. If I leave the school in the hands of the Carrows for too long, it's liable to start falling down. Perhaps when things have settled down?" he asked. "You know how children can be."

Severus clasped Lucius’s hand briefly in his own, tamping down the urge to strangle his long-time friend, and strode off down the charred lawn, not bothering to stick to the path.

"Are you ready for this, Hermione?"

"Yes! It'll be fine."

"It won't be easy to convince them to join us."

Hermione and Severus were disillusioned and standing on the edge of a small road in East Lancashire. A small cottage lay beyond the hedge next to them; it put Hermione in mind of the witch's house in Hansel and Gretel except without all the gingerbread. Lilac smoke plumed from the chimney, catching in the feline weather vane before drifting off into the overcast sky. Hermione cancelled her charm and pushed open the bright yellow gate nestled between two blackberry bushes. Chimes tinkled as it swung open and she made her way up the cobbled path, a vegetable garden on one side and a potions garden on the other. Chickens rambled near a narrow hutch and a couple of goats were tied in a paddock.

She checked behind her to make sure Severus was still with her. He was glowering slightly but following her all the same.

"What’s the matter with you?" Hermione asked. "We're not going to convince anyone if you go marching in there looking like the Grim Reaper."

His stony face twitched slightly before he gave her a half-smile, revealing a dimple. She was about to stop and kiss it when the front door to the cottage banged open.

"Can I help you?"

The tall woman in the doorway had iron curls, a pair of spectacles holding them out of her eyes, and a broad nose. She was dressed in a mauve velour tracksuit with green wellington boots and a flowered apron. Her appearance threw Hermione off for a moment.

"Erm, yes. Hi. Sorry to bother you, my name's Hermione Granger and I was wondering if I could run something by you."

"And who's your friend?"

"This is Sev-"

"Severus Snape, well I never. Eileen's lad, right?" He nodded. "I haven't seen you since you were knee-high to a goblin. But that was before she sent you off to that quack school."

"I teach there now," Severus said, raising a single eyebrow.

"I guess we've got a lot to talk about then," she said. "You'd better come in."

The cottage was a curious mix of traditional wizarding paraphernalia and muggle technology. A small, square television perched precariously on a stack of encyclopaedias, the comfortable couches were covered in crocheted cushions, books lined homemade-looking shelves (their subjects ranging from herblore to jam-making and car maintenance), and a large fireplace played host to an iron cauldron giving off spiralling, purple fumes.

True to form, Severus immediately inspected the contents of the cauldron, giving it a stir and sniffing the brown goop left on the stirring rod.

"Why on Earth do you need this much anti-fungal ointment?"

"I see your nose is as good as it ever was, boy," she said with a look of approval. "Of course, you'd hope so given the size of it."

"Given that logic, I assume you have keen hearing."

"Severus," Hermione hissed. "Play nice."

The woman huffed but her solemn face cracked into a rough approximation of a grin. "Thirty years've gone by and yet nothing's changed. Sit down, the pair of you and I'll fetch some refreshment."

She disappeared into what Hermione assumed was the kitchen and was back barely a moment later with a tray of orange squash and custard creams, forcibly reminding Hermione of her primary school days. She stamped a wellied foot hard into the packed-dirt floor and a large rectangle of earth sprang upwards, legs growing to bridge the gap to the floor. She placed the tray down on this newly-created coffee table and sank down into an armchair, creating a footstool with a tap of her foot.

Hermione was aware that she was staring wide-eyed and opened-mouthed but she couldn't help herself. She guessed this was the friend Severus's gran used to talk about.

"Keeping permanent furniture clutters the floor," she said by way of explanation. "Now, what brings you here, Miss … err … remind me of your name, dove."

"Hermione Granger," she said, uncertainly offering the older woman a hand.

"Emilia Heathershaw," she said, painfully wringing Hermione's much smaller hand. "Most people 'round here call me Granny Em."

"I think I'll stick to Emilia if it's all the same to you," Severus said snidely.

"Call me whatever you want, boy, if it makes you feel better. Doesn't make a blind bit of difference to me."

They sank into an awkward silence. At least it felt awkward to Hermione, but Emilia seemed completely at ease, picking up her knitting and resuming work on something that looked like a giant tea cosy.

After completing a line or two, she spoke without looking up. "Are you going to tell me why you're here? Or would you prefer to wait silently for a while longer instead?"

Hermione could almost feel the frustration rolling of Severus in waves.

"Right," she said, deciding it was best if she took the lead. "I'm sure you've heard about the problems He Who Must Not Be Named has been causing of late?"

"Yes, he seems to be making quite a nuisance of himself." That was the understatement of the century.

"Well, yes. Anyway, we're trying to destroy him once and for all and were wondering if your community of mages would be willing to help."

"I can't see that it's any business of ours. He's left the community untouched as of yet," she said with a shrug.

"So, you won't help us?" Severus asked, his voice dangerously low. "You won't help because there's nothing in it for you?"

"Basically."

"But you have to know that he'll come for you eventually? He won't tolerate any magical community living outside of his rule. You have to see that?"

"Why are you asking, anyway? Last I heard, you'd joined up with him."

"Well, I guess your information is outdated," he snarled, his face settling into a stony mask.

"You still haven't presented me with a reason we should help," Emilia said, raising an eyebrow in such a way that Hermione wondered if she was whom Severus had learnt it from.

"If the future of your community isn't enough to convince you, maybe knowing that the elements demand it is enough."

"The elements demand it?" she asked, sceptical.

"Fire."

"Fire? Are you sure, boy? There hasn't been fire in centuries."

"Show her, Hermione."

"Erm, right," Hermione said, "okay." She opened out her hand and let her bluebell flames fill her palm.

"Pfft," Emilia said, "You call a fist full of flames the Return of Fire?"

"A week ago, she razed Malfoy Manor to the ground with those flames," Severus said, smugly.

"To the ground?" Emilia asked. "Well, that is impressive. But you said the elements, plural, demand it?"

"I have reason to believe that a coalescence is emerging. We'll need all the help we can get."

"A coalescence? You don't mean …?"

"I do."

He joined his water to Hermione's still crackling fire and a brilliant light filled the cottage, dazzling those within before it winked out.

"Well, then," Emilia said, "I guess if the elements demand it, it isn't my place to refuse."

Severus left Hermione in the bed they'd been sharing in the Hog's Head's attic. He dressed quickly in the half-light of dawn and dropped a kiss on her temple before silently leaving the room. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to waking up next to her but he was going to do everything in his power to do it for as long as possible.

Despite the early hour, the pub was a hive of activity. The private functions room had been turned into a training room of sorts. Witches and wizards alike, students and adults, practised throwing spells and dodging rebounding curses. They were all pretty proficient when it came to magic but only the aurors and quidditch players really had the fitness and reflexes they would need in battle. Those who were struggling made use of the obstacle course the Weasley twins had devised. Participants had to duck under and climb over obstacles all the while avoiding the stinging pellets that that were randomly flung at the user. Severus had tried it himself and had only just escaped unscathed.

Luna Lovegood was in one corner throwing jinxes at one of the rebound walls, dodging her own spells with oddly ethereal grace, her bare feet feather-light.

"Good work, Miss Lovegood," he said as she twirled out of the way of a well-cast impediment jinx.

"Thank you, sir." She was barely out of breath. "I find that as long as there aren't too many wrackspurts around, I find dodging quite easy."

"It appears that way, yes." He had absolutely no intention of asking what wrackspurts were. He'd made that mistake earlier in the week when he requested an explanation of what a blimperding was. He'd been treated to a rather long and nonsensical story of their characteristics and of the expedition she and her father had undertaken to find them the previous summer. "Wrap up your practice shortly. I don't want anyone late for breakfast."

"Yes, sir. I'll be along in two shakes of an erumpent's tail."

"See that you are."

He left the girl to her practice and made his way to the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore in the corridor that led to the barroom. Nodding to the young girl in greeting, he stepped through the portrait and into the passage to the Room of Requirement.

The magical room was even busier than the headquarters he had just left. He made his way through as quickly as possible, conscious of the way students would go silent and shuffle out of his way as he passed. They may have accepted that he was on their side but most of them would never feel comfortable around him. Too much had happened for that.

The room allowed him to exit straight into his bedroom and he was surprised when he wasn't immediately accosted by Butch.

"About time you got back," Bel said from his bed, Butch tucked between her legs and enjoying a head scratch.

"What brings you here so early?" Severus asked, going over and sinking down next to his dog. "It's not like you to be up at this time."

"I haven't been to bed yet." That sounded more like it. "I've been patrolling all night. Minerva asked me to; the Carrows were in a particularly vindictive mood last night. I was sneaking around, trying to usher any rule-breakers back to their beds before the terrible twosome could find them."

"Did anyone get caught?" he asked, anxious.

"They nearly caught up with the Creevy brothers but I managed to intercept them." She pulled a face. "Although now I'm worried that Alecto thinks I fancy her. I'm concerned it'll annoy Amycus. I've always suspected that those two have a bit of a Lannister thing going on, if you know what I mean." She wiggled her eyebrows lasciviously.

"I have no idea what you mean. What's a Lannister?"

"You know, A Song of Ice and Fire? It's a new fantasy series of epic proportions. Jaime and Cersei Lannister are twins who are doing the nasty. You should read it."

"You think I should read it because it has copulating siblings?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I think I'll pass."

"It is so much more than incest, Sev. Just you wait! I'm buying you a copy for Christmas. You'll love it."

"I can hardly wait," he drawled. "Do you have time for a fag before breakfast?"

"Always," Bel said with a smile.

"It's hard to explain, Harry," Hermione said. "You're just going to have to trust us." They were sat on his small bed in the room he was sharing with Ron. Damp-riddled wallpaper clung to the walls in water-swollen patches and Hermione could feel every rusty spring in the ancient mattress beneath her. She was missing Bel's small London flat.

"Us?" Harry asked, brow wrinkled.

"Me and Severus."

"But why can't you explain it? You can't just tell a person you've figured out the 'power the Dark Lord knows not' and then not explain it."

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just don't know how to put it into words. You're just going to have to accept that it will eradicate the horcrux in your scar," she said, trying to be patient. She knew she was asking a lot of him.

"How will I know when it's happened?"

"Oh, trust me, you'll know. Everyone will know." If the reaction of a small amount of her and Severus's magic mixing at Emilia Heathershaw's cottage was anything to go by, they were in for quite a sight.

Harry let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Fine, I guess I'll just have to trust you. But if we all die, I'm gonna be saying 'I told you so' for an eternity."

"That seems fair." She leant forward and gave her best friend a hug. "We're going to come through this, Harry. I'm sure of it."

"Have the numbers told you so?" he asked, voice tight.

"It's just a feeling," Hermione admitted. "The numbers are inconclusive."

Halloween dawned cold and clear but Hermione really didn't want to get out of bed.

"Do we have to?" she grumbled as Severus tried to poke her awake.

"Yes, we have to. We have to save the world today, remember?"

"But it's cold out there and it's so warm in here." She snuggled further into his side, resting her hand on his bare hip. "What time do I have to be at the hill again?"

"Eight thirty."

"That's nearly an hour away." She dropped a kiss on his collar bone. "A lot can happen in an hour." She trailed kisses up to his neck, making him moan softly. Her hand roamed over the hard planes of his stomach, her nails tracing the scar tissue she found there.

"We really should-" A nibble to his ear cut off his power of speech and his eyes fluttered closed. She loved the effect she had on him. The way she could reduce him to incoherent groans and mumbles with little more than her mouth. Heavy heat settled between her legs and she ran her hand down to his cock, stroking the hard shaft once, twice.

He moaned in loss when she removed her hand only to open his eyes in shock as she crouched over him, her hot wetness barely touching the head of his cock. She locked her gaze on his as she slid down his hard length, watching his pupils dilate. Having him inside her was unlike anything she had ever felt before; she knew she'd never tire of it.

"Fuck, Hermione," he sighed, her name like a prayer on his lips. She rotated her hips, grinding her clit against his pubic bone, and he swore again. She gently tweaked a nipple as she slowly lifted her hips once more and used the head of his cock to tease her swollen nub before sinking back down his length, tensing and relaxing her muscles in a pulsating rhythm as she did so. The combination of silk and iron, friction and slippery wetness was exquisite.

She repeated the process a few times, enjoying the way the pressure built inside her, each circuit fanning her flames. She was lifting herself for the fourth time when Severus growled in frustration. His hands grasped her arms like iron bands and he threw her off him, pinning her back-down to the mattress. Her gasp turned into a moan as he slammed his cock into her cunt. Each hard thrust added the pressure building inside of her. Severus gasped her name and the dam holding back her pleasure burst its banks. She was lost.

When she caught her breath, Severus lay on his side staring at her. He looked pleased with himself and his dimples framed his smile. She kissed each of them in turn and climbed out of bed.

"Honestly, Severus," she gave him a mock-glare, "we have a busy day ahead. You should be up already."

He threw a pillow at her.

When they made it downstairs, the barroom was heaving as people scoffed bacon sandwiches and slurped from mugs of their caffeinated beverage of choice. Hermione grabbed a coffee for herself and a tea for Severus as he made up two sandwiches.

At eight fifteen, Harry stood on a chair and called for silence.

"Good morning, everyone."

"Good morning, Harry," the room droned in unison. Hermione couldn't help but laugh at how well Hogwarts had ingrained that response in each and every one of them. Even Professor Dumbledore's portrait had joined in the chorus.

"As you're all aware, today is the day. Each of you has been supplied with a portkey to take you to a specific location at a specific time. Be sure to disillusion yourself before you leave and to grab both a pack lunch and a med kit." He pointed to the two piles of shrunken parcels. "We each have our roles to play today and I couldn't be prouder of how everyone here has banded together to fight for our freedom. The Ministry has let us down over and over again and so it's up to us. Let's make the wizarding world safe once more. We owe it to our friends, our family, and, most importantly, we owe it to the future generation. Let them grow up without the shadow of a dark lord dogging their play. Let their boggarts be bats or spiders or banshees and not their lifeless loved ones. Allow them the freedom to flourish at Hogwarts and to grow into the adults who will one day lead wizarding Britain. Fight for their freedom!"

The room burst into applause, cheers echoing from every solid surface. It was infectious. Hermione felt like she was ready to take on the world.

Severus gathered her in his arms and kissed her soundly as the cheers carried on around them.

"Stay safe, love," he whispered in her ear.

"I'll see you on the battlefield," Hermione replied.

"I love you."

"I know," she said unable to resist her favourite Star Wars line.

"Cheeky. I didn't realise I was dating Han Solo." She fell even more in love with him as he said that.

"I love you," she said, meaning it with every fibre of her being.

"I know."

She punched him lightly on the arm.

Hermione was part of a small group that would stay hidden in the woods until the sun began to set. She, Harry, Ron, the twins, Neville, and Luna would apparate to the plateau of Pendle Hill and start conducting a seance. Hermione had been the one to research the props they would need, but the plan itself had been the work of Ron, Severus, and Professor Dumbledore.

Ron had decided that they had to arrive before the Death Eaters, just like everybody else. He'd said it would be important for morale. And it made sense, being out there, hidden in the undergrowth, she felt like part of a team. If it kept everyone's spirits up, a numb arse and cold hands were a reasonable price to pay. She was just glad she'd brought a book to pass the time. Despite having a taciturn northerner of her own, Mr Thornton never lost his appeal.

She kept her DA coin clutched in her left hand, waiting for the signal.

"Severus," Lucius said, clapping his long-time friend on the shoulder, "are you ready for this?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Severus said, resisting the urge to curse the blond wizard. If Lucius survived the evening, he would have hell to pay for what he'd done to Hermione. Although Severus decided that, when it came down to it, Azkaban would be punishment enough.

They were in one of the few rooms still standing in Malfoy Manor that was large enough to hold more than just the inner circle. Men and women milled around, clutching their masks and chatting. The atmosphere in the room was palpable and could be read in every tense shoulder and straight back. The plan was relatively simple: they would apparate en masse and surround the perimeter of Pendle Hill once Wormtail gave the signal. He'd be using his rat form to scope out the top of the hill and let them know when Potter arrived. Severus wasn't exactly sure how Wormtail would get the message to them without revealing himself; he hadn't been privy to those planning sessions.

The room suddenly fell silent and Severus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.

The Dark Lord had arrived.

"Welcome, my loyal followers! The day has arrived and my time, our time, has come at last. Today is the day that I kill Harry Potter." Cheers filled the room, echoing off the ceiling. Severus couldn't bring himself to join in. Not that anyone would expect the dour headmaster of Hogwarts to cheer in any case. The Dark Lord allowed them a few moments of revelry before jabbing his wand into the air, cutting off the noise. "Yes, yes, I'm sure you are all very excited. But you cannot let that excitement get in the way of what we have to accomplish today. I expect perfection from every person in this room. You've all come to me in the past looking for something better, a future befitting your blood, a place of power and influence in this world." It still sickened Severus that this had once been true of him as well. He'd wanted all those things so desperately that he didn't consider the cost. He'd wanted to belong and all it brought him was pain. "Today is the day I give you all of those things. Today is the day we snuff out the fire of hope that fuels the Order of the Phoenix." People spat as he spoke the name. "Today is the day I show the world what true strength looks like. On this day, sixteen years ago, I suffered my greatest failure, but today I will celebrate my greatest victory. Today I show the world that there is no good and evil; there is only power, and those too weak to seek it."

The Dark Lord slashed his wand through the air, releasing them from his silencing charm, and cheers exploded from the dark figures once more.

It was almost fifteen minutes later that they got the call.

Every dark mark burned black as the Dark Lord screamed, "NOW!"

At precisely 5.16 PM, Hermione led the group apparition to the cairn atop Pendle Hill. On landing, everyone started setting up. Hermione began marking out a large circle, casting wards as she went. Fred and George began setting up the thick, white candles they had bought from Odds & Ends in Hogsmeade. Luna began to arrange a stack of silk-covered cushions, carefully placing each one, whilst Harry, Ron, Ginny and Neville began tracing out a pentagram with table salt. For the ambush to work, their seance had to look authentic.

Once everything was in place, they sat down on their cushions, held hands and began to chant. They only made it to the second verse before the air was filled with a clap of thunder as Voldemort and his retinue arrived. Almost in unison, the eight were on their feet, backs to one another and wands raised.

It was time to fight.

Molly Weasley was sore and tired after a day lying in wait, but she was determined. She and Arthur were among the first to emerge from their hiding places and sneak up on the turned backs of the Death Eaters.

Stupefy, she thought, silently slashing her wand through the air. The red flash of light caught one of the retreating figures in the back and he dropped to the floor like a sack of the potatoes she bought once a month from the local market. Again and again she cast, her husband doing the same next to her. They'd taken out maybe six or seven before their comrades noticed anything amiss and turned to face them. The time for subtlety was passed.

"Confringo," she screamed, sweeping her wand towards a trio that had turned to face her. The fiery orange light of her spell caught two of them square in the chest, blasting them backwards.

Around her, familiar faces were emerging from the scrub that carpeted the shallow incline of the hill and light from all areas of the spectrum flashed through the air. The sickly green of death danced in her footsteps as she twirled out of its path again and again.

*

The first thing Severus did on arriving at the hill was throw off his mask, casting it to one side. If he had any hope of reaching Potter, he needed his allies to see his face. He'd arrived towards the bottom of the hill and started to weave his way through the mass of black that surrounded him. He stuck to magic with no visual signature, using a trip jinx to throw off the aim of a Death Eater about to strike Lavender Brown and turning the floor to ice beneath the feet of the hulking form of Greyback, who struggled to regain balance just long enough for Remus Lupin to stun him. Severus was glad they were about as far away from the full moon as it was possible to get.

He could see white light glowing in a dome at the top of the hills. Hermione's wards were holding.

For now.

"Impedimenta!" Tonks screamed, trying to force back as many of the Death Eaters as possible. She and Kingsley were stood back to back, trying to fend off the faceless figures in black.

"We need to whip it," Kingsley's rumbling voice broke through the noise of the battle. "On three." Tonks was blocking curse after curse, one hand unconsciously protecting her abdomen, and waited for Kingsley's signal. They'd have to get it just right.

"Three," he bellowed. It was a typical auror trick to miss out the expected "one" and "two." It helped to preserve the element of surprise. As he shouted, she grasped his wrist and let him pull her into the air as he turned on the spot. Just as she started to gain momentum, she concentrated hard, transforming her legs is to razor sharp blades. He twirled quickly, wielding her body like a mace, cutting people down where they stood and driving others backwards. She felt it as her legs sliced through their opponents with wet snicks and forced down nausea. She was doing this, taking lives, so that her child could grow up in a better world.

After several spins, Kingsley slowed her down and she concentrated on returning her legs back to normal. She landed in a heap and he helped her to her feet, her right hand clutching her wooden lifeline. A cackle broke through the din of the battle going on around them and she turned, faced with a psychotic and bedraggled version of her mother. Bellatrix grinned at Tonks, her wand already pointing at the metamorphmagus's stomach.

"Crucio," she snarled.

Tonks gasped and fell to her knees as pain unlike anything she'd ever felt coursed through her body. Icy heat blazed through her, leaving no part of her body untouched.

"I wonder if the little werewolf you're carrying can feel it too?" Tonks clutched her abdomen, trying to shield her baby though she knew it would do no good. "I look forward to dropping your head off for my poor sister to mourn over. Avada kedavra."

As the green light rushed to claim her, Tonks saw Kingsley grasp her crazy aunt's head and snap her neck with a single, sharp twist.

Narcissa watched in horror as her niece and sister died within moments of one another. What the hell was she doing here? She wasn't a Death Eater, she didn't believe in this ridiculous charade. The Dark Lord lost her loyalty as soon as he asked the impossible of her son. She barely even believed in the power of pure blood. She'd long suspected that her birth had been the result of a random fuck between her mother and their neighbour. She'd always been different. Different from her sisters, different from her parents. And yet not so different from the quiet muggle man who lived next door. She had his ash blond hair and slate grey eyes. Eyes she'd passed on to her son.

No, she didn't believe in the cause. She'd only ever tolerated any of this for her husband's sake; the husband who'd been spiralling into alcoholism ever since his return from Azkaban. The husband who'd back-handed her after the Granger girl had escaped. The husband who hadn't thought about her needs, or put her first, in years.

No.

She was done.

She grasped her son's arm as he fought beside her, shielding her from curse after curse.

"Mother, what are y—"

"We're leaving," she said simply. She rubbed the Malfoy ring she wore and activated it with a whispered, "Castas et fortes." Pure and strong. She and Draco were whisked away from the battle just as an orange curse streamed towards them. It passed through the now-empty space and struck Percy Weasley in the chest.

She didn't hear Arthur Weasley's anguished cry as his spell hit his estranged son.

Luna was trying not to panic. She'd stayed calm all day; she'd helped entertain the others when they became worried during their long wait. She'd run over and over the plan in her head. She'd known exactly what she was supposed to do. But now … now they'd run out of plan. From here on out, they were playing it by ear. And that scared her.

Spells were arcing off Hermione's wards, making the dome of protection glow white. Luna could see the protections thinning in places. All she could do was stand there, her wand shaking slightly in her left hand.

A hand slipped into hers and she looked up to see Fred Weasley's smiling face.

"Don't let the wrackspurts get you down, Luna," he said. If it had come from anyone else, she'd have thought they were saying it to be cruel, but Fred had always been different. He'd teased her and targeted her for the odd prank but he'd never once belittled her or demanded proof when she said something out of the ordinary. The way he treated her, smiled at her, always made her insides feel warm and tingly. Like she was the only one in the room. "Let's give 'em hell."

She squeezed his hand back and levelled her wand at the Death Eater in front of her.

When the wards finally collapsed under the sheer force of their opposition, Luna's was the first stunner to hit its mark.

Vincent Crabbe had been waiting for a moment like this for years. Until the advent of his seventh year at Hogwarts, he'd had to keep his urges tightly reined. He'd only punched people when they were asking for it, he hadn't hurt any of the animals in Care of Magical Creatures (not even the skrewts) and when the mudblood bitch he'd pinned to the wall last year had started crying, he'd let her go immediately. Well, almost immediately. He'd ripped her knickers from her and pocketed them. He remembered the way she nodded, tears streaming down her pretty face, when he'd told her that if he heard one word about it, she'd lose far more than just her knickers.

Then the Carrows had arrived and taken him under their wings. They'd taught him how to cause exquisite pain, how to slowly build torture, how to make girls scream. And he'd loved it.

Now, he found himself putting their teachings to good use. His cruciatus curse repeatedly hit its mark. People ran from the green light he sent careening out of his wand. But it wasn't enough. He needed something special. Something more.

He whispered an incantation and fire erupted from his wand, twisting and flaring into the shapes of beasts. He licked the Creevey brothers with the tongue of a giant serpent and used an elephant to stomp out one of the old Gryffindor chasers. But then Goyle was there. Crabbe hadn't seen his fellow Slytherin appear, had no idea how he'd fallen into the path of the flaming lion who bore down on him. He hadn't meant to do it.

And yet, the scream the fire wrung from his friend felt just as delicious as the screams from his enemies.

Never in her life had Bel seen so many wounded in one place. She helped as many people as she could; chanting healing spells, staunching bleeding, and pouring potions down their throats. Some people were too injured for her to do anything about. In those cases, she snapped an elastic band around their wrists and watched as they were transported back to Hogwarts. Sev had provided her with a bagful of the bands; he'd spent hours and hours making the portkeys to transport people to the Hospital Wing where Madam Pomfrey was well-equipped to deal with them.

In the confusion of everything that was going on around her, she almost tripped over Rolanda Hooch. The middle-aged witch was covered in mud and when Bel bent to help her up, she gasped in pain. She had both hands wrapped over her stomach. Bel tried to move one of them but Rolanda stopped her.

"Don't," she rasped. "It's too late. Save the bands for someone else."

Alarmed, Bel forced one of her hands to one side and stared, open-mouthed, as the skin of her friend's stomach fell open, revealing the glistening pink and putrid brown of her ruptured bowel. The smell made her gag but she reached out and lifted the flap of skin back into place. Rolanda's face grew steadily paler. She was right; it was too late to fix the damage. Bel held her long-time friend in her arms as she died, her tears mixing with the mud that stained her face.

The mages of Pendle Hill didn't bother to prearrange a signal. It was obvious when the fight started. The Ministry of Magic may think witches and wizards superior by virtue of their wands but Emilia Heathershaw was not impressed. The fight was a shambles. Spells were flying every which way and very few of them could impact more than one person at a time. Pathetic.

"Right," she said, addressing the hodge podge of men and women she'd assembled from the local mages, "we need to stop the ones in black and the stupid masks. Got it?"

"Got it," they chorused back.

And so the Pendle mages joined the fray.

Emilia charged, her green wellies providing excellent grip on the hill's incline. A group of Death Eaters had their backs turned to her and she used a sweeping hand to churn the earth beneath their feet into a frenzy. The riotous ground swallowed seven or eight of them up to their necks, leaving them stuck and unable to cast. She skipped around them and picked her next target.

It had been years since she'd last properly exercised her powers.

This was going to be fun.

Hermione was starting to lose it. Spells flew in all directions and it was all she could do to stay alive, never mind fight back. Harry seemed completely at home, duelling two Death Eaters at once. Ron was directing people as he kept himself alive and the Weasley twins were a sight to behold. They worked as one; parrying, blocking, and attacking in perfect synchronisation.

She was itching to use her fire, but she had to wait.

Where the hell was Severus?

He was supposed to be there, helping them. They couldn't face the Dark Lord without him.

The back of her neck prickled and she spun around, finding herself face to face with an enormous snake. She barely had time to shriek before Neville was there, brandishing his wand.

"Sectumsempra," he yelled and the spell hit its mark. Large, oozing cuts opened from seemingly nowhere, slicing Nagini, tearing her to shreds.

"Good one, Longbottom." That voice. His voice.

She whirled around and Severus was there, standing with her.

She could do this.

Together, they fought their way to Harry and were flanking him by the time Dark Lord crested the plateau of the hill.

They'd walked into a trap.

Again.

Tom looked at the cloaked and masked people fighting around him, wondering who had betrayed him. Who wasn't giving their all? Whose spells kept flying wide? Who was targeting their Death Eater brethren?

Who was the traitor?

It was a question that had plagued him for twenty long years. Every time he thought he'd dealt with the problem individual, something else happened. His plans had been leaked over and over again. This war could have been over years ago if it wasn't for the spy. And Harry Potter.

Tom drifted up the hill, toes barely grazing the grass and spells bouncing uselessly off his shield. Did these people really believe they stood a chance against him? Stood a chance against the true heir of Slytherin himself? They were fooling themselves.

The crowds were thick atop the hill and, as he broke into the centre, he witnessed a filthy youth sever the head of his beloved pet.

"Good one, Longbottom." That voice. His voice. His most loyal. His traitor?

They hadn't seen him yet. Three of them stood apart from the rest. Harry Potter flanked by his mudblood sidekick and Severus.

How disappointing.

It would be a shame to kill such a talented wizard. A shame, but not a problem. Tom stepped from behind the knot of people fighting in front of him and faced his foes. The mudblood girl turned pale, the traitor's eyes narrowed, and the boy's face hardened. He would enjoy breaking the brat's resolve.

And break it he would.

"So this is what the Order sends to save them," he said, voice carrying across the hill, "a mudblood, a traitor, and a child."

"Of course, not," the boy said, voice deeper than Tom remembered. "They also sent these." He held a shining tiara in one hand and a vial of indigo potion in the other. It was the very diadem he had hidden so carefully nearly half a century before.

"Even you can't be so arrogant as to think no one would discover it, Tom." That name was for him and him alone. How dare he use it? "Did you really think you were the only one to discover the secrets of Hogwarts?"

But it was only one. Only a seventh of his soul. He had plenty to spare.

"D'you know what else we discovered, Tom?" He would not rise to the bait. He would not ask. The boy answered anyway. "This." He smashed the vial against the diadem and dropped it to the floor. Tom watched as the potion devoured Ravenclaw's heirloom, eating away at it like acid. He felt the bubbling of the metal in his every nerve as a part of his soul ceased to be.

Tom pulled icy air in through his nose, releasing it slowly through his mouth.

"That is nothing. I have plenty to spare."

"Do you, though?" the boy asked, smirking. "Are you telling me you didn't feel the destruction of your diary? That you didn't register Dumbledore destroy Gaunt's ring? That the loss of Slytherin's locket didn't touch you? Do you not mourn for your beloved pet?"

Relief flooded Tom's system. The cup. He still had the cup.

"And what of Hufflepuff's heirloom? Do you not feel it being eaten from the inside? Are you so disconnected from yourself, from your humanity, that you can't feel that final piece of soul dying?"

Surely, he was bluffing. There was no possible way for him to reach the cup without his knowledge.

"Protean potions are truly remarkable things, aren't they?"

"There's no such thing as a protean potion, Potter."

"I think you mean there wasn't such a thing. Thanks to Hermione and Severus, that is no longer true."

He couldn't help himself, he met the Potion Master's eyes. "Severus?" he asked.

Severus nodded. "The next time you threaten the life of someone's loved one, I recommend you consider the consequences."

Severus joined hands with the Potter brat and the mudblood did the same on his other side.

If Potter wasn't going to use a wand, his own should have no problems.

"Avada—"

Blindingly blue light emanated from Potter's guards, travelling through their linked arms and bursting like a star from Potter's chest.

It washed over Tom, encompassing him completely, and he knew no more.

Fire and water were drawn together. They travelled through the mated souls of their hosts and swept into the Innocent One, coalescing. They sought the twisted ball of corruption buried deep within him, obliterating it before travelling on and cannoning into the Corrupt One. The one upsetting the balance. They engulfed him, devoured him.

And with his death, balance was restored.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

The Dursleys' sitting room was pristine as always, almost an exact replica of their old home in Privet Drive. Not a single speck of dust marred the family photographs that lined the mantelpiece, each flowered cushion was fluffed to perfection and, behind the velveteen curtains, the windows sparkled in the evening twilight. Petunia Dursley was perched delicately on the edge of the sofa, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from her salmon-coloured dress. Her husband was sprawled in his armchair, a half-empty can of beer in one hand and the remote control in the other.

He turned on the brand-new television and flicked lazily through the channels, landing on the news. Petunia wasn't really watching, her eyes focused on the can held loosely in Vernon's fist. He raised the can to his lips and took a gulp, letting his arm drop to his side once more, can tilted. She watched as the liquid beaded on the lip of the can, a single drop sliding lazily across the vibrant logo until it clung to the bottom rim. If she was quick, she could catch it with the tissue tucked in her sleeve. But Vernon would berate her for fussing.

The drop lost its battle with gravity and careened towards the ground. Though Petunia knew it was impossible, she swore she could see a small splash mark marring her pristine carpet. She dragged her gaze away and focused on the bright screen of the television, willing it to distract her.

"And in an unusual turn of events," said the serious-looking newsreader from her place behind the screen, "fireworks were seen on Pendle Hill last night. The exuberant light show attracted the attention of thousands though no one is sure who is responsible for the display. Whoever this mysterious coordinator is, they seem to have forgotten that Bonfire Night isn't until Wednesday." The newsreader smiled woodenly for the camera, the joke falling flat.

Petunia managed to make it to the end of the segment before leaping up from the sofa and rushing to the kitchen to fetch her stain remover.

A fortnight later, Severus Snape was presiding over a staff meeting.

"Today's the day," he said, resting his hands on the shiny table that was enlarged whenever they had meetings. "The students are returning and we need to be ready for them. The subdued children of the last few years will be gone. With the shadow of the Dark Lord … of Voldemort no longer darkening our lives, I expect them to be more exuberant and ill-behaved than ever." Bel snorted and Filius concealed a smile behind his hand. "I'm serious! They'll be menaces! Don't get me wrong, I want them to enjoy their freedom. But I will not allow them to stomp over the exacting standards of this school. Our reputation has suffered over the last few years and, as Headmaster, I intend to remedy that."

"Well said, Severus," Minerva said with a tight-lipped smile. "Let them walk over us now and we'll never regain control."

Severus smiled at his colleague and suddenly felt lighter than he had in decades. The Dark Lord was defeated, his old friends and allies no longer hated him, and Hermione loved him. But then the empty spaces and the unfamiliar faces hit him like the Hogwarts Express. Charity, Rolanda, Horace and Bathsheda had all made the ultimate sacrifice. And he'd been the one to replace them. Oliver Wood filled the position of Flying Instructor; Christina Lewis (a Ravenclaw muggleborn he remembered vaguely from his own time at Hogwarts) would be teaching Muggle & Magical Integration; Bill Weasley would be teaching Ancient Runes & Warding; and Remus Lupin, heartbroken and with no desire to be alone, would be teaching Defence. He hadn't found anyone he deemed suitable to teach Potions yet, at least not the NEWT level material; desperate to make amends, Narcissa Malfoy had applied for the post and, after putting her through her paces, he'd given it to her. He would be teaching the NEWT classes himself for the foreseeable future.

"Are you all prepared for your recap lessons?" he asked the room and they all nodded their heads, smiled, or mumbled in response. "I know it's going to be tough squeezing four months of learning into six weeks but I trust that you'll all manage admirably. With any luck, we'll be back to normal, or as normal as we can be, when classes resume in January. I know that the hours are going to be long," they would be teaching Monday to Saturday to make up the lost time, "so feel free to engage capable students as assistants to grade homework and such. Tell them they'll receive a reference and a return trip via international portkey for their services." More than a few faces looked relieved at this news. He'd only received approval from the Board of Governors that morning, tight-fisted bastards that they were. "We also have two apprentices joining us later today. They will have staff privileges and should have plenty of free time to help those who need it. Lee Jordan will be apprenticing with Minerva and Hermione Granger will be apprenticing with Bel." There were a few titters at Hermione's name but he quelled them with a look. "Thanks for all your hard work this past fortnight. Enjoy what little remains of your freedom."

Much like students at the sound of the bell, the staff scraped their chairs back, started chatting, and fished around in bags. The noise was music to his ears; a vast improvement on the deathly silence that had followed staff meetings since September.

"Smoke?" Bel asked, appearing at his elbow.

"Don't mind if I do."

He followed her out onto the balcony. The grass was hoary with frost, the Forbidden Forest still and quiet, and the lake a gleaming mirror, reflecting the blue sky above. Hogwarts had made it through the war unscathed. If only the same could be said for its inhabitants.

"So … what's it like being a proper headmaster?" Bel asked, fishing her cigarillo case from inside her robes and offering him one. Naturally, he ignored her offer and extracted his own slightly crumpled packet of Luckies.

"I'm not sure yet. I think the only reason I still have the job is because the Board of Governors couldn't be fucked with the paperwork involved in hiring someone new." He lit his cigarette with a bunny rabbit lighter and handed it to Bel to light her own. Although she frequently questioned why he didn't just light it with his wand, she always used his lighters.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, smirking, "you seem like a pretty good choice to me."

"And why, pray tell, is that?"

"Hmmm … let's see." She stroked her chin in a comical imitation of a philosopher. "You kept the school and its students safe with a megalomaniac on the loose and Death Eaters in the castle-"

"Of which I was one."

She ignored his interruption.

"In a single fortnight, you've drastically revamped two of our weaker classes, one of which is designed to eradicate prejudice against muggles and help integrate muggleborn first-years into the wizarding world." He couldn't argue with that. "You're already working on plans to introduce a Healing course in time for the next academic year." When making plans for their ambush, he'd been astonished to learn that competent healers from among their ranks were few and far between. "And you're planning a Yule Ball to keep up morale."

"I most certainly am not."

"Oh, please, Sev!" She clamped her cigarillo between her lips and brought her hands together in mock prayer. "Pretty please."

"No."

"But I long for a ball," she said in a fake British accent. "I'll keep talking like this until you agree." Her voice sounded wholly unnatural. "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. This is fun! Spit spot. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. A slight inclination of the cranium is as adequate as a spasmodic movement of one optic to an equine quadruped utterly devoid of any visionary capacity. God save the Que-" He covered her mouth with his hand.

He should have expected it, but the wet tongue licking his palm took him by surprise and he wrenched his hand away in disgust.

"Fine," he said. "I'll consider it."

"I thought you might," she said, American accent firmly back in place.

"You do realise that blackmail is unbecoming of a lady?"

"Good thing I'm not a lady then." She stuck her tongue out at him and, no longer held in place by her lips, her cigarillo toppled from her mouth and fell from the balcony, spinning end over end in lazy circles. Severus couldn't help the laugh that burst forth.

After looking put-out for a moment, Bel joined in. Severus laughed until he was gasping for breath and almost managed to stop. Until he caught Bel's eye, that is, and the laughter started anew.

"Harry! Hurry up! Else we'll miss the train." Hermione shouted up the stairs of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Crookshanks was rubbing himself against her leg, leaving orange hairs all over the bottoms of her jeans. She'd already tried coaxing him into his travel basket twice but he wasn't having any of it.

"I don't really see what the big deal is, 'Mione," he said as he levitated his trunk down the stairs in front of him. He only had one shoe on. The other was lying upside down next to the troll's foot umbrella stand. "If we miss the train, we can just apparate to school."

"That is so not the point, Harry. It's the first train ride with no Voldemort on the loose! Don't you want to enjoy that?"

"I suppose."

"And it will do people good to see you on the train. They'll feel safer knowing that Harry Potter, Defeater of the Dark Lord, is aboard."

"Except I'm not, am I?"

"What?" she asked, confused.

"I didn't defeat Voldemort. That was you and Snape." His nose wrinkled slightly as he mentioned the Potions Master.

"Semantics," Hermione said with a shrug. "We couldn't have done it without you. We couldn't have channelled all that elemental energy without you."

"Still …"

"Still nothing, Harry. You've spent the last six years of your life fighting a war you didn't start. You've been ridiculed and hero-worshipped ever since you discovered magic. As far as I'm concerned, you defeated Voldemort. We all defeated him." She kissed his cheek and he smiled a little, though still looked unconvinced. "Get your other shoe on, or we really will be late."

They arrived with a crack on Platform 9 and 3/4 a few minutes later.

"'Bout time," Ron said, engulfing the pair in a hug.

"Hi, Harry," Ginny said, blushing lightly and opening her arms for a hug. Harry pulled her towards him and kissed her straight on the mouth.

"Where's your mum?" Hermione asked Ron, trying not to watch the snogging pair too closely.

"She's still struggling; we all are really. It's been awful. Dad's been sleeping on the couch 'cos Mum can barely look at him."

"She must know that it was an accident, right?" Hermione asked. When she'd heard that Percy hadn't survived the battle, she'd been shocked. She'd also felt an overwhelming sense of relief that it hadn't been another member of the Weasley clan instead, immediately feeling guilty for thinking it.

"Of course, she knows. But he still killed her baby, didn't he? Fred and George have moved back home so they're not left to deal with it alone. I wish I could be there too, but Mum insisted that I need to get my NEWTs."

Hermione wrapped the redhead in another hug which he gratefully returned.

"Right," Ron said loudly, letting Hermione go and startling Harry and Ginny apart, "let's grab a compartment."

The train was packed but they eventually found Luna and Neville. Just as the train was about to leave, Lee Jordan stuck his head around the door.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Lee! What are you doing here?" Ron asked.

"McGonagall has agreed to take me on as an apprentice. I couldn't resist taking the train."

"Ah yeh! 'Mione's apprenticing too!" Ron gestured to her proudly and she found herself blushing.

"But you don't have your NEWTs yet, do you?" he asked, brow wrinkled.

"Bel's accepting me without them and I'll take them at the Ministry in January. She's keen to get me started as soon as possible."

"And it means you're not a student anymore, right?" he asked, raising his eyebrows knowingly.

She sighed. "Does everybody know?"

"Only the people with access to the Hog's Head," he said with a shrug. "But, of course, they will talk and soon the whole school will be full of it."

She groaned and covered her face with a hand.

"Is it so bad, 'Mione?" Harry asked. "Who cares if they all know?"

"I don't care about that exactly," she started slowly, "but Severus hates being an object of gossip. It's going to make him grumpy."

"I doubt he'll mind if it means he gets to spend time with you," Ron said, sagely. "Poor bugger is head-over-heels."

They all laughed and settled into the journey.

Chess was played, sweets were scoffed, and Neville nearly lost his eyebrows in a game of Exploding Snap. It was starting to get dark when their compartment door slid open to reveal Draco Malfoy, already dressed in his uniform with a shiny Head Boy badge pinned to his robes.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked, standing up. Ron followed suit, backing up his friend.

"I … errr … I just wanted to thank you, Potter."

"Thank me? What for?" Harry asked, confusion written plainly across his face.

"The Dark Mark wasn't a choice for me, it was a punishment. If it hadn't been for you, for all of you," he said looking around at them all, cheeks tinged with pink, "I'd still be under that bastard's thumb. My mother would still be playing host to a mad man."

"But what about your father?" Hermione asked, shuddering slightly at the thought of her torturer. "You can't be pleased that he's in Azkaban?"

"My father made his own choices. He needs to live with the consequences," the blond said with a shrug. "Besides, he's safer in there. Snape would probably kill him for what he did to you, Granger."

No one disagreed with him.

"Anyway, I just wanted to clear the air before we get to school."

"Errr …right," Harry said. "I guess we'll see you around the castle then?"

"I guess so." Malfoy ducked back out of their compartment, closing the door behind him.

"Well, that was odd," Luna said lightly and everyone burst into giggles.

Not long after Malfoy had left their compartment, a shrill scream rent the air. Everyone was on their feet in an instant and Harry was first out of the door. A group of five figures robed in black stood at the end of the corridor. Harry moved towards them, the rest of them following.

Hermione recognised the blond hair of Antonin Dolohov at the front of the group.

"Well, well, well," he started, "if it isn't Ha-"

Their shouts of stupefy cut him off mid-word and the five Death Eaters fell in a blaze of red light.

"Never stop to gloat," Harry muttered under his breath.

Before anyone else could do anything, Ron took charge.

"Hermione, contact Severus and the aurors. Nev, Luna, stand guard over these idiots." He gestured to the unconscious intruders. "Harry, Lee, Ginny, we'll sweep the rest of the train. We need to make sure there aren't more of them and that no one's injured."

Everyone followed him without question.

"Expecto patronum," Hermione cast, swishing her wand to produce her gambolling otter. "I need you to tell Severus and Kingsley that Death Eaters breached the train. They are unconscious and we're sweeping the corridors." Her otter nodded once, split itself in two, and disappeared through the roof of the train.

In barely five minutes, Severus and Kingsley Shacklebolt (accompanied by an MLE team) arrived to take the Death Eaters into custody.

"It looks like the wizarding world is in your debt once more, Harry," Kingsley said, shaking Harry's hand.

"It was hardly just me," Harry replied. "Even the Boy-Who-Lived can't produce that many stunners at once." His voice was bitter but he forced a smile.

"Thank you, all," Kingsley said, looking around at them. "We'll take this lot into custody and do a final sweep of the train." He disappeared to join his MLE group further down the corridor.

"I think points are in order," Severus said, she could tell he was proud of how they'd protected the students. "Twenty points each, I think. So that's eighty to Gryffindor and twenty to Ravenclaw."

She could see Ron doing the maths in his head.

"But, sir, what about-"

"Apprentices Jordan and Granger are no longer affiliated with any of the houses. Reacting to situations that may endanger the students is part of their job description."

"Oh, yeh … right."

Kingsley saved them from an awkward silence. "It looks as though they were the only ones and no one appears to be hurt. Severus, can I accompany you back to the castle? The sooner we get the incident report filled out, the better."

"Of course, I'll see you at the gates?" Severus asked. Kingsley nodded and disappeared with a crack.

"Do try to stay out of trouble until you make it to the school," Severus said, addressing the entire group. He brushed Hermione's hand surreptitiously with his own, making her stomach flutter, and disappeared almost silently.

"Who's up for another game of Exploding Snap?"

The Welcome Feast took far too long for Severus's liking. The children were rowdy, the food was heavy, and Hagrid was drunk. It had been torture having Hermione at the staff table without being able to talk to her; tradition dictated that apprentices be relegated to the far end of the table. She looked like she was enjoying herself though, even if it wasn't with him.

As the students left the hall, he made his way over to the newly minted apprentices hovering awkwardly near the staff exit.

"Welcome to the staff," he said to Hermione and Jordan. He was feeling a little awkward but hiding it well, unlike Hermione, who had her lower lip clasped between her teeth and was fidgeting with her grey apprentice robes. "Your mentors will meet with you after breakfast tomorrow. I'll show you to your rooms now and leave you to settle in." He deliberately didn't look at Hermione as he said that. Jordan knew about their relationship but Severus wasn't about to let his love-life interfere with his professional standards.

He led them up to the third floor and indicated two portraits hanging on either side of the corridor.

"Jordan, you're behind the portrait of Methuselah," he indicated the painting of a man so wrinkled and wispy he looked as though he was about to crumble from the painting altogether. "The password is currently set to 'transfiguration.' Feel free to have a quiet word with your door guardian to change it."

"Hermi— Granger?" Jordan snorted with suppressed laughter. "Oh, screw it. Hermione, you're behind Uric the Oddball."

"I resent that name!" The man in the painting yelled, waving an ineffectual fist. He had a jellyfish draped over his frizzy hair as a hat and was holding a cucumber he'd carefully whittled into a flute.

"Then stop wearing sea-creatures." Severus looked back to Hermione. "Bel set your password, so I'd like to apologise in advance. It's 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious' and you should consider yourself lucky it isn't something longer." Hermione giggled. "I'll bid you both good night." Hermione didn't manage to maintain a straight face at all and, seeing hers, Jordan's crumpled into a grin as well.

"Good night, Headmaster," Jordan said, still smiling. Hermione didn't say anything so he turned on his heel and made his way to the headmaster's office, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn't be staying there for long.

Crookshanks wasn't sure what he thought of his new home. After spending months with the redheaded family, it was nice to get away from their fussing. But he'd miss the space. He couldn't very well chase chickens and gnomes in the castle but he supposed there were other ways to spend his time. It would be nice to get reacquainted with the not-cat that prowled the corridors late at night, the one whose keen eyes were surrounded by strangely rectangular markings.

He took stock of the furniture available, unable to decide between the squashy-looking couch in front of the fire or the wing-backed armchairs. Eventually, unable to choose, he jumped up onto the large double bed tucked into the very corner of the room. It was warm and soft as he curled up to await the return of his charge.

"What do you think, Crooks?" she asked as she entered through the portrait hole. He mewled at her, letting her know that he thought the place satisfactory. "Pretty nice, right?"

She set to unpacking her beaded bag, sending items dancing through the air. She was filling one of the many bookshelves with her large collection of tomes when the fire in the grate turned a ghostly green colour and the dark man stepped out.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," he said to Crookshanks’s charge, wrapping her in his robed arms and pushing his mouth against hers.

Yes, he decided, it was good to be home.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling.

"Morning, Bill," he said over the tinkling of a bell as he entered the cramped shop. "What's new in the world today?" The man behind the counter had a face crumpled with experience, a smile as crooked as his flat cap and blue eyes that sparkled behind his bifocals.

"Morning to you and all," he slapped the Daily Mail onto the counter and pointed to the headline with a blunt finger, the nail cracked and yellow with age. "Bloody 'Tories are at it again, never get anything right. It's a disgrace." Severus gave the front page a cursory glance and nodded in sympathy. Bill never wanted to actually discuss the inner workings of British politics, he just liked to grumble. "I suppose you'll be wanting your usual?"

Severus nodded.

"And what about you, little Leenie?" Bill lent over the counter to smile at the young girl swinging from her daddy's arm, curly black hair dancing madly. She nodded, her smile filling most of her face.

"So that's one packet of prawn cocktail crisps," he placed the pink foil packet on the counter, "and a Wham bar." He plucked the blue wrappered taffy from a shelf and placed it next to the crisps. "Where's your mam?" he asked Leenie.

"She's just coming," she said, her prim little voice sounding nothing like the way Severus spoke as a kid. "Robbie refused to get out of the car."

"He's not well behaved like you, is he?"

"Nope!" she said proudly, puffing out her chest.

"And will they be wanting their usuals as well, d'you think?" Bill asked her.

"I think so," she said solemnly, nodding her head.

"Do you want to pick? Or shall I?"

"I'll do it!" She rushed over to a shelf holding an odd assortment of plastic toy animals. She was tempted by the elephant (but she thought he might already have one of those) and then by the wiggly snake and the golden lion. But then she spotted a black and white dog that looked just like Butch.

"This one!" she said proudly and placed it on the counter as Bill placed a packet of Malteasers alongside their other purchases.

Severus handed Bill a tenner and, as per usual, he slipped the change into the charity box on the counter. Bill was currently collecting for a local youth group.

"It's been a pleasure as always," Severus said as he guided his daughter through the door.

"Bye, Bill." Leenie waved at her friend and he waved back.

"Until next week."

Once outside, Leenie rushed straight to Butch, whose lead was looped over a bollard. She looped it over her own arm instead, wearing it like a handbag.

"Can we go play now, Daddy?" she asked as her mummy walked towards him, two-year-old Robbie resting on her hip. His face was red from his tantrum and his was nose snotty.

"Of course, darling." He fished the toy dog from his pocket. "Why don't you give this to Robbie first? He looks like he needs cheering up."

Leenie did as she was told, handing him Butch's lead and running to her mummy.

He followed at a more sedate pace, taking in the sight of his beautiful family. If you'd told him a decade ago that he would soon have a gorgeous, intelligent wife, a thoughtful but mischievous daughter capable of throwing fire with one hand and water with the other, and a son so stubborn and sweet in turns that it often gave Severus emotional whiplash, he would have thought you were having him on.

Hermione let Robbie down from her arms and his sister immediately dragged him off to play.

"No fire!" Hermione shouted after them. "Remember where we are."

Severus took his wife's hand and they strolled along the path in the wake of their children.

"I love you," he said, kissing her cheek.

"I know."

THE END