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Chapter Text

Hermione Granger would probably always remember the day she and her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, assisted to their first Order meeting.

It was true the excitement of finally being part of "something big" – as Ron called it – and the sense of finally being treated as adults had played an important part to imprint the memory within all three of them. But Hermione had to acknowledge that for her there had been another - outwardly irrelevant - detail that had secured her record of the evening in her mind. This fact had been, as ridiculous as it sounded, that it had been the first time she had noticed Severus Snape not as a teacher, not as an abstract genderless presence of Hogwarts - as could be Peeves, but as a man.

It hadn't been an earth-shattering revelation, nor had it unbalanced her world, but it had certainly been unexpected enough that she had surprised herself turning it over in her mind for the following few days. It had occurred in such an inconspicuous moment and in such an inconsequential situation that sometimes she even doubted the scene had happened at all.

That evening, at the end of the summer, she had followed an excited Harry and Ron into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place – where the gatherings were always held. Wonder of wonders, after more than a year of insistent complaining - both from their side, to get in, and from the other side, to keep them out - suddenly they were summoned. Their youth had suddenly no longer become a problem. Hermione strongly suspected that it was simply a gesture of the Headmaster to push Harry out of the depressive mood he had fallen into after the death of his godfather.

Be it as it may, the hall that evening had already been crowded with Order members. Hermione, having been the last one to enter the room, had remained for a few moments behind the boys with an uncertain smile, who had already begun to greet energetically an equally enthusiastic Tonks. It had been at that very moment that she had noticed a presence on the corner on her left, which she had thought empty until then, and had turned towards it. Her eyes met her DADA teacher leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His ever-present black cloak acted as the perfect camouflage in the poorly illuminated hall. Harry or Ron would have turned their face away as fast as possible but Hermione thought he deserved a "Good evening" or, at the very least, a nod. However, the greeting caught in her throat at finding that his eyes, instead of glaring at her with their characteristic coldness, were sweeping over her apraisingly.

Hermione felt immediately self-conscious. She had tensed, expecting some snide remark, as he had been opposed to their joining to the Order from the very beginning. Instead, his eyes had met hers for a moment before, noticing his stare was reciprocated, he looked away, instantly regaining his initial aloofness. Nobody that looked at him would have guessed him to have noticed anyone else around him.

However, that contemplative stare he had fixated on her face had unbalanced her more than any other disagreeable expression would have, even taking into account that in the whole it all had happened in less than five seconds. For she, before having the chance to react, had been dragged into a bear hug by a distressed Molly Weasley, effectively cutting her line of sight and thought. The latter had only been resumed three hours later, while lying awake on her bed, reproaching herself at being so naive that a simple curious look could disturb her so.

As time went by, the initial puzzling sensation - had Snape really checked her out? or sized her up? - had been receding, and the whole incident had become just a niggling thought, rarely remembered thought not completely forgotten.

How little she expected to be subjected to a situation in which she would have to recall the incident if only to reassure herself that a man, an actual human being, with feelings and fears, lurked somewhere behind the black cloaks and dark frowns.

Chapter Text

Wednesday. January 8th. Four months later.

“Now you will have a clear proof of just how far the tendrils of my power reach. And with a new law I have designed and which will be passed by this time next day, you will make them expand even further,” announced Lord Voldemort to the congregation of dark figures either seated around the table or propped against the wall. Voldemort himself was lounging with a relaxed pose on an stuffed armchair with its back to the fire, projecting a long eerie shadow across the crowded room. Being said fireplace the only source of light, his scaly figure remained shrouded in darkness in which only his bare flesh was able to reflect some light: two elegant but unnaturaly pale hands and a sharp and unmerciful face.

“I know some of you will have to overcome ‘ethical’ issues to follow my orders, but I equally know you are more than willing to do it for me...” His eyes surveyed the nodding people in the room, all of them trying to appear calm although, in most cases, failing miserably at hiding their mounting apprehension.

One of the few successfuly impassive faces belonged to Severus Snape, Potions Master and the current Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was leaning onto the wall on the Dark Lord’s left and was grateful this effectively relieved him from the inspection. He will have time enough to analise me after the meeting, he though dispassionately, firmly pushing back the mounting aprehension.

He was puzzled with the nature of the meeting, as it was larger than the inner-cicle ones, but many low-rank members hadn’t been summoned. Nearly all the Pureblood ones were there, however. He surveyed the room once again and swallowed thickly at realising the only half-bloods there were himself and the serpent himself. Not good. At that moment he caught Malfoy’s eye, who quickly turned his head but not fast enough that Snape couldn’t have a glimpse of his calm expression. Lucius was never one of the most demonstrative Death Eaters, but this unflappable calm... He must already know what this is about.

“Of course we will be honored to serve you in every way we are able, my Lord,” proclamed Bellatrix Lestrange, cutting into his thoughts. “Just tell us what do we have to do.”

“Ah, as eager to please me as always, Bella. And as I see your comrades are becoming impatient I’ll get to the point...” Said Voldemort and his eyes flashed momentarily. He’s enjoying it. Whatever it is, he’s enjoying it! Thought an increasingly alarmed Potions master.

“Very well, Lucius,” ended Voldemort, gesturing towards the blond man – I knew it – who started to explain the contents of the controversial Law.

After about half an hour of explanations, quickly masked incredulous – or even outraged – expressions and polite inquiries, under the amused glint of the Dark Lord’s eyes, he dismissed the meeting and motioned Snape to approach him.

“What do you think about it?” He asked without preamble. “Don’t held anything back.”

“Well, it’s quite a drastic solution, although with high possibilities of success...”

“But?” Voldemort said with a hint of impatience.

“But I daresay most of my fellow Death Eater would have preferred another solution in which they wouldn’t have to - ah - compromise their bloodlines,” he ventured, neutrally. Since he had come back, the Dark Lord had asked for his opinion from time to time. If he actually valued Severus' assesment or if it was a show of trust, Severus didn't know.

“I would also, but I think this plan, as controversial as it may be, will prove to be useful. If anything, it will keep that meddler, Dumbledore, entertained. Besides, it isn’t as if I expected my followers to recognise the consecuential children as theirs.” He waved his hand. “Those children would be kept for as long as they may be useful, but then..." he made a vague gesture with his hand. "Although I have to say it amused me to see their first reactions... Do you think it will cause problems, though?”

Snape reflected on it for a moment.

“No, I don’t,” he answered cautiously. “They will, undoubtely, be reluctant at first, but they respect you far too much to let their prejudices interfere with your wishes. Besides, once they feel reassured of their sucessors remaining ‘pure’, they will undoubtedly realise the advantages of this arrangement... They are getting a new ‘toy’, their very own, for an indefinite amount of time. They will promptly see the benefits of it.” He ended with conviction.

Meanwhile, Voldemort had reached for Nagini and was stroking her absently and nodding slowly. Snape allowed himself to relax minutely.

“I thought as much.” Then he fixed his red pupils on the dark-haired man’s obsidian ones. “You are a valuable spy and analyst, Severus. Your work up to this moment has been... remarkable, although sometimes I can’t help but think you are getting too comfortable in your position, that you are becoming lazy... I don't like that idea, Severus. I warn you to don’t ever give me reason to convince myself so; I wouldn’t like to have to do anything about it.”

“I regret that I gave you that impression. I would do anything you wish me to, my Lord, and, of course, I’m deeply sorry I'm in no condition to participate in relation to the Law–”

“That you are,” cut Voldemort. “But don’t be so sure about it. You could still prove necessary.” Silence ensued, and Snape decided to risk breaking it.

“What would you like me to tell Dumbledore, if anything at all?”

After a moment, the red-eyed man answered, his lips twisting into a thin smile.

“Nothing, though I wish I could see his face when he discovers the Law. You may go, Severus.”

“Good night, my Lord,” Snape said with a bow, before exiting the room and dissaparating. He had to speak to Albus as soon as possible.

“How did it go? The usual, I presume.”

“Not exactly, Albus. There’s something new we need to talk about”. The older man frowned immediately.

“Does it require the pensieve?” He asked worriedly while summoning a decanter full of amber liquid and a glass.

“No, it’s pretty straight. But if you wish to have a look later to look for reactions between the assembled, be my guest,” dhrugged Snape while accepting a half-filled glass of the amber substance.

Both white eyebrows rose.

“A general gathering?”

“No, but neither the inner circle. An unusual combination.”

“How so?”

Silence ensued as the younger of the two men took a swig of his glass.

“The meeting was held in one of Malfoy’s states. I think the one in the west coast - there was storm going outside - but I’m not sure. However, in there were present all the Purebloods between his ranks. Even Wormtail”. His lip curled slightly in derision. “Malfoy, with his seemingly endless influence within the ministry, has managed to have a Marriage Law passed, under Voldemort’s Orders, of course.”

“A Marriage Law? Are you serious?” Asked Dumbledore incredulously.

“Absolutely. It’s suppose to be an incentive to Muggleborns to integrate themselves into our society. The Dark Lord seemed to think it was the easiest way of getting a hold of the muggleborn population short of taking the Ministry forcefully.”

“I see. Please go on.”

“In short, the Pureblood and Halfblood are able to petition for any Muggleborn, but the Pureblood will have preference above any Halfblood. If a Muggleborn is petitioned, he or she would have a month to decide between the Pureblood ones since the first petition. In case the person is only petitioned by Halfbloods, the ministry would choose ‘the more adequate candidate’. That is to say, the closest Death Eater.” Snape made a pause. “I don’t know whether to conclude that he’s gone rabid mad or that he’s a genius.” He eventually said, finishing his glass in a long gulp.

Dumbledore just nodded understandingly.

“Did he list concret objectives?”

“No. He said he would tell each of us who we should petition for. I hope he decides to let me alone, as I am half-blood, although he did mention that the possibility existed. It would complicate matters if I were to be chosen to marry someone,” he said with a worried frown. “However the main objectives are not that difficult to deduce...”

“Indeed. Mrs. Amelia Bones and Miss Maggie Whitsmire would be at the top of his particular black list, as they had been difficulting his control of the ministry for years.”

“You mean they have been a true pain in his arse for years...” The younger man said humorously, extracting an indulgent smile from his mentor.

“I suppose you could express it that way...”

Snape sobered suddently, remembering something.

“By the way, you need to get one of the Order members in the ministry to openly ‘discover’ this law quickly if you want to warn these ladies, as I’m not supposed to tell you anything of this.”

“Well, that’s a complication, although in any case it would be convenient to have a exact copy of the Law as soon as possible,” the Headmaster said meditatively. “In fact, I will warn all of our ministry members right away. And I will need a list of the muggleborns working for the ministry. Fawkes?” He called the Phoenix, who had been slumbering in its perch but approached quickly. Dumbledore paused in his haste to pick parchment and quill to look towards his Potions master. “Could you wait for a few moments? There’s something else I would like to discuss with you.”

“Of course. What it is?” Answered Snape, frowning slightly and crossing his arms.

“Your situation. I, for one, would like to have your back covered, whatever the decision of Tom," the Headmaster said, scribbling furiously in a piece of paper. “And the students, of course. Some of them would also be affected by it...” Snape visibly started at that, as he hadn’t considered it. “... and I would be very surprised if Hermione Granger’s isn’t one of the top five names on Tom Riddle’s list.”

Chapter Text

Thursday. January 9th.

She wasn’t a morning person.

No matter what each and every other human being in the school thought about it, she just wasn’t eager to get up every day to attend lessons. She had discovered during the years she had spent into the magical world that the fact of doing what one had to do in each moment instead of what one wanted to do was called anything but. For her, the so-called Gryffindor bravery was, at least in her person, nothing more and nothing less than another aspect of it. She wouldn’t let Harry and Ron get themselves killed if she could help it, and if that meant she had to risk her own life – repeatedly – in the process, then so be it.

So, if she was going to get out of the bed at the sound of her alarm clock to avoid having to hurry and getting late to the lessons, instead of lazing around, it was because she knew she had to. Even if that very day she had woken having the strange sensation in the pit of the stomach everybody has had at least once that announced it was about to be a bad day. A very bad day indeed.

After a languorous stretch, which dissipated somewhat her pessimistic thoughts, she padded towards the bathroom, always empty so early in the morning – thank God for lazy housemates – and got into the shower. She had discovered earlier that term that having a long shower in the morning cleared her mind miraculously. She let the water streams tap relaxingly on her face for a few moments before she sighed and turned the tap off. While she was drying herself with one of the fluffy blue towels she favoured, she caught her sight in the full body mirror. When she realized how detached she felt from her own image, she decided to approach it.

Her hair, still damp, was still the same as it always had, though perhaps a bit longer than she had worn it through the last years. Her body, after an awkward development, appeared to have finally reached its equilibrium the previous summer, although a little fuller than Hermione would have liked. She wasn't exactly fat, she realized, but her constitution provided her with – well – curves that she wasn’t truly comfortable with and that the loose and unfitting Hogwarts robes didn't improve at all. If at least I were taller... She thought, ruefully.

Her eyes focused then on her face. She thought she looked tired and the frown of worry that had lately become a semi-permanent fixture returned to her face. Well, you couldn't exactly feel safe while actively immersed in a war.

A mreep from her familiar made her aware of the time she had wasted with her reflection. Shaking her head at her unexpected bout of frivolity – there were far more important things to worry about – she hurried to prepare for the day without another glance.

When she arrived at the Great Hall, her friends were yet to make an appearance at the breakfast table. They'll be late, she prophesied humorously, spotting Lavender at the end of the table. Seeing a big empty spot at the blond girl's side, Hermione directed her steps towards her, greeting a few cheerful first and second years she had met because of her duties as Head Girl.

Lavender, however, barely lifted her head to give her a nod when Hermione sat next to her. What has her knickers into a twist now? she thought resignedly, divided between what she felt was her obligation as a Gryffindor prefect and her tiredness. Lavender usually barely acknowledged her except whenever she and Parvati argued and Hermione was a readily available recipient of lamentations, but even her wasn't beyond a good morning greeting. A second glance at Lavender's face tipped the balance. Something about Lavender was just off.

“Morning, Lav. Was this seat occupied? Mind if I seat with you?”

“Oh, no. It's alright.” So that wasn’t it. However, her last word had been said with near relief.

Hermione decided on the direct approach.

“It’s something wrong?” She asked, not quite surprised when Lavender stiffened and looked up at her suspiciously. Hermione met her eyes with a slightly concerned look and the other girl seemed to relax.

“No. Not really. It’s just that I haven’t been able to sleep well for a few days and I guess it is taking its toll.”

“Oh, how so?” Hermione asked lightly while picking a juice jug. She was rewarded by Lavender looking nervously around to bent slightly over the table and whisper.

“I keep having a dream. A nightmare, rather. The same, night after night.” Hermione barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes. So it was just some of the spiritual nonsense Lavender had been immersed on since their third year. Meanwhile, the young woman in question kept talking, although hesitantly. “In the... nightmare, there’s an old man and a woman - a blond girl, she must be our age. They are trapped in a very dark room. They struggle to make light, a whitish flame. They are hungry, I feel the emptiness in my own stomach, and I feel faint.” Her whisper, which had become frantic, stopped suddenly “Then a dark shape groans, and I see a snake, then a goblin, then it turns into a key, then into a huge wolf, and when it turns to look at me, it tells me ''beware of the big bad wolf'' and- and I wake up,” she finished lamely, maybe realising how silly it sounded, but with a distressed look in her eyes.

Hermione watched her reflexively. It was poetic justice that all the nonsense they let Trelawney feed them would come back to bite them, but her reaction and her obvious distress disturbed Hermione more than she liked to admit. However, what was her to do? Act as a prefect.

Hermione straightened up a bit and tried to talk in a soothing voice. “Awful dream, then.” She made a pause, thinking. “Listen, Lavender, sometimes when we are stressed or something is bothering us, or sometimes even without a particular cause, our mind is overcome with information and deals with it by pouring the strayed thoughts into the dreams. For example, weren't you studying Lethiwolves in Care of Magical creatures? That might be the reason wolves appear in your dreams...” She lectured, trying to sound comforting.

"There are such things as prophetic dreams, you know?" Said Lavender defensively.

"Yes, I've read about them," replied Hermione, hurrying to assure the other girl that she believed her. "What I mean is that there are also dreams are just that, dreams, so you don’t need to try to extract a deep signification from each and every one of them. Some are just... normal," finished Hermione, conciliatory. Hermione sipped her juice trying not to fidget under the other girl's assessing gaze, knowing that Lavender was gauging her sincerity.

"I guess you’re right" Lavender sighed, not looking truly convinced but going back to her breakfast. "See you later, Hermione," she said after a while, sounding a little more like herself. Hermione frowned at her porridge for a few moments, lost in reflection, though she was promptly interrupted by her friends' arrival, making her day back to normal.

For the moment.

Normalcy was broken once again during her second lesson of the morning, Arithmancy, when a swift knock on the classroom door was followed by the whirling entrance of the former Potions Professor. Death-like silence imposed itself in the classroom at his entrance, earning him a look of surprise from Septima Vector – as she always had problems to quieten her pupils.

The Potions Master and now DADA teacher strode purposedly through the room, only stopping opposite the Arithmancy teacher, where he bent his body just enough to whisper her a few sentences without risking being overheard. Meanwhile, the students seeing their most frightening teacher wasn’t paying attention to them, had initiated the movement of Hogwarts’ rumour mill.

“What do you reckon it has happened?”

“Perhaps Snape wants Vector to calculate the probability of Slytherin winning the House Cup.”

“What if has been some injury? Or an attack?” asked Ernie McMillan, turning in his desk beside Hermione with an anxious expression.

“Can’t be. Numbers don’t heal, silly,” retorted Seamus.

“What if they are - you know - together?” whispered Parvati, seated with Seamus just behind Hermione.

“Urgh,” added Seamus.

“Nonsense, the Git doesn’t have it in him,” replied Dean, with a guffaw, making Parvati giggle. However, Hermione huffed at this, attracting the group attention, and immediately realising her slip.

“What’s the matter?” Asked a still amused Dean.

She turned slightly towards them and opened her mouth, reddening, to say that she very much doubted he ¡didn’t have it in him' and that it wasn’t a topic for them to discuss anyway, but was relieved of this by an impatient cough at her back, which made her head whip back to the teachers.

“If you are finished gaping, Miss Granger, and you find into yourself to torn your attention from this undoubtedly fascinating discussion, you are to come with me,” said her DADA teacher dryly. As she was still watching him, seemingly confused, he prompted sharply, “now.”

“O- of course, sir,” she stuttered, quickly packing her things.

He was waiting by her desk, surveying her classmates suspiciously, who had become even paler than the Potions master himself and were carefully avoiding his eyes, fearful of having been overheard. When Hermione closed her bag and stood, nodding at the questioning look of her teacher, he turned sharply and exited the classroom, confident that she would follow him.

She caught up with him and had to jog uncomfortably to keep with his stride. “Has something happened, sir? Where are we going?”

“We are going to the Headmaster’s office,” he answered curtly, ignoring her first question.

She compressed her lips, reckoning she shouldn’t press the point, but annoyed at his rudeness, nonetheless. The glare she sent him in reproach dissolved at seeing – really seeing – his face. He was paler than usual, with near-purple smudges under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept the night before. Even though his expression was blank as usual and he conducted himself with his characteristic sureness and determination, the fatigue seemed to seep into his features through every wrinkle.

However, just when Hermione was about to ask if he was okay – forgetting her previous decision of not ask any more – they reached the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster office.

“Caramelised almonds,” he whispered and, to Hermione’s surprise, motioned her to enter before him, in an unusual chivalrous gesture.

Something is definitely off today.

Chapter Text

When she entered the Headmaster's office, her concern increassed exponentially at also seeing there her Head of House. Her mind quickly searched for an infraction which merited such formality.

“Er... Good Morning, professor Dumbledore, professor McGonagall.”

“Good morning, Miss Granger. Please, take a seat,” said the Headmaster smiling reassuringly, even if his countenance had been grave.

She sat, alarmed at seeing Snape take another armchair on her right instead of leaving. Order business, then? Without Harry and Ron?

“I wish we could meet in other circumstances, but this time I have requested your presence because of an extraordinarily grave situation we find ourselves into,” she paled worryingly as a thought struck.

“Are my parents okay?”

"Your parents are perfectly fine. It is nothing that dire," said Dumbledore with a slight smile, producing a cup of tea in front of Hermione. " However, I’m afraid that time is not something we have to spare, so I’ll try to be brief and I beg you to listen until I finish. Tom Riddle has managed to have a new law passed. It is called the ‘Muggleborn Integration Act’, of which you have a copy here," he said, handing her a roll of parchment, "In this act Muggleborn wizards and witches over seventeen are instructed to marry if petitioned by a Pureblood under penalty of permanent expulsion of the Wizarding World.” The Headmaster paused briefly, letting his words sink. "It also specifies that if a muggleborn were to be petitioned but only by halfbloods, a Commision in the Ministry created specifically to this purpose would choose which one is better for the ‘integrations purpouses’ of the law. Knowing Tom has enough influence in the Ministry to get a law passed it’s not preposterous to presupone he may have also power enough to choose the members of said Commission-”

“But, I won’t necessarily be petitioned," blurted Hermione, unable to keep quiet any longer. That couldn't be true, it sounded so ridiculous... "I’m just a muggleborn student. There must be most menacing targets...”

“We are aware of some well known muggleborns Voldemort would like to overpower, but we are certain you will also be a main target. In definitive, my dear child, we must avoid at all costs you being subjected to this marriage law because as soon as it applies, the Death Eaters, eager to please his Master will seek to - ah - get you under control.”

While the Headmaster talked, she had been quickly scanning the parchment and analising the implications. There wasn’t any obvious escape, and she was not only a muggleborn, but a confirmed objective of the Dark Lord... The only way out was to go back to the muggle world and go into hiding.

As if...

Not only she wouldn’t risk her parents life like that, but she would never let Harry and Ron down. So that meant she would have to marry a pureblood... but whom?

Ron, supplied her mind quickly. Yes, it could work... they would remain at Harry’s side no matter what, and their secrets would be safe. But she was going too far... Ron and her had only flirted during the previous year, but had left it there, and now he seemed to have his lips permanently stuck to Lavender's. With a pang Hermione realised she had always thought, deep down, that Lavender was a distraction and they would end up together, but now...

She could feel tears forming and she struggled to keep her breathing calm. Hush, girl, calm down. There was nothing for it now, and there must be a good reason the Headmaster was convoking her then; he must have found a solution, for sure...

A movement on the corner of her eye reminded her of the other occupants of the room. What was Professor Snape doing here, by the way?

“But... what do we do? Can you keep it from passing?” She asked instead, acquiring quickly a defeated air at seeing the Headmaster shake his head slowly, regretful. “I am afraid I can not do that, my dear, but there is a way to keep you from falling into Voldemort’s hands while helping the Order at the same time, and also being free to help Harry.” Snape made a jerky movement, that gave Hermione an excuse to send him an enquiring look. He was looking at something on Dumbledore's stands and seemed to be unaware of the conversation going on around him.

“ I’ll do it," she said, inwardly shrugging and turning her attention back to Dumbledore. "I’ll do whatever necessary to being able to keep helping Harry,” she stated. Get your priorities straight, Granger. Harry's mission, first. Love life, second.

“You’d better listen first, foolish girl! You still haven’t got the slightest idea of what mess you are into nor the grave consecuences that will come from your decision at this point,” snapped the silent Potions Master, startling her. So he was paying attention after all, she thought, bad-humorously.

“I apologise if my words seemed rash, Professor Snape, but I did mean each and every of them,” she said, still addressing Dumbledore - she had never talked back to Snape before. However, to her surprise, instead of exploding, the Potions Master remained silent. She risked a glance, then, and most uncharacteristically, he didn't meet her eyes. McGonagall was still looking grim.

“Words worthy of a true Gryffindor, indeed," said Dumbledore with a hint of pride in his voice, "but, alas, Professor Snape is right in suggesting patience.” Hermione felt herself reddening slightly. “As you have undoubtedly read on the act, it will become legal this very night at midnight. So after that moment you will be unable to marry anyone but a pureblood wizard when petitioned by one. But before that, before the 24:00 of tonight, you are free to marry whomever you choose, pureblooded or not.” He enunciated clearly.

“I understand, sir, but I still don’t see-” Not Harry, he can’t be thinking in Harry! The Headmaster stalled her with a hand.

“There’s still something you need to consider. As I have mentioned, the passing of this law has been not only supported, but created within Voldemort’s circle and by Voldemort himself and as such, he expect his followers to endorse it by controlling a number of specific targets he has signalled.” He made a small pause and Snape shuffled again at her right. “I’m sure you have figured by now Professor Snape’s role in the Order...”

She nodded with uncertainty. What the hell was going on there?

“Good. Then you know Professor Snape position within Voldemort ranks is too important to let it go to waste, and to sustain it he would probably be subjected to this law too, under Tom's orders. However, his secrets are vital not only for our cause, but for his survival. A simple slip in front of his ‘wife’, even if she’s not a death eater herself, would lead him directly to his demise. Do you see my reasoning now, miss Granger?” Asked Dumbledore softly but evenly.

Hermione’s thoughts were racing, her eyes lowered and unfocussed and her heart beating at an alarming speed. Surely he wasn’t implying what she thought he was. I, married to a teacher! Breathe, girl, breathe. She had to be reading it wrong again; just a minute before she had thought he was talking about Harry. Which was completely out of the question, as he was just a half-blood... Wait, was Snape a Pureblood even? She racked her brain for information, but came up empty. 

“Are you alright, miss Granger?” asked then a concerned Headmaster. Apparently she had been quiet for too long.

“Just fine sir, I just... I need a moment” she managed to say lamely, hating herself for sounding so feeble. She was supposed to be a capable and intelligent young woman, a Gryffindor, for God’s sake! With a deep breath, she straightened her spine slowly and met the Headmaster’s eyes steadily – she really wasn’t ready to confront her Head of House yet, let alone her DADA teacher. She took a sip of tea, trying to appear calm, and the warm liquid seemed to clear her head.

It did made sense, somehow. Kill two birds with a single stone. She would be safe with professor Snape and he, in turn, would be safe marrying her, as she would keep his secrets. Yes, it sounded logical. In paper, that is. But to apply it to the real life... Married to a teacher! Kept repeating, meanwhile, a primly and outraged part of her mind.

She had to ask.

"Is Professor Snape a Pureblood then?" she asked, still studiously not looking to her right, where a dark figure was so unnaturally still that Hermione could feel it.

"Professor Snape is in the room at present," he snapped icily.

"He is not, Miss Granger," answered Dumbledore, ignoring his Potions Master "He is what is commonly referred as a Half-Blood."

Her heart lifted for a moment but then the other shoe dropped ‘before that, before the 12:00 of tonight, you are free to marry whomever you choose, pureblooded or not.’

"Oh," she said, blanching alarmingly. So not only was she supposed to marry him, but it had to be done that very day. “I understand your reasoning sir. It... makes sense, I guess,” she managed to say while her mind went into chaos, stray thoughts going back an forth, but none of them making sense any more, except for the striking, painful realisation that she and Ron would never ever happen.

“I see. I feel compelled to assure you that neither myself nor Professor Snape nor Professor McGonagall have been able to reach any better solution, since it is illegal to marry underaged wizards.”

Oh, so that was what excluded Ron. His birthday was more than a month away, not that there was any chance of them sorting things anytime soon, she reminded herself.

“If you find another viable alternative," continued the Headmaster, "please inform me as soon as possible. As it stands, I wish I could offer enough time to reflect on it... but I am afraid I am in no position to grant you even that. I will relieve you of today’s lessons, as I want to give you a few hours to think about it. But before you leave there is still one more thing you should consider.” Hermione felt like fainting, what else could possibly happen? “I’m not sure if you are familiar with the wizarding traditions about marriage.”

She shook her head unashamedly. After all, she hadn’t expected to need information of that sort until much later in her life.

“Well, there are two main forms of getting married, legally or magically. Nowadays the most common form of marriage is the former. That kind of union involves a ministry official and it’s not unlike muggle marriages. They can be dissolved by just tearing the register papers by mutual consent. The other type, however, not only creates an archive in the ministry stating the union, but employs magic to bound the couple. This bound acts not unlike magical oaths, each of them focused on different aspects of the married life, such as fidelity, caring, obedience, protection, loyalty... These are chosen by the groom and bride, who have to cast them at the ceremony instead the common vows.” “If you want more information about them, this book could be helpful.” He said producing a book from his drawers. “For any other question, Professor McGonagall will be in her office until lunch, and Professor Snape will have a free afternoon.” Her Head of House nodded supportingly while Snape regarded her neutrally. “Think carefully about everything I have told you... and value carefully the advantages and adequacies of each of the options laid before you.” Added Dumbledore tilting his head slightly towards the book in his extended arm. Hermione reached carefully for the book, and nodded numbly. “I expect you to let me know of your decision before six o’clock this afternoon, to give us time to take the proper actions.

Hermione nodded again, not quite trusting her words.

“See you later, Miss Granger.”

“Until later, Headmaster. Professors,” she said, promptly reaching the door, eager to get out of the office.

She hurried through the corridors to reach the room of requirements before she collapsed. By the time the door of the room appeared, she was shaking, exhaling shuddering breaths, that only intensified when she opened the door; what was waiting on the other side was a airy, lilac and small bedroom with white furniture and curtains and purple linens. Her childhood bedroom.

After a few minutes of shedding hysterical tears the logical part of her brain started working again. Let’s face it rationally, she told herself. But try as she might, she ended up reaching the same conclusion of the Headmaster’s. However unlikely, that solution would solve both hers and Professor Snape's problems.

Still, she knew she could find a way out... thought maybe not one able to ‘save’ Snape at the same time. Could she leave him behind?

No, not after all he has done for all of us. However, Harry's suspicions started to weigh heavily on her. What if he was right?

As he had been right in our first year? As he had been right not trusting Snape's Occlumency lessons?  She shook her head. She couldn't judge Snape based on Harry's suspicions.

But surely there had to be another solution for him... Unlikely, she answered herself. The Headmaster wouldn’t have proposed something so absurd if it wasn’t the best course of action. Or the only course of action.

Then the answer is clear, isn’t it?  She was going to marry Snape.

She took a shuddering breath, anxiety pooling in her stomach. Snape, Professor Snape, Severus Snape, the Greasy Git, Slytherin, Head of Slytherin, Death Eater, Spy...

She respected him, though not his teaching methods, and respected his intellect, though not his piercing words and biased ways. She knew, intellectually, that she could trust him, but she also was scared shitless of him. He was a dangerous, disagreable man and a bully, with a knack for cruelty and a profound knowledge of the Dark Arts, never mind poisons... And he hated her.

She shook her head and smiled lightly.

Dumbledore would have his bollocks if he let something happening to me, let alone Harry and Ron...

She sobered at that thought. Telling her best friends wasn’t an experience she was looking forward.

She sighed, much calmer once the decision had been made, and her eyes rested on the green leather book Dumbledore had given her. She still needed much information, and this book was a good place to start. Later she would have to talk with McGonagall and her ‘fiancé’.

With that, she took a piece of paper and a ballpen from ‘her’ desk, opened the book and started reading “The easy Path to Happiness. Choosing the Perfect Vows”. Fifteen minutes later Hermione surprised herself thinking that in other circumstances she would have thoroughly enjoyed the book. Alright, it was plagued of pompous and frilly adjectives picturing eternal love, but the introductory chapter about the mechanisms of magical bindings was fascinating.

"Any magical vow is composed by three levels: Intent, Formulation, Consequences. The mechanism is the following one: the caster focuses his/her will and formulates a requirement, freeing the flow of magic. This flow must be channelled to the recipient with a conductive magical element [see chapter four: channellers] and under the supervision of a bonder, who will keep the magical proof of the vow. That is why some unbreakable vows have been said to be broken when the bonder dies."

So the unbreakable vow might not be unbreakable after all... she had to make sure to tell Harry - if he ever consented to speak to her again. She kept reading.

"In case the vow only affected the caster, there would only be necessary a bonder or witness to make the vow effective.

The consequences of breaching the stated and accepted condition are usually chosen by the caster and must be accepted both by the caster and the recipient. However they have only proven effective if the casting has been done properly and the channellers are in perfect condition at the moment of the infraction, since the punishment will come from the magical properties of these materials. There are mainly three types of proceedings.

      I. The classical Wizarding Oaths, in which there’s only required the caster and a witness. These Oaths, though highly unrecommendable, are possible without a proper channeller because of two reasons:

1) The vower and recipient are the same person, and don’t require a magical link between them.

2) The ‘punishment’, though different for each individual, are always of a physiological nature, (e.g. pulmonar contractions who dificult breathing or taquicardia) so the magical essence and energy required to it comes from the very body.

      II. The bows in which the Intent, Formulation and Consequences are stated by the caster and the recipient only complies with them. In this instance is the caster who determines in which cases he considers the vow broken or fulfilled. The more infamous of its kind are the Unbreakable Vow. Enough to say that in this case the bonder only acts as a magic channel and the recipient and the magic of the punishment would come from our inner magical source, which in this case is drained automatically, unlike the Wizarding Oaths, which only use a small part of it. The Unbreakable Vow defiles the sacred nature of bounds, that is remind the weak soul to act accordingly our purest beliefs, not determine life and death.’

      III. The marriage vows, which are the maximum exponents of the branch of vows and the highest commitments of souls we, magical beings, are able to perform. In these vows the Intent and energy necessary come from two people instead of one, although the consequences are centered on the caster who formulates the conditions. As it is, while the channeler remains active (which usually is until the demise of one of the casters) these two people would enjoy of a magical link which will made possible for them to know different aspects of the condition of his/her partner. These bondings are the perfect expression of the nature of vows, as they are absolutely sincere and count with a careful formulation, unlike the rashness of the Wizarding Oaths. Their principal mission is also of the highest importance, as it permit the groom, bride and family to be assured of the good intentions of the couple towards each other. What is more filling for the heart than the sight of a innocent and beautiful bride pledge publicly her fidelity to her husband..?"

Hermione, tears long forgotten, couldn’t help but snort at that. So that was the true purpose of the vows, to reassure a old man of the fidelity of his nubile wife. Machist pigs! She shook her head and skimmed through the rest of the chapter, which seemed to focus on the exhaltation of marriage from that point onwards, until she decided she had read what she needed to know. She closed the book, then, and rolled on the bed to rest facing the lilac ceiling.

Why had Dumbledore given her that book? It wasn’t as if it was to be nothing more than a marriage of convenience... And I’m certainly not pledging my fidelity to Snape! 

She chuckled. Not that he would want it, anyway.

She picked again the book and skimmed it until she reached chapter five “The Traditional Vows”. There were predetermined formulations of vows for fidelity, obedience - I don't think so! -, respect - maybe I should insist he makes one of this -, care, protection, loyalty... She wrinkled her nose. Imagine anyone forced to act according to all those things due to a compulsion, even if she hated the very sigh of her husband!

She still didn’t understood what possessed Dumbledore to give her this book. She was going to have a simple marriage of convenience an be done with it. Was this a way to make her have the upper hand? If she insisted in Snape taking, for example, a protection oath, or a loyalty one, he would have to accept it. But it would be absolutely unfair from her and from the Headmaster. So there must be another reason...

Her eyes rested on the clock over her desk. She had spend more than an hour browsing the book, and decided to clear her mind talking to her Head of House. If someone was able to face things calmly and shed the light of reason onto a problem, that was Minerva McGonagall.

Chapter Text

McGonagall’s office door was half open when Hermione Granger approached it five minutes later. Its owner, at seeing Hermione’s head peeking from the door, raised from her seat behind the huge oak desk.

“Come in, Hermione. I was waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Professor. I wanted to ask you some things about the book, if you don’t mind...”

“Of course. Follow me, please.” Said McGonagall while gesturing towards a door Hermione had never noticed before. “We, the teachers, have our little secrets too.” Smiled briefly McGonagall at seeing her pupil’s surprise. “I reckon it would be less ...uncomfortable... for both of us to treat this matter outside a classroom environment. You may call me Minerva when in private, by the way.”

With those words the elder woman opened the door and motioned Hermione to go inside a cosy room with a small fireplace, a coffee table and two tartan-covered armchairs.

“Thank you, Minerva. I...” Hermione stopped, not really knowing how to respond. Thankfully, Minerva seemed to sense her unease and relieved her from having to continue.

“Tea?”

“Yes, please.”

The sounds of clinking porcelain and pouring of water helped Hermione to order her ideas and get a grip on herself. So, when she acepted, grateful, the cup her mentor profered has decided what she was going to say.

“I don’t intend to be rude, but since I – we – are short of time, I’ll go right to the point. I’ve skimmed through the book Professor Dumbledore gave me. I understand the power of the vows and how they work, but to be honest I don’t know why would he give me that book.” She took a deep breath and, seeing McGonagall’s simpathetic face was actually interested in listening her, she couldn’t help but blurt all her doubts. “I mean, it would be a marriage of convenience. Why risk it becoming more permanent? Why does he want me to ‘think about it’? And what is Professor Snape position in all this mess? He’s not actually affected by this law! Of course, I’m more than grateful towards him for giving me a ‘way out’ but I honestly don’t see why would he go this far just to protect me? He doesn’t even like me! And how I would ever repay him?” She ended with something akin to desperation seeping into her voice.

Minerva took a sip of her cup and placed it calmly on the coffee table before confronted the nervous Hermione.

“I take it you have decided to marry Severus?” At her tight nod, she continued. “I can’t express how proud I’m of you. If there was a better option–” She cleared her throat. “I’ll give you all the answers which are in my power to give.”

“First of all, you should be aware that this ‘arrangement’...” She pronounced the word as if tasting something disgusting “... is as much for Severus’ ‘benefit’ as it is for yours.”

“But...”

“While your are correct in thinking that he isn’t directly affected by the law, you have overlooked his role as double agent. You-Know-Who is behind the act, and he is going to play his pawns accordingly. He has even hinted Professor Snape’s possible participation. With Severus marrying an Order member, he secures his secrets and doesn’t risk the possibility of getting in an even more complex situation. And all without blowing his cover. Now, he could aduce Dumbledore was caught unawares, got scared, and forced him into it. But, wouldn’t it be too much of a coincidence that just the moment Voldemort ordered Severus marry anybody else Dumbledore decided to marry him also?” The older woman paused to clear her throat and forced a grim but understanding smile. “That at least evens the field a little, doesn’t it?”

Hermione managed a small smile, as she did felt a little relieved about it. She didn’t want to think about the morality of feeling relieved because of knowing other’s already difficult situation was even more so.

“Now, about that book... there’s a reason for you to consider a magical ceremony. I guess neither Professor Dumbledore nor Professor Snape wanted to make you feel even more pressured, but I think you are mature enough to handle it, and in for a knut in for a galleon. A legal marriage can be easily dissolved. You only have to tear a piece of paper. A magical marriage, however, cannot be dissolved without...”

“The approval of both parties and the presence of the bonder,” recited Hermione, realising what was expected of her.

“Exactly, always supposing that said bonder was powerful enough.”

“But the vows are barbaric! You couldn’t possibly expect me to vow total obedience and submission! Not to Professor Snape, not to anybody else!” Replied an indignant Hermione.

Minerva McGonagall couldn’t help but smile proudly at her fierceness.

“Of course not, child. It isn’t exactly like that. It is true those ‘barbaric vows’ were employed until the end of the XVIII century, but nowadays – except in a few archaic pureblood ceremonies – the vows are modified so that they express only the intent of the bonded at the moment. They cease to be true vows, but still summon enough magic to found a solid magical union. They are still relatively easy to disolve, though...”

“They won’t be enough, won’t they?”

“It’s a noticeably better option than the legal one.”

“But not the best. Then, how is that ‘it isn’t exactly like that’?” Hermione said, hating that her voice sounded slightly shrill.

“If – and this is a very hypotethical ‘if’ – both of you decided to employ one of these vows – mind you, only one, and with your own formulation – it would form a strong and full bond between you two, while retaining most of your integrity, if not all. It wouldn’t interfere in your feelings of natural reactions, but it would emphatically warn both of you when you are about to willingly break the vow you have made. In compensation, that same magic would help both of you to fullfil your bows.”

“How so?”

“Usually the warning comes in the shape of physical discomfort, usually breathing difficulty or nausea. The help...” Here Minerva shrugged. “It depends. For example, it is known that when a person under the fidelity vow is about to be unfaithful, his/her partner ‘in crime’ starts to feel a mild sting all around the body, that when ignored becomes an extremely unconfortable rash. Although it is not the best example, it is a powerful incentive...”

While her professor was talking, Hermione’s anxiety augmented up until the point were she was starting to feel sick. This just too much, her mind repeated, desperately, I can't possibly do this.

“... I hate to burden you further with this...” continued McGonagall, who had been observing the pattern of the fire for a while. “...but it is plainly wrong to keep you in the dark about it.” When her gaze focused once again in her so very young pupil, looking so obviously distressed, something snapped inside Minerva McGonagall. She hammered her glass back to the table forcefully, making the rest of the amber liquid splash widely around. “Oh, Damn it! You shouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

An awkward silence followed the explosion of the usually demured woman, whose lips were pressed together seemingly to avoid more swearing coming through. Her angry gaze was back to the fire, intending to give the younger woman enough privacy to compose herself. Hermione’s, in turn, was directed to a trebol-shaped spot on the carpet she wasn’t really seeing while trying to assimilate everything.

“How do you feel?” Asked eventually a concerned McGonagall, when they both had calmed noticeably.

“I’m a little overwhelmed. This is... Well, I didn’t expect anything like this.” Hermione confessed – her voice breaking slightly – looking at her hands on her lap. “But I’ll do what’s necessary to help. To keep me alive. To keep him alive.”

When she lifted her head, her face shone with grim determination, and not a single trace of fear.

Minerva nodded, resigned, and waved her wand to clean the mess she had created, unknowingly erasing the trebol-like spot too.

“Let’s pick which vows we could use, and work on formulations, then. We’ll see if we can mesure up to that red-eyed snake and his so called cunning mind.”

Chapter Text

After the long and exhausting conversation with her Head of House, Hermione felt, if not more enthusiastic towards the groom nor the upcoming wedding, at least less helpless. Now she knew the whole picture, she had thought, analysed every nuance, and planned the best course of action. The suffoccating sensation of helplessness had receeded, and she felt able to confront the rest of the world and the normalcy she was abandoning with fortitude.

This has also been her decision. She was doing this for Snape, for the Order, and for herself – although perhaps not in that exact order. Those were difficult times, and that simply had to be done. And she would do it.

Those thoughts were the ones her mind was entertaining while her body unknowingly carried her towards the Great Hall in time to pick something to eat. Fortunately, arriving just a few minutes before the end of the lunch, she didn’t meet any of her friends nor any Housemate close enough to her to ask her about her misterious ‘detention’ with Snape.

Fifteen minutes later, after her rather unsuccessful attempt at eating, she found herself staring Professor Snape’s office’s door and the force of her determined internal monologue had dimmed noticeably.

It was ridiculous to be so anxious of knocking. It was just a door, and behind it, there was just a man. A pretty scary one, but a man nonetheless. And an ally.

Another minute passed by, however, until the sound of steps coming her way propelled her to action and she finally knocked and entered the room.

The picture that greeted her was so very normal that she felt disconcerted. Severus Snape was behind his desk in his office marking papers, as if nothing unusual was occuring.

“Don’t stare, Miss Granger, is unbecoming, as well as impolite.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Managed finally Hermione, kicking herself. She had wanted to appear poised and, above all, mature. Determined to regain control of the situation, she approached his desk calmly and sat without wating for an invitation. “Good afternoon to you too, sir.”

He lifted his gaze from the parchments and pierced her with his gaze, clearly about to take her to task for her cheek.

“Professor Dumbledore said you would be available this afternoon to discuss our... situation,” hurried Hermione, trying to avoid an argument. He lifted a reproving eyebrow, which clearly indicated he had seen through her machination, but he seemed to let it pass.

“He did. What do you want to talk about?”

Hermione took a deep breath.

“First, I would like to hear your opinion on the matter.” That made both his eyebrows lift in surprise. “I would like to know what is your position in all this... mess.”

“I see. Well, I would say it is obvious I agree with the Headmaster’s general assessment of the situation, given that I didn’t contradict him when he explained said situation to you.”

“General assessment?”

“General assessment. The Dark Lord has identified you as Harry Potter’s close friend and wants you under his thumb. Therefore you must be protected. At the moment I’m in the best position to protect you. In addition it might be useful for me to be exempt of the law in the future.” He frowned. “I thought all this was clear.”

“It is. I meant to ask what are your feelings on the matter... you seem so very calm.”

“And pray tell, what would you say my feelings are?” He said with dulcet tones. “Did you expect me to be sulking in my dungeon and moaning about how cruel is the world? Or perhaps you thought I would be ecstatic to have the chance of marrying you?” He snarled with his lip curled in derision.

She flushed with indignation.

“Of course not! I ask you because if you think your position with him is safe and are doing this only under the Headmaster orders, I’d rather know and find another solution for myself.”

“Do you really think you would be able to find a better solution than the one the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall and myself together did? Do not flatter yourself, Miss Granger,” he said, dismissive.

This time his blush was more of embarrassment than anger. She pressed her lips together.

“Besides,” he continued in a calmer tone “ it is true that it is likely that my position will be in jeopardy. I wouldn’t have agreed to this plan otherwise.”

“So you agree it’s the best solution.”

“It’s the only plausible solution.”

Hermione realised she had been somehow hoping he would suggest an alternative. She took a deep breath. Be brave now, girl.

“Ok, I just wanted to be sure. Then we have to talk about the vows.”

“Pardon me?” he blurted, visibly startled.

She tried not to bask in the fact that she had managed to surprise the imperturbable man twice in the same meeting.

“The vows. I’ve had a long chat with Professor McGonagall, and she explained how they would benefit us.” She breathed deeply once again. “I am willing to take one, if you take one in return.”

A silence ensued.

“Have you lost your mind?” he exploded.

“No, professor. Hear me out, please,” she talked urgently, taking no heed of his murderous expression. “We agreed that they would strenghten the union and difficult its dissolution by any third party. We formulated two vows which would both assure your secrets and my protection without interfering in our lives... much. Why else would Dumbledore give me the book?”

By the time she finished talking he was pinching the bridge of his nose with a pained expression. He muttered something that sounded distinctly like 'interfering old goats' and looked at Hermione once more, enunciating slowly.

“You mean to tell me you want me to take a vow of protection?”

She nodded.

“A modified one.”

“And which one would you take? A vow of obedience?” He asked, incredulity clear in his voice.

“Of course not! My vow would be of loyalty,” she stated with aplomb.

He clenched his jaw and turned his head towards one of the jar-filled walls.

She seized the rare oportunity to study his profile. It was sharp, decisive and agressive. There was some lines around his eyes, and his pale skin was gaunt, sticking to his cheekbones. She suddently had the irrefrenable urge to offer him the pasties she had taken from the great hall to eat later. She bit her lip to held back a snort.

He turned again.

“Show me the formulations.”

Refraining herself from tsking at his rudeness, she handed him a parchment. "We came up with several viable alternatives, but that one is the-"

He waved away her explanations.

“Has Dumbledore seen this?”

“No, but it was he who gave me the book... and the idea.”

He kept reading in silence.

“So? What do you think?” Hermione prompted.

“I’ll talk to the Headmaster, but... it could work,” he admitted grudgingly.

Hermione smiled slightly. He threw her a disapproving look, then turned back to the parchment.

“You should stop feeling so smug and start reconsidering the consequences of this," he said, waving the parchment meaningfully. "Even if you do feel a certain ‘loyalty’ towards me now - which I sincerely doubt - what you actually know of me and my... 'work' is, believe me, insignificant," he said, apparently picking his words with care. "New developments or new intelligence you may acquire while in your new - ah - situation may very well change your opinion of me. Trust me in this.” He stood up. “If there’s nothing else, I will see you later. Consider my words carefully until then, Miss Granger. You still have a choice.”

She took it as her indication to leave, and nodded, a bit unsettled.

 “Until later, Professor.”

Chapter Text

Thursday, January 9th. Evening.

Severus Snape classified his days in three categories: dull, horrid and catastrophic.

The first one designated most of his days as a school teacher: faces changed, but the pupils insisted in making the same exact mistakes year after year. If he didn't have so little faith in their imagination, he would have thought it to be a large-scale conspiracy.

Horrid days had been scarce for a few years, but had increased exponentially with Potter's arrival to school, and once again after the Dark Lord reunited with his followers. The catastrophic ones where few and far between - he had a personal count of six - and signaled those decisive events which had made his life take a turn, usually, for the worst.

While a Death Eater meeting generally upgraded a 'dull' day to 'horrid', and precluded another horrid one - nobody enjoyed facing the judging eyes of some of your colleagues when they saw a new death or dissappearance in the paper - he was coming to realise with sinking certainty that that very day could very well turn to be one of the catastrophic ones.

After Dumbledore's exceptional proclamation that him marrying a student - the muggleborn Granger, no less - was their best move against the Dark Lord's latest daft scheme, he had been too busy finding a way to explain to the Dark Lord - and survive the meeting - to reflect on anything else. Several hours later, having accomplished that, he was sprawled in his favourite armchair, back in his quarters, still trying to make sense of what he had gotten himself into.

The bonding itself had consisted in little more than reciting the formulae Granger had shown him that afternoon and signing a couple of papers. As much as it pained him to admit it, her vow of loyalty had been quite helpful in mollifying the Dark Lord, although it still couldn't be said he had taken the news very well. Then again, a couple of rounds of cruciatus was nothing he hadn't gone through before and would hopefully leave no after-effects, although his muscles were complaining at the moment. Loudly.

His eyes fell on a cylinder-shaped package in the small pile of presents and summoned it to the armchair he was sitting in, hoping it contained an alcoholic beverage of some sort. It was a bottle of Scotch's. He snorted. Minerva's, of course.

He reckoned he also had Minerva to thank for the girl not wearing school robes. The thought of being forced to marry a student had been unpalatable enough; he hadn't needed the reminder in front of him during the bonding. He was bonded to Granger, to a student. A muggleborn student that was underaged in the muggle world. Was she aware of that? Of course she was.

He took a swig, deciding to forego the glass.

For some reason thinking about the specific person of Hermione Granger - calling her 'Snape' didn't even cross his mind - felt somehow worse than thinking about a generic student. It was still marginally better than reflecting on the only other student present at the ceremony. Potter, of course it had to be Potter. And Dumbledore, for some unfathomable reason, had decided the boy should be their bonder. If Destiny existed, it had a twisted sense of humour.

The only consolation Severus found was the fact that it had clearly been the last place on earth Potter had wanted to be. He wondered briefly how she had managed to convince the boy to attend at all.

Another swig.

The moment the headmaster had declared they were done, he recalled, she had thrown herself into Potter's arms as if it was the end of the world. He hadn't stayed to watch any longer.

She didn't have to appear that damned unhappy, for God's sake. It had been just a formality. So she wouldn't be able to snog Potter visibly for a few months... what a tragedy, he thought uncharitably.

It probably wouldn't even be that long - it was unlikely the conflict would last more than a couple of years and chances were he would not live through it anyway...

He took another healthy gulp.

Be it as it may, the fact was they were stuck together, for the time being. He was married, had a wife. The thoughts felt so foreign to him... he had never even considered he would ever marry. He had assumed long ago he never would be interested, and couldn't fathom any situation in which anyone would take an interest in him. And in his position he would have a further hard time trying to ascertain if the other person had genuine interest in him or had ulterior motives.

A sudden thought made him snort. Well, at least he knew for certain that she had ulterior motives and that she wasn't interested. At all.

And wait until tomorrow the Headmaster tells her she is to live with me in my quarters.

He realised that, in a way, that was his last night of solitude. He looked around his quarters, taking in the dark full bookshelves, the lack of ornaments and the dark stone walls, barely perceivable in the semi-darkness. And they didn't look much lighter during the day, with the greenish eerie light coming from the window under the lake.

She will hate this, he concluded with detachment, taking another swig.

After a few more minutes lost in morose thoughts he made his way into his bedroom, stumbling onto his bed. As he fought to get under the blankets, he silently thanked the Gods the next day was Friday, which meant he didn’t have lessons first thing in the morning and, better yet, he didn’t have to face her until late in the afternoon.

A thought flashed swiftly through his head, and he blinked to the dark ceiling.

"Happy birthday, Severus," he said to the dark room.

Of course, nobody answered.

Chapter Text

Hermione woke next day with a terrible headache. For a few blissful seconds she was unaware of everything that had happened the day before, intent in struggling out of bed and finding her wand. However, the roll of parchment she knocked in her haste - her marriage certificate - made everything come back.

Not just a nightmare, then, she groaned, after scanning the parchment. And that day was the day both the marriage law and her own marriage were to be announced. Cheers.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath. She got out of the bed, took an ibuprofen and made her daily routine.

For once, Harry had apparently woken first and was waiting for her in the common room, looking as uneasy as she felt. Hermione smiled gratefully. He nodded grimly, and squeezed her hand in return, apparently not feeling up for a smile. Hermione wondered briefly when he had grown up, but then she saw the pijama shirt peeking under his jumper and realised he probably still hadn't, not really. She promised herself she would always remember this, specially when he next acted as a git.

"Can we go to the owlery first?" she asked as they were climbing out of the portrait door.

"Sure," agreed Harry all too quickly, clearly not looking forward going to the Great Hall either.

"It's my parents," explained Hermione. "I don't know if they still receive the paper, but just in case..."

"What are you going to tell them?" asked Harry, shifting uneasily.

"That the paper is printing lies again," she answered. She could feel him staring at her.

"You're sure?"

"Yes," she answered, her face turning stony, a glint of determination in her face. "This is just temporary, and they are worried enough already."

Twenty minutes later they were able to hear the noise coming out of the Great Hall from the first floor of the Great staircase. So the owls have already arrived. They hurried towards the door, nearly crashing into Lavender, who was running in the opposite direction.

The loud chorus of angry voices was coming mainly from three of the big tables, where most elders student were on their feet, milling around the few students holding a newspaper. The younger students, however, were either trying to get a peak whatever had the others fascinated or staring avidly to the Great Table, waiting for an explanation.

Owls were still flying over Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, waiting for the replies that some other students were scribbling furiously.

In constrast, Slytherin table remained mostly calm. The Slytherins appeared more curious than alarmed, which wasn’t really surprising, as they didn’t have any muggleborns.

Hermione and Harry however, were staring at the High table, where Sprout, Burbage and Flitwick were arguing heatedly with the Headmaster.

"I'd never thought I would see Flitwick angry," commented Harry, seemingly fascinated as golden sparks sizzled up the tiny wizard's pointy hat. Hermione only nodded absently, much more interested in Snape, despite herself. She had noticed his eyes following her as she entered the room, but now he was back to his breakfast and seemed impervious to the mayhem around him.

Ginny hurried towards them.

“Hermione, have you heard..?”

She nodded gravely.

Ginny enveloped her in a quick hug and then guided them back towards one of the groups in Gryffindor table. There they found a clearly distressed Dean Thomas surrounded by most of the House sixth years. Oh, Dear.

Immersed in her own problems, she had completely forgotten about her classmates. She watched horrified all the little groups formed in the different tables. Dean Thomas, Justin Finch-Fletcher, Mary Williams, Alicia Spinnet, Lisa Connor...

“Just how many of us are there?” She asked, suddenly nauseous.

Before anyone answered, they heard a loud explosion and quieted immediately. Then the Headmaster began to speak with a booming voice.

“Everybody return to your seats, please.” All the students complied quickly with only a small amount of shuffling and muttering.

“I see you are all aware of the new ‘Integration Law’... In case you haven’t read the entire article of the Prophet, it will only affect those of you who are both Muggleborn and above 17 years old, and only if some Pureblood petitions for you. In any case, all the sixth and seventh years are convoked here this afternoon at five o’clock, before dinner, in order to discuss the situation. I strongly recommend all the muggleborns to attend. All lessons are cancelled for the day.”

Here it comes, thought Hermione.

“On another note. I wish to announce that yesterday evening Severus Snape and Hermione Granger were legally bonded. However, she will retain her name at least until the end of the term to avoid any confusion.” The muttering started anew with even more strength, and this time even the Slytherin table seemed involved in it. Hermione flushed profusely and lowered her face, but not before she was able to catch a glimpse of the betrayal written clearly on Ron's face. Not for the first time that day, she felt grateful for the steady presence of her other friend at her side.

Harry, aware of all the accusing stares directed at his friend, stood up and took Hermione by the arm.

“Come on.”

She nodded dumbly and followed him meekly. He steered them towards the kitchen - it wasn’t likely that the house elves would care one way or another. It wasn’t until they took a seat and asked Dobby for tea that they realised they had been followed.

“Ok. Spit it out. What’s happening here?” Demanded a clearly furious Ginny Weasley, surprising them both.

“Hi Ginny...” started Harry lightly but was cut short by her withering glare.

“Tell her, Harry. It’s ok,” said Hermione, dejectedly pouring tea for the three of them.

She only half-listened to Harry, sipping her tea morosely and trying to remain unaffected. This was the worst part, she knew, it would all go away, eventually, and the truth would be known. At some point she realised Harry and Ginny had felt silent and the latter was looking at her expectantly. She returned her gaze.

“So, you truly are married to the Greasy Git...”

“It’s Professor Snape,” Hermione corrected, automatically, then smiled sheepishly.

“Gosh, I’m glad to know you are still yourself," answered the redhead, clearly relieved. "Some minutes ago I wouldn’t have bet on it. So... what are you going to do?”

“Do? Nothing... I’m just going to try to stay low profile until the novelty passes.”

“I see. Hermione, there will be rumours - I bet there are, already. Just... don't pay them any mind. You'll have a hard time of it otherwise,” the younger girl said, knowingly.

"Thanks, Ginny," replied Hermione sincerely. "How is Dean?”

“Shocked. Angry.” Ginny shrugged. “Just as anybody else. It’s so bloody unfair...”

“Gin, do you know how many of us are muggleborn?”

She shook her head.

“I could tell you who talk of muggle things, but I don’t know how many of them are halfbloods.”

“Same here. I never thought about it," said Harry, apparently thinking it was safe to rejoin the conversation. "I suppose we will discover it later.”

“That reminds me... I should go," said Hermione checking her watch. "My meeting with the Headmaster is in fifteen minutes."

"He wanted to see her today to give her' further instructions',” explained Harry, answering Ginny's questioning glance.

“We’ll be in the common room. Remember, all the lessons have been cancelled.”

“Or at the Quidditch Pitch. What?” asked Harry defensively. "We might as well get something good out of this day..."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

“See you later, then” smiled Hermione.

“Good luck,” whispered Harry, watching her go with a worried frown on his face.

----------------

Half an hour later the three awaiting friends saw Hermione enter through the portrait door with a decidedly defeated air. They exchanged worried looks: What now?

“Hi guys,” she said, not even bothering to glance at the group of third years that skittered away at her entrance, regarding her suspiciously.

“What is it?” Asked Harry immediately.

“I’m moving. To the dungeons.” At the blank faces, she added. “Apparently I have to live with him.”

“Wh- what? Why?” Sputtered Harry, indignantly.

She sat by his side with a sigh.

“It seems that it will look suspicious to the ministry dolts that I don’t live with my husband. As if it wasn’t suspicious that I married a teacher in the first place.”

“But you’re still studying!”

Hermione held up her hands helplessly.

“When do you have to move?” Asked Ginny, glancing worriedly at her brother, who was wrapped around Lavender in another armchair, further away, clearly pretending not to listen.

“Today. This afternoon.”

They all fell into a moody silence.

The meeting with the Headmaster had been pretty straightforward. He had announced her that she was to move to Snape’s quarters that evening. He also told her that he and Professor Snape would make the accommodations during the afternoon, and that she would have an elf available to help her pack.

“I knew it wouldn’t be that simple,” eventually declared Harry, bitterly, and grasped her hand tightly.

“Come on, Hermione. I’ll help you pack,” said Ginny briskly, with a sheen in her own eyes. She turned towards Harry. “You should go talk to Dean. He’s quite low right now but doesn't want to see me.”

“We’ll meet at the reunion,” said Hermione dejectedly before following Ginny upstairs.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall had been slightly modified to host the sixth and seventh year meeting. The House tables had been shortened to make room for two rows of banks in front of the High Table.

When Hermione and Ginny arrived, all her House mates were already seated, as were the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff sixth and seventh years. Hermione noticed that the only two Slytherins in the room, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davies, were receiving suspicious glances from some of the members of the other three Houses. Her eyes fell then on Harry, who was waving at them. She went to take a seat by his side, greeting a clearly uncomfortable Neville.

“How’s the packing?” asked Harry, making room for Ginny on his other side.

“Fine. All done.”

“Are you moving?” Interjected Neville from her other side, then added nervously. “You aren’t moving with him, arent, you?”

“Shhhh. Keep your voice down,” shushed Hermione. “Yes, I am. He is my husband now.”

“But why did you do it?"

"Why do you think?" she hissed, motioning around.

"I know, I know, but you could have chosen other person, surely... Snape?” He asked, looking pained.

“He’s not the devil, you know?” snapped Hermione.

“But what happened with McLaggen..?” Hermione thinned her lips and gave him a withering look. Neville blanched and started stuttering “I-I mean, we all know at Christmas you and McLaggen-” he shut his mouth abruptly.

Hermione's reply was cut short by Harry's elbow sinking into her ribs. Snape had just entered the Great Hall by the door behind the High Table, and was piercing them with his eyes, silencing the room instantly with only his presence. She really hoped the sound of their conversation hadn’t carried that far.

After Professor Snape emerged Dumbledore and the Heads of the remaining Houses, and they conjured armchairs before the banks.

“Good evening, everyone.”

Somebody grumbled something like ‘I wish’ in the Hufflepuff group, but the atmosphere were so tense nobody felt like laughing. Dumbledore, however, sent a brief smile of appreciation in that direction and began to explain in measured tones the formulation of the law and what was expected of them.

Hermione was only half listening, concentrating on not observing the dark robbed man situated on Dumbledore’s right. Having been occupied during all the day, she hadn’t really stopped to think of her situation. She was married to that man. That man was her husband. These were sentences that didn’t truly made sense in her head. How could she be married to somebody she didnt know? Because even having known him during the last six years, she realised she didn’t know a thing about him.

“But then, we should be safe from the law for the moment, shouldn’t we?" intervened Justin Finch-Fletcher, sounding clearly relieved. "Nobody plans on marrying now, and we have two years since we turn 17 to marry to someone we trust to not take advantage of that ridiculous law.”

“In theory, yes, you are correct, Mr Finch-Fletcher. However the Ministry is publishing next week a list of all the muggleborn in Britain, and I have reason to suspect the existence of some parties with malicious intent, who will try to, as you have put it, ‘take advantadge of the situation’,” he went back to address the rest of the room. “That’s why I have summoned all of you here, so that those of you who are muggleborn be forewarned, and so that the purebloods are aware of the situation. The freedom of your friends, or even their lives, might lie in your hands in the near future.”He paused. “I know we are living in difficult times. But I remind you once more that you are not alone. You have found people who care about you in and outside your houses. And, in the event that you receive a petition, I expect you to communicate it immediately to your head of house, or to myself, in order to try to find alternatives. As long as you are under my responsibility I will do my best to ensure that each and one of you will come to no harm.” Silence ensued. “No more questions? Then you are free to go. Dinner will start in half an hour, as usual.”

Hermione was about to follow Harry out of the Great Hall when a voice stopped her.

“Miss Granger...” She turned to see Professor Snape standing behind her. “Follow me.” He turned without further ado and directed his steps towards the dungeons.

I guess this is it, thought Hermione, while waving his friends goodbye. She hurried to catch up with the professor and didn’t notice that Harry had to pull a frowning Ron by the arm towards the stairs.

They walked in silence, Hermione intent in memorising the path, until they reached a nook in a small corridor before the one that held the potions classroom.

“Touch the wall with your wand,”he instructed.

Hermione did as ordered, and he muttered some words that made the wall flash for a moment.

“Now it will recognise you. Just walk through it. It’s similar to the entry to the Hogwarts Express.” He elaborated.

She extended her hand towards the wall and touched the stone tentatively. She felt the rough wall against her fingers for an instant before... nothing. She stepped through the wall with her eyes closed. It felt cold, as if she had walked through a slim wall of cold water. She supposed that was the effect of the wards recognising her.

When she opened her eyes at the other side she found herself surrounded by darkness. She was glad she had had the presence of mind to take a step to the side, as Snape emerged exactly where she had been standing.

“Ignis”.

A small ball of fire ran through the ceiling of the passage from where they stood to the end, about ten metres ahead, leaving a trail of light warm orange light.

“It will fade out when you exit the passage,” he said, already walking. The passage itself was made of stone and had stairs, with stone arches on the walls every few steps.

He walked confidently through the wall opposite the one they had entered through, and she followed, this time without hesitance.

“Welcome home, Miss Granger,” he announced sardonically.

She took in her surroundings. She was in a square-shaped room bathed in a eerie blue-green light coming from a huge closed balcony on the right.

We’re under the lake, she realised.

All the walls except for the one that held the fireplace were covered by dark brown shelves, and these, full of books. The walls themselves were made of very dark grey stone. A sofa and two moss green armchairs surrounded the fireplace. The only furniture apart from them and the shelves was a big cupboard against the back of the sofa and a long dining table full of parchments and scrolls that lay in front of the window. Several doors were visible, each under a snake-like pointed stone arch. There was also a relief of a winged snake over the fireplace.

Hermione thought it could be worse. She had expected it to be greener, even darker and to have far more snakes. She didn’t specially like the green light, but she would make do.

“If you have finished staring...” His sharp voice snapped her back to attention. “That door goes to my private lab. It’s off limits,” he said, pointing to a door on their left. “As that has not refrained you on the past, I feel necessary to inform you that it is also warded.”

She blushed but held his gaze steadily. She knew, instinctually this was not the time to be cowed.

“That one by the fireplace is the main entrance. We will go back to dinner that way,” he continued, pointing at doors at he explained. “That’s the door leading to my room. I would like to declare it ‘off limits’ too, but the only way to the bathroom goes through it, for the moment. The Headmaster is trying to convince the castle to add another bathroom for you or at least, another door.”

“Convince the castle?” She couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes,” he answered curtly, and turned to open the last visible door, on the left of the place they had emerged from.

She peeked around him. It was a storage room with no lights. He touched one of the shelves and enunciated ‘mercury’. The big shelf on the front inserted itself into the wall, revealing an ample cream coloured room with a bed, a shelf, a cabinet and a white desk under another green window. Her trunk was on the foot of the bed with crookshanks curled on top of it. All in all, the contrast of the light with the creamy walls and light brown of the furniture was very nice.

“Your bedroom,” he stated unnecessarily. “It needs to be able to stay hidden in case the ministry decides to come to snoop. You may keep the wall open or closed at your leisure. You can also change the password by tapping three times on the shelf with your wand and stating clearly the new one.” He looked at Crookshanks with distaste, who was padding towards Hermione. “I see you’ve brought your... ‘cat’. Make sure that it remains out of my bedroom and the bathroom, and that it doesn’t chew on anything. You wouldn’t want to find it has poisoned itself...” he insinuated maliciously.

Hermione looked up sharply. She didn’t like his tone one bit.

“Be careful yourself with what you leave lying around, Professor. Now these are my and his – not 'its' – quarters too.” They stood glaring at each other for a while.

“I can believe the sheer cheek you Gryffindors display,” he hissed, enraged. “These have been my quarters for the last fifteen years and-”

A loud chime sounded, startling them both.

“Dinnertime,” he spatted before storming out of the room. Hermione winced as she heard the outer door closing with a bang.

She dropped onto the bed heavily, Crookshanks climbing beside her. As the rush of adrenaline passed, she started to regret her words. It couldn’t be easy for him to have a student living in his space, she reasoned. Still, threatening to poison her cat at the first opportunity just wasn’t done. She didn’t think she should let him frighten her, but she reckoned she could have been nicer about it.

She sighed deeply, petting Crookshanks. She would apologise later, she decided, she would be the greater person.

She made her way back to the great hall and took a seat with his friends, who peppered her with questions.

“I’m alright. The rooms are cool - no, it is not a dungeon. The windows are under the lake. Really, I’m fine,” she answered curtly. Their friends, sensing she wasn’t in a good mood, gave her some space. She ate her dinner slowly, not looking once towards the Head table.

When she came back to his – their – rooms, she found him in his sofa reading a letter. All the conviction she had held previously fled away at the reality of having to confront him. She took two tentative steps towards him and stood by the side of the sofa. He ignored her.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” she called, annoyed, after a few seconds. “Please?”

“By all means, Miss Granger, you’re in your home now. You can pester me all you want,” he answered bitterly, not taking his eyes from the parchment in his hands.

“Look, I don’t want to be a bother,” Hermione stated. He snorted. “I mean it," she insisted. "I know you don’t want me here. And I do appreciate what you had to give up to keep me safe from that horrible law."

“I’m not doing this for you,” he stated immediately.

Rude, but at least he seems to be listening now, she thought.

“I know. But I’m grateful for it all the same. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I was rude before, although I would appreciate if in the future you refrain from threatening my cat.” She fidgeted. “And well, I will try my best not to be a nuisance. I promise.”

Seeing no response was forthcoming, she retired to her bedroom, her head held high, took a few toiletries and her pyjamas and came back to the living room. She took a deep breath and tried not to flush.

“I will have a shower now, if you don’t mind,” she announced, feeling as if she was talking to the wall, and marched towards his bedroom.

“Wait,” he called, leaving the armchair. “I will show you.”

The so called bathroom was as big as the prefects' bathroom on the third floor and had its own small swimming pool. Likewise, the pool also had several taps, although the marble in this one was green and brown, giving it the appearance of having been dug on the earth itself. Snape explained summarily the function of each of the taps without a trace of a sneer and left the room silently.

She took that to mean that she was forgiven.

However, when she came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later the Professor was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

The next morning she woke disorientated. She frowned at the vaulted ceiling simmering with dim spidery blue-green lights.

Oh.

She closed her eyes again and sighed. At least it was Saturday. No rushing that day.

Eventually, she opened her eyes and began to make a mental list of what she wanted to do that day while watching the patterns of the light in the ceiling.

Have breakfast.

Unpack and organise the room.

Talk to the Professor about bathroom times – see what mood he's in first.

Arithmancy exercises.

Transfiguration essay.

Oh, drat. Quidditch Match.

She stretched, unintentionally pushing Crookshanks with the balls of her feet. He meowed indignantly at the sudden awakening.

“Stop complaining, Crooks,” she chided. “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

She got out of bed, feeling prepared to confront the day.

Some hours later, she took the only free seat on the Quidditch stands, between Parvati and Neville. It was Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw, and all the Gryffindor Quidditch team was sitting together to comment on strategy. Harry was already immersed in a technical discussion with Ron and Ginny, which Neville was listening to, so she tried to make stilted small talk with Parvati on her left. For once, she wished Lavender was around - even her would respect the quidditch team meeting - and she would be free to get lost in thought on her own. Where was she, by the way?

“She is speaking with Professor Trelawney,” Parvati answered suspiciously.

“In the middle of a Quidditch match?” Interjected Seamus, joining the conversation from the back row. Apparently, Dean was sulking that his girlfriend had left him alone for the match.

“They had a meeting scheduled. With the castle empty the aura is clearer,” the girl answered defensively.

Hermione pressed her lips together and didn’t comment, not wanting to antagonise anyone any further. Since the announcement of her wedding the previous morning, the Gryffindors seemed to pick her words carefully around her, as if she was a potential spy. The irony of her husband actually being a spy wasn’t lost on her. Although she wondered what exactly their housemates thought Snape would find interesting about their lives.

The match started, and Hermione let her mind wander. She could vaguely understand the appeal of Quidditch, certain twists and turns and moves were impressive - and required a certain ability -  but she somehow couldn't muster the excitement her classmates exhibited unless it was one of her friends playing.

As it was bound to, her mind went to Snape, and how little she knew about him. Did he like Quidditch? He probably did, she thought, scanning the teachers' stands, she remembered him acting as a referee in their first year. However, he wasn't there. She frowned. He hadn’t been in the Great Hall at breakfast, nor at lunch, and no, he wasn’t at the Slytherin stands either.

Gagging noises at her right brought her back to the match - apparently Lavender had made an appearance at some point during her musings, settling around Ron, and Ginny was expressing her opinion of the situation.

The match didn't last long after that - Cho caught the snitch soon afterwards - and Hermione hurried to the library, glad to be able to hide from the most part of the suspicious looks.

The rest of the day was spent peacefully, with only Harry for company, who was having - well deserved, in her opinion - trouble with his Potions essay.

Later that evening, when she entered her quarters, she was surprised to find herself relieved to find Snape sitting in the living room.

“Good evening.”

He nodded, barely sparing her a glance. The light of the fireplace bathed his profile. Hermione thought he looked paler than usual but didn’t dare ask.

“We have an unfinished conversation from yesterday. If you may?” He said simply, gesturing towards the sofa.

Hermione sat, expectantly.

“Due to the... abrupt end of our conversation, we didn’t talk about ground rules.”

She nodded, deciding not to point out whose fault that had been.

“You are still a student here, and as such, you are still subjected to the students’ curfew. No visitors are allowed in m– these quarters," he ground out. Hermione thought, not without satisfaction, that Dumbledore must have given him a looong chat for him to be so accommodating. "You already can meet with your friends in a number of places, so there's no need to bring them here.” He paused as if expecting her to complain.

She had pursed her lips, but he either didn't notice or was satisfied with her acquiescence.

“In addition, you must keep referring to me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir’ at all times. I will not tolerate disrespect from you. Also, I don’t think I need to mention that everything that you see or hear here, stays here. And you definitely must start behaving with the proper decorum outside these walls-”

“Pardon me?” She asked sharply, incredulous. She thought the continuous 'sir' treatment was a bit excessive, but that comment about decorum... “What exactly are you implying by that?”

“I am implying that from now on you will not be seen cosying up with Potter, nor Weasley, nor anybody else.”

“ 'Cosying up'?" she asked, her voice rising higher. "They are my friends!”

“I don’t care how much you relish appearing on the papers, but I will not have you – and, by extension, me – on Witch Weekly’s front page again,” he stated.

“How dare you? I don't- I didn't- That wasn't my fault!" She sputtered in outrage, standing swiftly. "Besides, those were complete lies; they are just my friends.”

His scowl darkened, and his eyes flashed dangerously.

“Listen to me very carefully: I could not care less," he said, clearly enunciating every word. "I don’t care what, or who, you do - or cease to do - in your spare time and in private, but I will not tolerate gossip about it. So you have better start being mindful of your behaviour while in public.”

Hermione was googling at him, still not quite believing his gall.

"How dare you?" she repeated. "You are only my husband in paper. I don’t think ‘my public behaviour’ is any of your business, Professor,” she spatted, enraged.

That seemed to make him snap, and he advanced towards her menacingly.

“How simple can you be?” he hissed, uncomfortably close to her face. “There are other forces working in this... sham other than your petty self-righteousness. Have you forgotten my other job?”

She shut her mouth with a click and tried to step back but her legs met the sofa and she found herself seated abruptly. That made him realise his closeness and take a step back.

“I see you have," he said softly, a sort of grim satisfaction twisting his face. "The headmaster seemed to think that you had brains, that you were capable of coping with the situation... It's clear he was mistaken,” he ended dismissively, dropping onto the armchair he had been occupying previously.

Hermione watched him rub the bridge of his nose in silence, feeling dismayed. He was right.

She hadn't been considering his other role, not really. She observed him then as if for the first time. The lights in the room did nothing to soften his sharp pale features framed by the lank hair. She thought he seemed exhausted. That perked her curiosity about his whereabouts during the day. And just where did he go last night? Oh, dear...

“You went to him last night,” she blurted before she could check herself.

Surprise flickered briefly through his face.

“That is none of your business.”

She nodded in acceptance. Still...

“Are you okay? I mean, if there’s anything I can do to help...” she asked, uncertain.

His expression turned to one that could have been close to amusement.

“No.” Then he frowned. “Miss Granger, you need to understand...”

“I understand,” she interjected. “You were right. I haven’t been thinking about that, about your... other job,” she finished lamely, using his own expression. “But nobody said anything... I don’t really know what is expected of me,” she admitted, suddenly feeling very small. She bit her lip and started fidgeting with the hem of her jumper, as he considered her.

“For the moment, we are supposed to convince the ministry that we married ‘for love’," he said neutrally, but couldn't quite keep the sneer out of his voice. “And, although nobody in his right mind would actually believe that, we must, at the very least, not offer proof of the contrary. Especially knowing there are third parties interested in cancelling our contract.”

“I understand. Really. I will be careful. I will still spend time with them, though. They are my friends,” she explained. He frowned but apparently decided not to press the point. “Is there anything else I need to know?” 

“Actually, there is,” he answered. "The Headmaster reckons I should probe your mind and determine if you could learn Occlumency. You are now in a delicate position.”

Hermione felt a rush of excitement... to be able to learn Occlumency from a master such as Snape was a unique opportunity. Then she realised it would also mean Snape roaming through her mind and gulped audibly.

“How will we go about it?” She asked, squaring her shoulders.

“So eager to show me your secrets?” he mocked.

She glared at him, but he continued explaining, impervious.

“If you are actually willing, tomorrow would be a good day to try. You might suffer migraines afterwards and the headache potions don’t work on everyone." She only shrugged. “Then we’ll meet in my office after lunch. Practise clearing your mind before you go to sleep.”

“I will. Why in your office?”

“It’s neutral,” he answered. She arched her brows showing her scepticism, but he ignored it, suddenly looking strangely uncomfortable. “There is one more thing. I had a meeting with the Headmaster today. It seems Salazar Slytherin was very intent in having his quarters preserved from external meddling, and thus, it won’t be possible to add another door to the bathroom." He clenched his jaw briefly before continuing as if it pained him to do so. "I generally sleep late and wake up early... and I usually shower in the evenings. In any case, I will leave my door open when I’m gone, and as an indication that you may pass.”

She fought valiantly to control her blush. She didn’t know why discussing the shower time preferences somehow felt so... intimate.

“Thank you. I was meaning to ask about it myself.”

He nodded, noncommittally.

She bid him goodnight then, thinking, as she went to her room, that she would locate the closer dungeon toilet first thing in the morning, just in case.

--------------------------

The next day after lunch when Hermione sat facing the Professor to begin her Occlumency lessons fear was winning over excitement. That he seemed to be in something akin to a cheerful mood - or as 'cheerful' as Snape got - didn't help her nerves at all.

“Shall we begin?”

“What should I do?” she asked haltingly.

“Try to throw me out,” he answered simply.

“Yes, but how?” she was beginning to realise that even when he was 'behaving' he could be really exasperating. She also suspected he did it on purpose.

“In any way you can,” he smirked. He definitely did it on purpose.

She would have snorted if she wasn’t feeling so nervous.

“Ready?”

She gulped and nodded.

“Legilimens,” he whispered.

She felt pressure inside her head for a moment before scenes began to roll through her mind. The professor before her, in the dim light, the first thestral she saw, the ministry vaults, the third-floor corridor... She felt disoriented.

Remembering his advice to clear her head she pictured the colour white. The image of pure, white light lasted for about two seconds before the blur of scenes came back. Hagrid's unicorns, a sunny afternoon walk with Ron, her morning bath in the prefects' white marble bathroom... She felt so mortified that she reacted instinctively, giving a powerful ‘push’ with all her being.

A wave of pain blinded her. The images stopped.

The next thing she knew, she was on the couch in their quarters, Snape’s frowning face swimming into view above her.

Seeing her awake, he straightened and offered her a blue vial.

“What happened? Ouch, is that for the head?” she asked numbly, feeling as if two elephants were stomping against the walls of her skull.

“Yes. Drink it.”

She didn't need to be told twice. She gulped the contents of the vial and then closed her eyes.

They waited in silence until the pain in her head dulled significantly and she felt able to speak without feeling her head splitting with every sound.

“Thank you,” she said, sincerely. “What happened?”

“You ejected me...”

“Did I?” cut Hermione, beaming.

“... and fell unconscious in the process,” he rebuked. Hermione noticed that his 'cheerful' mood was apparently gone. “It seems that keeping your modesty is a great incentive to you.”

She felt her face grow hot and the pain intensified a little. Affected by blood pressure, she thought idly.

“Also you managed to redirect me. All in all, it was a commendable effort,” he continued.

She gaped. That was the highest praise he had ever given her.

“Close your mouth, Miss Granger, it’s unseemly,” he snapped.

“So... that means I can learn Occlumency? Will you teach me?” She asked, unable to contain her growing excitement.

“I will have to talk with the Headmaster first, but yes, I suppose so.”

“Oh, thank y- argh!” she jumped from the sofa and staggered as a sharp pain pierced her head. “Oh, bollocks!”

“Watch that tongue,” he scolded automatically. “I would advise you to rest for a while, and to avoid sudden movements... as you might have deduced already,” he finished with a slight smirk.

The lessons started the following day, but the location moved to their living room - he adduced he wasn’t willing to carry her back every time she fainted.

Chapter Text

The cohabitation went through a few stages before stabilising. After the first few days in which she tried to avoid him whenever she could, she nudged herself and decided to stand her ground. They were her quarters too, and she had the right to use them, she reasoned.

She started to spend the evenings in the living room, instead of in her bedroom, and she situated a box with her toiletries in a shelf of the bathroom and hung out one of her towels by the pool. She also took up again her habit of wearing pyjamas right after dinner.

As he didn’t comment on any of these changes, she took his silence as permission.

A pattern was established and maintained during the following weeks. She attended her lessons, spend the afternoons and most of the weekend with her friends at Gryffindor tower, and all the evenings with him. That didn’t mean they were comfortable with each another, it didn’t even mean that they talked regularly, but they got used to the - generally silent - presence of the other in the room.

Hermione discovered early on that he didn’t do ‘idle chat’, but that when she asked him about homework he generally didn’t mind talking at length about it, if he deemed the topic innocuous enough.

She found herself amazed at just how knowledgeable he seemed to be in some areas, and just how unconcerned about others. Hermione’s questions about Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were mostly answered with a snippy retort about not wanting to waste his time and a book recommendation - although this last one was usually useful. Potions and, surprisingly, Charms were the two subjects he seemed 'happier' to talk about – if you could call his reluctant willingness 'happiness'. Despite having seldom seen him using his wand other than to write on the blackboard, Hermione discovered he was truly brilliant at charms, with a sharp mind and a deep understanding of the theory behind the spells.

In contrast, her questions about DADA always made him frown suspiciously and his answers were usually curt. If he hadn’t been so blatantly biased in his lessons during the previous six years she would have thought he was worried about playing favourites. At it was, she supposed some of the rumours about them both circulating around the school had finally reached his ears and wasn't keen on having them confirmed in any way. That or that he didn't want a Gryffindor with a head's start in his lessons.

Apart from the courtesy greetings (mostly from her side) and the odd question Hermione had about her homework, they only really spoke during the occlumency lessons, which had been programmed every other night an hour before Hermione's usual bedtime except for Friday and Saturday evenings.

She had puzzled about it at first, but soon guessed that they were his ‘meeting nights’ - either with Voldemort or the Headmaster, Hermione never knew for sure. What she knew was that those days he generally returned late at night and was usually in a full bad mood that lasted well into the following morning.

All her questions about his well being had been met with either contemptuous silence or outright disdain, so she had stopped asking. However, these nights she always left her door open as she had found that she slept better after hearing him come back.

The occlumency lessons themselves were going well, but progressing far slower than she would have liked. She had turned out to have an innate ability to change the course of his explorations and bring images to the front, but had troubles locking particular memories and wasn’t able to eject him without blacking out - and this only in extreme situations, which frustrated her to no end.

These lessons had also caused a rift between her and Harry and Ron. It seemed that Professor Snape wasn’t to know about Harry’s lessons with Dumbledore and although the Headmaster had provided Hermione with a small pensieve to use before every occlumency lesson, he had considered unwise to keep feeding her with even more information to hide. Since Harry only seemed to want to moan about Slughorn or obsess over Malfoy, they barely had anything to talk about anymore.

Hermione glanced at him and tsked in disapproval. Harry was currently indulging in his other obsession, that book. Deep down Hermione acknowledged that she wouldn't have enjoyed being bested under any circumstances, but the fact that it was Harry, who had never even tried to learn Potions, was particularly irking. If she was feeling especially honest with herself, she would also admit she was the tiniest bit envious. She was careful, she worked hard, she studied the ingredients' properties and wished she had more time to research and experiment - as she did with many other subjects - but the instinct flair that that Prince had hadn't come to her. It wasn't fair...

Harry huffed, and she realised she had been staring.

"I didn't say anything," she said defensively.

"You didn't need to," he snapped. "Nevermind, it's almost time for Quidditch practice anyway."

She pressed her lips together, deciding not to pick a fight - although God knows he deserves one.  She waited until he left the room to throw the quill away in frustration.

At first, it was because of her telling him to give up the book, now they even fought because of her thinking about it. It was getting ridiculous. Hermione packed her things determinedly and headed for the library with a purposeful step. She would find out who exactly that Half-Blood Prince was.

Ten minutes later Hermione entered the library in a huff, noticing just in the last moment she was about to get into McLaggen's visual field. She ducked instinctively behind a bookcase and walked until the last, best-hidden table in the opposite direction, where she dropped her books.

In her hurry, she hadn’t noticed the section she had sat by, nor the blond girl in Gryffindor robes which was browsing the shelves with a book already on her hands.

“Oh, hi, Lavender...” she greeted, slightly flustered. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were here. I’ll find another seat.”

“No, don’t worry,” she replied shiftily, taking another book and stuffing it into her arms. “I was just leaving.”

Hermione watched her hurry out with a heavy heart. Although she didn’t particularly like the other girl, especially now she was snogging Ron, being shunned still hurt. She pressed her palms against her eyes. It was like her first months at Hogwarts all over again: her, alone, hiding at the library while the rest of the world avoided her like the plague - except when they needed help with homework. Only this time it was unlikely a troll would bring Harry, Ron and her back together.

Suddenly she didn't want to look for the Half-Blood Prince anymore.
 
To distract herself, she immersed herself in the topic that had been rounding her head for years: Animagus transformation.

A few hours later, in the dimming light, Hermione meandered between the bookcases on her way to Gryffindor tower. The lamps flared to light as she passed, and she entertained herself looking at the spines of the books, reading random titles. So much left to know...

As her eyes fell on the sign on one of the shelves, her step faltered. 'Magical Culture and Dynasties'. It wouldn't hurt to check.

Throwing a guilty glance around, she extracted a volume called 'Wizarding Genealogies in Modern Times'. Her eyes quickly scanned the index. One, two, three pages of names until - there it was - Prince. Page 673.

She leafed through the book hastily, her excitement growing. Could it be this easy?  Then: 'The last descendant of the Prince line is Octavius Cyrus Prince, born in 1905.'

Hermione blinked, then rushed back to the first page. 'Publication date: 1929'. Ah.

She went back to her room with a skip on her step, all guilt forgotten. She hadn't found the Prince, but at least she had a very promising place to start.

Chapter Text

Harry behaved completely normal the next day - apparently quidditch practice had on Harry the same head-clearing effect as the afternoon at the library had on Hermione - and Hermione had judiciously decided not to comment on her findings on the family 'Prince'. At least not until she had something more conclusive.

Besides, she had other things to worry about, she thought that afternoon after her DADA lesson.

Try as she might, she wasn't able to master nonverbal hexes, much to some of her classmates' glee. The fact that she was married to the instructor hadn't gone by unnoticed by her classmates either, no matter how many times she repeated that Snape never spoke to her about his own class, let alone help her.

It wouldn't kill him to do it, though, she thought, irritated, while trying to make her quill levitate wordlessly. Helping me isn't the same thing as giving me the questions of the exam. After another frustrating lesson, she had decided to forego her time at the library and spend the afternoon practising in their quarters, as non-verbal casting seemed to be an important part of that year syllabus in both Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. After a promising start with shield charms, which she had been able to cast quite effectively, she had stumbled upon a block whenever she tried to cast any other spell, jinx or hex. Apparently trying to cast nonverbal spells willingly, with no external urgency was a totally different matter. She had only managed to cast the spells occasionally and without any measure of control.

"How much longer are you planning to keep waving your wand uselessly?" asked Snape suddenly, making Hermione flick her wand, startled, sending her quill to the fireplace. Her frustration rose another notch.

"Until it stops being useless," snapped back Hermione, annoyed, picking another quill. "If you recall, it's part of the homework you've given us."

"I seriously doubt I've asked you to levitate quills."

"I'd rather first try to control easy things rather than waste my friends' time making them act as targets for hexes that are never coming..." she said, flicking her wand violently and making the new quill smash against the ceiling. "...or are going to blast them to pieces. Besides, it's also Professor Flitwick's assignment."

"So, the perfect pupil is having trouble with something..." he taunted. "What's the problem, couldn't find the answer in a book?"

Hermione bit her lip, and tried a couple of times more, intent on ignoring his surveillance.

"You're doing it wrong," he eventually said, turning slightly on his seat and placing an arm on the back of his chair.

"I noticed, thank you for pointing it out," she said sharply, starting to feel close to tears of frustration.

He gave a long-suffering sigh.

"Stop that and tell me, how does spellcasting work? Why does a spell work when we pronounce it aloud?"

Hermione glanced at him briefly, dropped her wand on her lap and busied herself on massaging her sore wrists while she gathered her wits.

"Because the words carry power, or better yet, the words extract the power from the magical core all wizards possess and the wand-"

Snape waved his hand dismissively.

"Spare me the textbook answer, I can read too. Just tell me what you think that happens."

She frowned but tried again.

"We are a power source, our wand channels and focuses that power, and the words tell the wand what it must do with that power, how it must transform it."

"Much better, but it isn't quite right: the words don't tell the wand what it must do, it tells ourself - or our magic-selves, if you prefer - what it must say to the wand. So, what you are trying to do now is skipping that step and trying to give the orders directly to the wand. You know the wand language, why do you have to tell yourself to translate too?"

Hermione mulled it over, chewing on her lip.

"So that's why we are told that the strongest spells require intent because they need more than an unconscious fleeting desire of something happening. But in essence, the process is the same: when we are casting we are intent of that thing happening."

"Exactly."

"And what if I only use intent, but no words?"

"Then you would usually have an uncontrolled bout of magic, like magical children do when frightened. The power of the words is that they define clearly what we want to happen, and communicate that to the wand. And before you ask, the communication with the wands is, for the most part, a mystery. I'm not going to go as far as to call the wand 'sentient', but it's true they communicate, in their own way," he explained quietly, running his fingers along the length of his forearm, where Hermione guessed he kept his wand.

"That is also why the wands are so personal. There are some of them that understand us better than others. It is amazing what a good connection between wizard and wand may achieve, the level of control..." he trailed off as if thinking out loud.

Hermione observed him, gobsmacked. This conversation was probably the most fascinating lesson she had had in all her years in Hogwarts. She was feeling again that rush of excitement she had felt the first time she discovered magic. Who would have thought it would be Snape who unveiled a new entire view of magic for her.

"Can you do it, control without words? Will you show me?" Hermione asked, her face glowing.

He looked startled for a moment, then straightened in his seat and extracted his wand from his sleeve.

He turned slightly towards the fireplace and pointed. A stream of water came out of the end of his wand, but instead of dropping onto the fire, it moved upwards and split into small tendrils which started to curl and swirl around, forming a moving tree shape, glowing in the firelight. Then, they merged into each other, tying into different Celtic knots.

Hermione watched, marvelled, aware of the extraordinary ability necessary to control a body of liquid, let alone shape it into figures. After a while, however, her focus wavered towards the caster. At that moment he was concentrated on shaping a Chinese dragon, directing the water tendrils with subtle wand movements, like a painter adding the finishing touches to his creation. A slight curl of his lips showed his satisfaction and transformed his face completely. Hermione realised that was the first time in all her years at Hogwarts she had ever seen him enjoying himself. It struck Hermione that, like that, she found him almost - almost - appealing, and she fought not to let her dismay show.

All too soon, he frowned and made a circular motion with his wand, vanishing the water. For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fireplace, and Hermione was left with the feeling of having intruded into an intimate moment somehow. He straightened, his posture now rigid, and she searched for something to break the silence.

"That was amazing," she said honestly. "How did you learn to do that?"

"Spare time and concentration," he said drily and made to go.

"Can you do it with other things too?" She asked in a rush, to keep him from leaving. She couldn't shake the feeling that she shouldn't let him leave just then. Her eyes flickered towards the fire; she had been reminded of the fire jugglers at the medieval fairs.

He was nothing if not observant.

"Fire, you mean?" he asked retaking his seat, to Hermione's relief. "Hardly. Too independent and unpredictable. Water comes more naturally to me." He made a pause. "If you wish to try it, you should start with solid things, though. Threads, puppets or the like. They are easier to move. Or you could also train through transfiguration. In case you haven't noticed, Transfiguration is the branch of magic that dabbles deeper into magical control through intent. Although there is a big difference between modifying 'being' and modifying 'state'."

"How so? I'm good at transfiguration..." Said Hermione.

"So McGonagall keeps telling to anyone who would listen." Hermione flushed, thinking she had asked for that one, but he seemed faintly amused if anything. "Complex or customised transfigurations require a strong will to impose over the nature of a material and change it, even if it's only temporarily. That might suggest you are willful enough," he said with a smirk "so if you are having troubles with wordless magic it's because you either lack focus or aren't channelling your energy properly. I would bet on the latter."

"How can I fix it?"

He looked at her thoughtfully for a few seconds, then summoned a black stone from the fireplace and let it rest on the low table between them.

"Finding the right way to call your magic. And for that purpose, I would suggest going back to the basics. Try to heat it, not with fire, neither with a warming charm. Just put your wand on the rock and transfer your own heat, as you would naturally if you kept it in your palm for enough time. Although a bit faster, if possible; that's the channelling part." He smirked. "Don't despair if you don't achieve anything at first. It could take minutes, days, or weeks." Then to prove his point, he touched the stone with the tip of his wand.

Several seconds passed without anything happening, then several sparkles started to appear all over the stone surface, and soon all of it was red hot and burning the wood underneath.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. She had tried to keep up with the muggle world, so she had notions of physics, energy and forces. It made sense to start with a process of energy transfer that was already happening, even if it wasn't exactly magical. This new lookout sounded very promising. She wondered how much longer she would have been stuck repeating the same futile exercises if not for that chat. He truly was a great teacher... when he wanted to be.

"Why aren't you like this in class?" blurted Hermione, and realised it was the wrong thing to say the moment she uttered the words. His posture straightened, his face became impassive and when he spoke, his voice had lost the relaxed and smooth, almost teasing, pitch he had been using, becoming sharp and curt.

"That is none of your business, not to mention a completely inappropriate remark, Miss Granger. This will be enough chit-chat for today," he said icily and left their quarters without waiting for an answer.

Not that Hermione had anything to say.

She had gathered that he was very worried about keeping a firm boundary between his teaching role and his personal life. That was why he had forbidden her to approach him at his office if it wasn't to talk about academic topics and disliked answering DADA questions in their quarters. Hermione nearly groaned out loud. And she had to go and criticise his teaching methods. To his face. After he had spent some of his precious time helping her with her difficulties and teaching her one of the most amazing lessons she had had at Hogwarts.

She took a quill, wrote a few lines of apology in a piece of parchment and pinned it to his bedroom door before going to dinner, hoping it was enough; she really appreciated his patience and help.

The day after that he resumed his aloof behaviour, barely greeting her with his customary nod, so Hermione thought her apology had been accepted.

Or at least, that's what she hoped, as his method had proven to be incredibly helpful. Barely a few days later she already could cast most of the required spells and was able to focus again on transfiguration.

With the new approach, the animagus process made a lot more sense, and she soon dedicated most of her free time to read about it. The idea of trying to become one that had started as a fancy now flashed through her mind as a distinct possibility, that she, however, always hurried to discard as foolish.

She told herself that what really fascinated her was the theory, as she soon arrived at a few questions none of the books she had consulted seemed to have the answers for. One of them said that the animagus form was magical, unique and unchangeable. Another one read that the form was a reflection of one's perception of their own qualities that unconsciously were assigned to an animal. This last description had stricken her as too similar as the one used for the Patronus charm. If that was so, did it mean her animagus would also be an otter? What was more, did it mean animagus forms could change too?

She mulled it over for days, but by mid-February, it was bothering her enough to risk asking McGonagall. Hermione waited until the Professor's last lesson of the day and approached her as the pupils hurried out of the classroom. By the time she was finished her Professor had dropped her books on her table and was regarding her consideringly.

"It is an insightful approach, although it is not the first time I hear of it. My mentor, Augustus Penderton, had his own theories about it."

Hermione perked up, hopeful.

"However, it has never been proved, and it is unlikely it will happen anytime soon. Animagus are scarce and Patronus changes are rare enough occurrences not to have happened simultaneously on the same person. And, before you ask, there isn't any known method to ascertain which form would an animagus take either."

"Oh," said Hermione, biting her lip.

"I would recommend you to focus your efforts on the Patronus charm, as there is more research available on the topic." McGonagall pursed her lips. " I can't stress enough the risks involved in the process of becoming an animagus... It is most unwise, not to mention illegal, to try outside strict Ministry supervision. "

"Yes, Professor," answered Hermione, blushing profusely.

McGonagall surveyed her over her glasses for a few more seconds before adding.

"However, if you must, you could check Remigius Rowle's work, he gives an interesting testimony in Tales of a Raven," the older woman eventually said in a sobering tone. "I usually take a walk every Sunday morning, before breakfast. I find it most invigorating. I also find the small courtyard on the first floor a good place where to clear your head in between lessons. You may join me one day if your questions keep plaguing you."

---------------------------------

"Are you sure it wasn't checked out?"

"Quite sure Miss Granger," answered Mme. Pince stiffly, her nose flaring in indignation.

Hermione bit her lip, not wanting to antagonise the woman further. The librarian has never been exactly friendly with her, but Hermione liked to think that there was a kinship of sorts between them.

"But I can't find it! It's not on the transfiguration shelves..."

At that, the older woman pierced her with a long-suffering look.

"That might be because that book is not in the transfiguration shelves," the librarian snapped and walked away mumbling about incompetent students wasting her time.

Hermione followed, puzzled.

"You are a prefect, are you not?" asked Mme. Pince, but didn't seem to need an answer. "Try in there," she said, stopping abruptly and pointing towards the rope marking the entrance to the Restricted Section.

Hermione mumbled her thanks and hurried inside. This time she had no problem locating the book. It was a thick volume, bound in soft brown leather. She leafed through it and realised she was looking at a transcription of a diary. Why would a diary be in the restricted section?

She slowly made her way back to the table she had been using during the last few days, ever since her narrow escape from McLaggen. People seldom ventured into that area; ancient languages hardly seemed to be a popular topic. In addition, the tables there were small, insufficient for three people but more than enough for one, and most students tended to view the library as yet another place to socialise - much to Mme. Pince and Hermione's vexation.

In any case, the silence and isolation suited her just fine, especially now she had started her new project - for real.

Already engrossed in "Tales of a Raven", it wasn't until she settled back behind her usual pile of books that she spotted Lavender browsing the shelves further down the corridor.

The irrational rush of jealousy she had been feeling every time she laid eyes on her made an appearance and she hunched over "Tales of a Raven" so that the books mostly covered her from view. Luckily Lavender seemed intent in whatever it was she was doing and didn't notice Hermione at all.

Hermione tried to go back to her reading but couldn't help but follow the other girl's movements until she turned the corner. She sighed in relief and didn't even wonder what had Lavender so absorbed.

However, she could no longer keep up the pretence of ignoring her housemate when she collapsed into a chair on the other side of the bookcase and started sobbing.

Startled and annoyed in equal parts, Hermione hesitated between retreating towards the Restricted Section or approaching to check if she was alright. Eventually, she sighed.

I’m a bloody saint, she thought before pressing her lips together and making her way to the sobbing girl.

“Lavender... Are you alright?”

The blond girl jumped slightly and stared at her with puffy eyes.

“I’m just... It's n-nothing,” the girl said, hiccupping.

Hermione watched the other girl scramble up, not knowing what to do. That was not the reaction she had expected at all, Lavender was a very emotional person but whenever Hermione had found her distressed before she had been more than happy to speak - at length - about what exactly was wrong with her. This time it was different, it was clear Lavender didn't want to talk, but...

When Lavender stumbled, Hermione's mind was made up. She grabbed her arm and half-carried her to her secluded table. Hermione conjured a handkerchief and handed it over to the other girl. Hermione waited until Lavender calmed down, wishing fervently whatever it was that had happened didn't have anything to do with Ron.

"Thanks," Lavender finally said, sniffling.

"Lavender," began Hermione, clearly uncertain. "Look, whatever else, I am your housemate and a prefect. You can tell me if you have a problem."

"It's... you wouldn't understand."

"Try me," said Hermione, doing her best to keep the bite out of her words. She truly hated when people did that. A sudden image of Snape flashed through her mind and she shook her head. Lavender was speaking and was not even half as complicated as Snape was.

"...I know what you said, but it hasn't gone, not at all." What?  "It's the same, the very same, every few days. Now the wolf appears every time and stays longer," she whispered, fear clear in her eyes. "Some nights I can feel it coming and I am afraid of going to sleep."

It's the dreams, Hermione realised and suddenly she was on high alert. Recurring dreams? She asked Lavender to describe them to her again. A cell, a man and a girl, a shape-shifter? A goblin, a snake and a wolf, that eventually killed her, although the end varied slightly.

As she listened she couldn't help but be reminded of Harry's strange dreams the previous year. Could Lavender be possessed somehow or was it an actual prophetic dream? Hermione didn't know but in any case, she had the unsettling feeling it was becoming too much to be only a coincidence.

"Have you told anyone? McGonagall?"

"No! And you can't, either. You know how she is with Divination..." Hermione knew, but she also knew that their Head of House would be at least as worried as she was about Lavender. However, Lavender was adamant and insisted, her voice becoming shrill. "Promise me! Promise you won't tell anyone!"

"I promise," Hermione hurried to assure, afraid of being heard. "But I don't know what to do, I don't know much about dreams...Maybe Professor Trelawney?"

Lavender's face fell.

"I did tell Professor Trelawney," she admitted, "but she says she doesn't know, that if I had the Sight it would have shown before..."

Hermione pressed her lips together, suppressing a huff. Although not unexpected, Trelawney's uselessness didn't endear her to Hermione. Another look to Lavender's despondent posture made her realise just how hard it must have been for Lavender to hear that directly - that it was unlikely that she was a Seer. After all, Lavender had never manifested any other ambition since their third year.

"Look, I can't promise you anything, but I’ll do some research, see what I can find. After all, the workings of the Inner Eye are often mysterious... isn't that what Trelawney always said?" said Hermione, confidently, trying to cheer her up. "If I discover anything, I’ll let you know.”

The other girl nodded gratefully, looking slightly more relieved, and squeezed Hermione's hand. Suddenly they both stared at the floor, feeling awkward.

"Well, I must be going..."

Hermione nodded and watched her go, feeling a headache coming. She was busy enough without adding Lavender's problems to the mix, she thought, rubbing her face.

She was a saint, she thought again. But not today, she decided, looking back at "Tales of a Raven", still on the table.

Hermione didn't know that would be the last quiet afternoon she would have in a long time.

----------------------------------

The very next day, a new problem entered her thoughts by means of a ministry sealed letter she received at breakfast. She glanced instinctively towards the High Table, meeting the professor's black eyes. He made a gesture with his head. ‘Later’, she understood, and so she put the letter inside her robes, ignoring a curious look from Harry. If he was able to keep secrets so was she, she thought pettily. The truth was that his friend’s meek compliance with the Headmaster wishes still stung.

She finished her breakfast quickly, send the professor a meaningful look, and returned to their rooms.

When she arrived he was already there.

“How did you..?”

“Not now,” he cut, not quite able to hide his smirk, and proceeded to open his letter.

She imitated him, skimming quickly through hers. It was just how they had dreaded: their marriage was called into question. A Ministry official would come to their home the following week and she was to go to the ministry on February 27th to be questioned. She only hoped that questioning didn’t involve veritaserum.

“Are you being questioned too?” She asked, nervously.

“Yes,” he answered, irritatingly impassive. “On February 28th.”

“Oh, drat. My appointment is the day before.”

“Let me see,” he said, frowning and reading over her shoulder. “I will take these to the Headmaster. You must go to your lessons.”

She nodded. She had expected the visit and some kind of questioning from the Ministry part, but she had naively hoped to go through it with him. She didn’t want to think too much about why she had felt so much more confident while thinking she would have him by her side.

That afternoon she didn’t stop by Gryffindor tower but marched directly into his office after her last lesson. At his chilling look, she faltered.

“Good afternoon. Er... were you expecting someone?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Miss Granger,” he replied icily.

“I just wanted to know if you were free to talk, Professor,” she retorted snippily. He scowled. Hermione held up her hands. “Look, I’m not coming as a student. I wanted to know if you have talked with Professor Dumbledore about the letters.”

“If you are not coming as a student, don’t come to me at all during my office hours.”

She sighed, so he was being difficult.

“Fine. See you later in our quarters, Professor,” she couldn’t help but quip as she turned.

“Miss Granger!” he warned.

She turned to face him once more, and they held a battle of glares.

“Don’t you ever even think of mocking me in public,” he hissed.

She refused to back out again, even if his intensity never failed to intimidate her.

“We are not in public.”

“We are. Anybody could enter at any moment and the castle walls have ears. In case you haven’t noticed, the portraits do speak.”

“I know. But in case you haven't noticed there are no portraits here," she realised suddenly just how close they were shouting at each other and stepped back, averting her eyes, all her anger suddenly gone.  She sighed. "I'm not that reckless, you know."

“You are a Gryffindor. Of course, you are reckless,” he snapped, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and Hermione thought he also sounded more tired than angry. “Wait. I’ll go with you.”

They walked in silence side by side ignoring the glances of three fifth years that crossed them in the corridor. She supposed that since they usually weren’t seen together, that was still considered a novelty.

What she did consider a novelty was the fact that he opened the main door to their quarters, behind a water nymph portrait, and let her pass first.

Their conversation was pretty straightforward. They would intensify her occlumency lessons and orient them towards diverging thoughts from words, to be able to lie without compromising what she was telling.

That proved to be extremely hard to accomplish. He bombarded her with questions, attacking her mind simultaneously. Day after day she went to bed exhausted and with a head-splitting headache that not even the blue vials were able to erase. She noticed he had to take one most nights too.

He was demanding but patient, answering all her doubts as best as he could, even if it was patently clear he was uncomfortable talking about sensations. In turn, she never complained. However, during these occlumency lessons, he never achieved the level of relaxation she had witnessed during their discussion about magical theory, and Hermione couldn't help but wish it would happen again. Had she offended him that much?

Not that she had much time to argue about anything, really. Between her homework, her project and the occlumency lessons she filled every minute of every day and went to bed exhausted. Even Harry and Neville, who weren't known by their observation powers, had started sending her increasingly worried glances. She had told them she had a citation at the Ministry and that she wasn’t in the mood to talk about it.

Before any of them realised it, they were the day before the visit of the Ministry official.

“No blue vials today?” she smiled humourlessly.

“No, Miss Granger. Today you – we – are saving our energies.” He sat on his armchair. Seeing her clearly relieved face he added.“We need to talk about tomorrow, though.”

She frowned but said nothing. He arranged the cuffs or his sleeves studiously. She was struck with the thought that he was nervous.

“You understand that tomorrow we will have to play a part.”

She nodded, more intrigued by his body language than by his words.

“As the main ‘concern’ of the brainwashed idiot the Ministry will send will undoubtedly be to determine if you are truly circumventing the Integration Act, you must look as ‘magical’ as possible. You are to hide into your room all the muggle artefacts you may have outside it. You should dress in robes, if possible, and keep your references about the muggle world to a minimum – especially if they are positive ones. Try not to look overly fond of your childhood memories.”

She nodded again, clenching her jaw, it was reasonable even if she didn't like it.

“Also, I must remind you that the Ministry dolts are not the only ones interested in the status of this marriage...”

He didn't say anything further and Hermione observed him, puzzled, for a minute before her eyes widened, realising the implications.

“So doomed if we do, doomed if we don’t,” she whispered, anxiousness creeping into her eyes.

“Whatever you mean by that?” he asked sharply.

“I mean” she enunciated slowly, while her mind raced, “that if we play the ‘happy couple’ to appease the ministry officials you’re doomed, as I doubt Voldemort would be happy with that.”

"Don’t say his name!" he hissed.

"Sorry," replied Hermione absently, lost in her reasoning. "And if we don’t play the part they will force us to divorce and, in that case, I’m the doomed one, as I will likely have to marry a true Death Eater the next time. We fail in both scenarios,” she ended whispering, her eyes unfocused.

“It would be an adequate assessment of the situation… if a dash of Slytherin cunning wasn’t sorely absent,” he said dismissively. “Well, in this case, more like a wide brush, if you ask me.”

Her eyes flickered fiercely.

“Then, by all means, illuminate me. Tell me what’s so 'sorely absent’ in my assessment and stop being such a g-” she kept herself in check at the last moment while he merely raised a half challenging-half amused eyebrow, baiting her further.

She couldn't help the growl of frustration coming from the back of her throat.

“I will praise the other Houses when their members prove themselves worthy of it,” he stated. “Now cease your tantrum and think; if you were in the Dark Lord's place and one of your spies found himself stuck with your enemy's best friend, what would you do? Really do. Prove me you can deal with the actual world.”

She loved challenges, and so her anger was nothing but forgotten as she turned the question over in her mind, under his watchful eyes.

"I would employ my spy to try to earn her trust because she could possibly reveal even more valuable intelligence than the one he gathered at the Order meetings.”

“And why is that?”

“Her information would be unofficial and wouldn’t lead the Order to believe they had a spy in their midst,” she stated firmly. “Or well, you could try to lure me to change sides – though I find unlikely anybody would think that possible. In any case, if you got my trust, you would have a strong cover and defence against the order's mistrust. I mean, it's not that you aren't trustworthy, but being a spy... well, ah, hmpf, let's just say I'm above suspicion. And apart from that, having my trust you could play me like a puppet, and I would be completely oblivious,” she ended somewhat uneasy.

“Indeed,” he said, giving her a nod, and Hermione was surprised to recognise the slight less hint of approval.

“And for that purpose, you were ordered to treat me kindly, I suppose. To try to gain my trust.”

“Obviously.”

“So, correct me if I’m wrong, I have to look... happy about being with you? Nobody would buy that - I mean, it's been little more than a month and everybody thought we hated each other...”

“An adequate analysis, Miss Granger, although poorly expressed. ‘Content’ should be more than enough for the time being. It wouldn’t be amiss that you still look a tad uncomfortable at times. We will use our given names... it could be a nice touch if a ‘professor’ or 'sir' slipped from you at some point.”

She mulled over it for a while.

“Keeping the Dark Lord content is more important than convincing the Ministry, isn’t it?”

“Far more important, Miss Granger. If he is satisfied with us, he will keep the Ministry off our backs.”

“What will satisfy him?”

“That you show potential to be an ally. If you show both respect and the beginnings of trust in me, he might start to consider you useful.”

“But I already trust you. Where does that leave us?” she insisted, a cold feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. She felt at that moment that something didn’t quite fit, that there was a huge piece of the puzzle she was missing.

“The Dark Lord was lead to believe you hate me as much as your dear friend Potter, but due to my ‘heroic’ intervention to save you from the other Death Eaters and your own sensibilities you are slowly warming towards me,” he replied, suddenly appearing bored. Hermione reckoned he was getting tired of the conversation, he had been more patient than usual. Still...

“Ok, so that explains why I have to look uncomfortable, but then, you were just supposed to watch out in case I had a slip?” She asked incredulously. Her logic capacity was at full running. “That’s far too vague. Even if I came to trust you or even if I got to consider you a friend, I would never betray Harry. Never," she stressed. "Not to mention Dumbledore's specific orders about it...”

Hermione thought she saw him stiffen. Had she offended him? He already knew there was something he shouldn't know - he saw the pensieve every day - and come on, he was no social butterfly. It was impossible he would be able to get information out of her during, say, a conversation in a pub... Wait.

"Does the Dark Lord know you are a legilimens?" she asked bluntly, then bit her lip, knowing she had probably gone too far. He didn't react well to direct questions in general and he was particularly sensitive - and tight-lipped - about his other job.

However, to her surprise, he didn't explode. In fact, he leant back against his armchair, observing her consideringly.

“That is not for you to know. And it most certainly isn’t your place to second-guess the Dark Lord orders, especially if they have nothing to do with you.”

“These have something to do with me!” she pointed sceptically. Had that been a 'yes' or a 'no'?

“No. They have something to do with me. They don’t affect you until the Headmaster decides they do. So I would think we have overstepped our boundaries.”

He stood and walked towards his bedroom, effectively ending the conversation.

“I suggest you go to sleep. Tomorrow you will need your rest.”

“G’night,” she mumbled, not wholly satisfied with his answers. They made sense, yes, but...

She shook her head, reaching her bed and realising just how tired she was. Surely the uneasy feeling had more to do with the nerves for the interview the next day than with anything else. Although if the Ministry official was as much of a dolt as most of the ones she had met - with the notable exceptions of Mr Weasley - she shouldn't have much to worry about.

And with these reassuring thoughts, she went to sleep, completely unaware that the other inhabitant of the dungeons was having a harder time putting his mind at ease.

Chapter Text

It had been only ten minutes, but Hermione already knew she detested Elinor Jenkins. Not that she had had great expectations to begin with, she thought while valiantly trying to hold her polite smile.

Mrs Jenkins had arrived at Hogwarts' gates with a sunny smile that had not faltered even when confronted by Snape's customary scowl. Once in their quarters, she had entered every room as if she owned them, peeking and prodding everywhere. Hermione had to admire her perseverance - and courage - at insisting in seeing the private lab even after one of Snape's most chilling glares. Jenkins had even managed to get him to explain what he was concocting - some experimental antivenom, apparently - and he had done so in such a frosty tone that Hermione had been expecting icicles to start sprouting from the ceiling at any moment.

When Jenkins had made to start rummaging in the small storage room hiding her true bedroom, he had pointed out that he had been a Potions Master for many years and that he could not vouch for the innocuousness of the contents of every jar and drawer in their quarters. That finally had the Ministry woman deciding that the inspection was finished and that it was time for a little chat.

And so Hermione had happily let herself be guided towards the sofa, where she sank gratefully. Although her facial muscles hurt from smiling she wasn't sure she was making a very good impression of being comfortable. It would be much easier now the actual inspection was over.

However, her relief was short-lived, as she quickly realised that to show a united front they couldn't really sit at opposite sides of the sofa. She shifted slightly towards the centre of the sofa, masking the movement when she leant over to pick her cup of tea, that had appeared on the table. She thought Snape must have thought something along the same lines because when he sat back he was so close that their elbows brushed. None of them moved to correct the situation.

Jenkins, after politely thanking them for the tea, started addressing her questions to Hermione, until Snape made an offhand remark about his apparent superfluousness in the meeting that had Hermione suppressing a smile. From that moment on all the questions had been directed at some point on the wall between the two of them, apparently, Mrs Jenkins' bravery not extending as far as to meet Snape's gaze.

Hermione had to admit that Snape's acerbic disposition, although incredibly challenging on an everyday basis, was proving to be extremely useful.

It, unfortunately, wasn't enough to prevent the exhausting interrogation that at that point was starting to get ridiculous.

"So, could you name your husband's three favourite pies?" had asked Mrs Jenkins, who had a seemingly endless supply of inane questions written in her notebook.

"Er-"

"If my only reason for entering a marriage was to have a good cook, I would have married a house elf," he cut sharply, finally earning him a sputter of indignation from Jenkins and a grateful smile from Hermione. "Besides which, I don't like pies."

Hermione couldn't hold back a chuckle, relieved, as she truly had no idea what he liked to eat at all. However, Jenkins recovered quickly.

"So, what exactly was your reason for entering this marriage then, Mr Snape?"

"That is an incredibly impertinent question, Mrs Jenkins."

"Why, the Ministry-"

"I understand the Ministry is keeping watch for abuses under the newly implemented law," cut Snape. "However, as our marriage did not happen under said law I would say we have been more than accommodating. We have allowed you into our home and have answered more questions than what would have been polite or even appropriate. And we will attend our respective citations, even if their very existence is offensive. So I would say this conversation has been going on long enough," he said, leaning forward, his tone becoming dangerous. "It bears questioning, though, why the Ministry passed a law that they thought fostered abuse in the first place."

Hermione thought he was being quite convincing, but even she considered that threatening a Ministry official was going a bit too far in their pretence. Unless he was genuinely angry... Before she could think what she was doing, she had placed her hand on his shoulder to calm him.

If that gesture surprised him, he didn't show it, but instead leant back and recovered his previously relaxed position. Hermione fought not to react when he took her hand from his shoulder and squeezed it before she could take it back. Think he's Ron, she thought quickly. No, not Ron. Harry.

In any case, something in Elinor Jenkins expression had changed, and she stood up, finally losing her artificial smile. Hermione and Snape followed suit.

"You will forgive me if my questions seemed intrusive, Mr Snape - Mrs Snape - but as you remarked, the proper application of the new law is a matter of great concern for the Ministry."

"We understand," said Hermione, finding her voice. "It has been a long day for all of us..." she continued, conciliatory, as they watched Jenkins put on her cloak and pick her bag.

The woman accepted her explanations with a curt nod, but the walk towards the gates was made in a silence neither Hermione nor Snape felt obliged to fill.

"Well, that was unexpected..." commented Hermione when she saw Jenkins disapparate at the other side of the gate. Her companion remained silence. "Did we pass, do you think?" she prodded, on the walk back to the castle.

"I think so," he conceded, but it wasn't until they reached their quarters and Hermione was on her way to her bedroom that he spoke again. "You will have lessons with the Headmaster this week."

She stopped short.

"Why?"

"Because we have deemed it appropriate," he answered simply, his face shuttered.

Hermione nodded her acquiescence, seeing he wasn't in the mood to talk and went to bed. However, she had a hard time falling asleep, unable to discard the feeling she must have slipped somewhere, must have disappointed him somehow, for that to be necessary.

The lessons started the very next day, and Hermione soon realised they would be trickier in a way she had not expected. In comparison with Snape's, the Headmaster's exploration was, at once, more distracted and random, but also more piercing and blunt. Where Snape sneaked by almost unnoticed, he prodded and pushed - without warning.

Hermione was also surprised to find herself preferring Snape's lessons. It was disconcerting. In some ways, the atmosphere was far less tense and aggressive than with Snape, but at the same time, her dealings with the Headmaster always left her feeling she had been skating over a very thin layer of ice, that kept her from clearly seeing the truth underneath. She unfailingly ended the day with a massive headache that she suspected had more to do with her trying to ascertain if there was a hidden meaning in the Headmaster's words than with the Occlumency itself.

Maybe it was just that she wasn't used to polite conversation anymore.

"I must confess Severus didn't let on about the true state of your abilities, but I think we have every reason to feel optimistic," said the Headmaster after their third lesson, in which he had only once managed to make her slip, and that under a lot of pressure.

"Then why is it that you decided I should have these lessons with you?" she asked, unable to contain the question any longer.

"Oh dear, if I had known you found them so disagreeable..." he said, mirthfully.

"Of course not!" she hurried to assure, blushing. "It's just that I am curious, Headmaster. That's all."

"Ah, curiosity, that unstoppable force..." he answered with a gentle smile. "It was decided it would be convenient for you to try your luck against another legilimens - and another questioning style. Not all of us have the same methods."

"Oh, I see."

"However, that is not all you wish to ask, is it?" he said perceptively.

"I wondered if it was in some way related with my having to use the pensieve with Professor Snape."

The Headmaster maintained his mild expression, but he took some moments before he answered, which told Hermione she had hit a nail.

"It does not," he said, then surveyed her over his glasses, adopting a serious expression. "Miss Granger, as you are aware we are immersed in a particularly difficult battle, in which intelligence - and not action - is the weapon of choice - so far. We must be very careful with the information at our disposition and I consider vital to try to avoid, as the saying goes, putting all eggs in the same basket," he said with a faint smile. "As you might have gathered already, Professor Snape's basket is quite heavy as it is."

Hermione nodded, understandingly. So it wasn't a matter of trust, but of burden.

"But what about me? Now that my skills are improving, do you think I could go back to helping Harry with his...mission?"

The Headmaster observed her appraisingly for a few seconds before his smile came back.

"My dear, I think you should focus on getting through your current situation first. Then, we shall see, " the Headmaster must have picked on her dissent on her face, as he added: "Do not trouble yourself with these matters just yet. Harry has still a lot to learn and I am sure he will pass on the information when the time is right."

Hermione pasted a sheepish smile on her face, and stood, knowing she was being dismissed.

"Thank you for answering my questions, Headmaster."

"Goodnight, Miss Granger."

--------------------------------------

Kingsley Shacklebolt was having a hard time feigning nonchalance. He had easily managed to be in charge of the questioning of the potions master partly for his impeccable reputation and partly for the healthy respect - nearing fear - the Hogwarts Professor instilled still in most of his acquaintances. Nobody would think strange that an Auror wanted to lead that one. However, he couldn't have possibly justified being in charge of Hermione's questioning without the risk of arising suspicions from his superiors. Tonks was still a low-rank Auror because of her youth and the rest of the Order members inside the Ministry weren't in any position of help.

So even though, having been assigned to the Snapes' case, he was to be present in Hermione Granger's interrogation under veritaserum (unlike Snape, who was to wait in the waiting room during the proceedings), he was powerless to control the questions and their formulation.

He kept repeating himself Albus' words: "You did well. Our priority is to protect Severus' testimony. We will prepare Hermione and hope for the best."

It still bothered him terribly. It was true that her questioning shouldn't necessarily put in danger any order information, but she was a key piece in Voldemort's fight and was also immersed in whatever it was that Harry Potter was doing with Albus.

He heard the doors opening and stood to shake professionally her hand, as did the other two ministry officials present.

She seemed poised, he was relieved to note, and the resolute and severe expression of her face made her look older than her seventeen years.

Maybe Dumbledore knew what he was about...

------------------

Hermione, in truth, had to reach for all her Gryffindor courage to hide the trembling of her hands while rendering her wand.

She felt slightly reassured when she recognised Kingsley between the officials, but she already knew he wouldn't be the one asking the questions.

Focus, she ordered herself, and repeated Snape's words of the night before 'remember, don't try to lie. The struggle will be noticeable and that will put them on track. Just angle it. A small part of the whole truth is still true.'

The diffident tone he had employed told her he was saying something he considered personal, so she had learned it by heart. If that trick was what allowed him to fool Voldemort she should be able to fool a couple of Ministry officials that might not even know legilimency.

With those thoughts Hermione took a seat in the chair they offered and waited for them to speak, feeling immensely calmer.

"Miss Granger, I am Harold Greyfus and these are Mr Shacklebolt and Mrs Jenkins, who you have met already." Hermione nodded towards the woman that visited their quarters the previous week.

"I am Vice-Secretary of Magical Law Enforcement - Contractual Matters division - and I will be the one conducting this meeting," Harold Greyfus continued, and Hermione nearly scoffed at the word 'meeting'.

"Nice to meet you. However, you have gotten my name wrong, Mr Greyfus; it's Mrs Snape. It has been so for almost two months now," she said, smiling slightly, although she didn't manage to make it look entirely innocent. "I thought that was also the motive I am here today."

She observed them in turn, gauging their reactions, and trying not to look as surprised at her bravado as they did. She didn't know if she was approaching the meeting properly or if she was making a fool of herself, but the approving gleam in Kingsley's face reassured her somewhat. The Headmaster had told her at their last meeting that they were expecting a terrorised child and she fully intended to prove them wrong.

The frowning Mr Greyfus cleared his throat and extracted a translucent vial from his robes.

"I see. Forgive me, Madam. Well, as you were informed, today you are summoned to answer some of our questions under veritaserum," he said, and nodded towards the vial. "The objective is to clarify if there have been any irregularities in the contract of your nuptials, as they involve a member of Hogwarts' faculty. There will be just one regular dosage of Ministry-certified veritaserum, and the questions will strictly address the matter under discussion. Do you agree to this terms?"

"I do."

"Kingsley, if you please..." Greyfus said, checking a box in his parchment.

"Of course," Kingsley answered in a bored tone, taking the vial and approaching Hermione. "Would you prefer tea or coffee?"

"I'd rather take it directly if it's the same to you," she answered firmly but politely.

It was a weird feeling, veritaserum. One felt terribly relaxed, all of a sudden, and everything seemed clear and straightforward. She wondered, not for the first time, if it would be effective for self-reflection too. Could one lie to oneself?

"Could you please state your name?"

Hermione decided to test the waters and check just how strong was the compulsion.

"Me?" she asked, knowing perfectly well that question was for her. That meant their veritaserum wasn't nearly as strong as Snape's. She wouldn't have been able to stall with his, she thought with satisfaction.

"Yes, Mrs Snape."

"Hermione Jean Snape, nee Granger."

"Blood status?"

"Muggleborn, although I do not see the point of this question."

Greyfus flickered his pale eyes towards her briefly before continuing.

"Are you married?"

"Yes, to Severus Snape."

"What is your opinion of Severus Snape?"

"Severus Snape is an intelligent and honourable man, one I respect very much. He is also short-tempered and can be quite irritating at times," she continued, to avoid the question she expected would follow," but nobody is perfect."

Kingsley gave a choked cough and Hermione fought to keep a straight face. Greyfus was not amused.

"When did you get married?" he shot.

"On January 9th, 2007."

"Did somebody force you into the marriage?"

Strictly, "No."

 Hermione pressed her lips, concentrating. She knew the hardest questions would follow.

"Did you feel coerced or were you threatened in any way to enter this marriage?"

That was one of the questions she had trained for. She quickly looked for alternative interpretations. That's it! Focus on the second part of the sentence, she thought intently. Did you feel coerced or were you threatened...

"No, I wasn't threatened by anyone."

Oops, they might note the amendment. She had to fix that.

"I think I can make things easier for you" added Hemione quickly, then cleared her throat. "I entered this marriage on my own free will."

"Very well..." said Greyfus raising his eyebrows and shuffled a couple of papers before asking the next question. "Were you aware there are regulations forbidding relationships between teachers and pupils?"

"Yes, I was. The first regulation was established after Headmaster Augustus Blake got three of the students pregnant simultaneously in 1284. Three years afterward-"

"That will be enough, Miss Granger-"

"Mrs Snape," she corrected.

"Mrs Snape," agreed Greyfuss, irked. "I ask you to be as concise as possible in your answers from now on."

Hermione nodded.

"Were you aware then that you were breaking school rules?"

"No."

Greyfus huffed, exasperated.

"But you just said you were aware of the rules..."

"Yes, I did."

"How do you explain that?"

"I disagree with your premise. I did not break any rules."

"Could you elaborate?"

"Yes."

As time passed and no further answer was forthcoming, Mr Greyfuss squinted at her in suspicion.

"Why don't you answer my question?"

"I answered your question," replied Hermione calmly.

"What?" asked Mr Greyfus sharply, swelling in indignation.

Mrs Jenkins intervened, realising the problem, and whispered furiously on Mr Greyfus' ear. Kingsley had his head up and seemed fascinated by one of the cracks of the ceiling.

"Very well. Mrs Snape, elaborate on my previous question, please," Greyfus grounded out.

Hermione tried to remain unfazed.

"Gladly. I never broke Hogwarts' rules because what the regulations condemn are intimate relationships between a teacher and a student when they are not joined in marriage. Together, it is understood."

"Of course," agreed Mrs Jenkins, pleasantly. Hermione was struck that she seemed the most encouraging one of the group. When did she change her mind?

"Ahem, well. The thing is nothing untoward ever happened between my husband and me before the wedding, so the regulations do not apply," she answered primly, blushing slightly. Then added in a lighter tone: "I did say my husband is an honourable man."

It was clear the 'meeting' was clearly not going according to Greyfus liking and a vein was pulsing dangerously at his forehead.

"Please, Miss Granger, you can't expect us to believe you married your teacher - Severus Snape, no less - on your own volition, without ever even-"

"That is exactly what I expect," Hermione cut before he could have more clauses that may not apply her situation. "I wouldn't have taken veritaserum otherwise."

Suddenly she saw a way out. She folded her hands on her lap and straightened her back, looking royal.

"I do not know what kind of behaviour you witnessed or exercised at Hogwarts, but it seems I am most certainly not that kind of people."

Whatever Greyfus was about to say - which didn't look as if it was going to be nice - was cut short as Kingsley Shacklebolt had a violent coughing fit.

"Are you alright?" snapped Greyfus without even looking at him, clenching and unclenching his fist around his quill and glowering at Hermione.

"I'm fine, thank you. A bit irritated by your insinuations, though" answered Hermione promptly, not able to resist the temptation to tease him a bit further. Kingsley's coughing fit abruptly got worse.

"Forgive me," the Auror said after a while with a commendably straight face. "Spring illness, you know..."

Kingsley coughing fit had apparently lasted long enough to allow everybody to calm down.

"Well, I don't see the point in continuing this meeting, so we will retire," snapped Greyfus, clearly having had enough for the day. "You may go," he said and stalked out of the room.

Hermione politely wished good afternoon to Kingsley and Jenkins, who gave her a small smile, and exited the room, being careful to do so at a relaxed pace and not skipping away, as she felt like doing.

When she came out the door, Snape rose from the chair swiftly, in a rare show of nervousness. Hermione could no longer keep the smugness out of her face and his stance relaxed immediately.

He didn't say anything but in a totally uncharacteristic gesture, he offered his arm, which Hermione took gratefully. Her hands were still trembling, and she held tightly onto his arm, finding his presence strangely reassuring.

"I gather it went well," he murmured on their way to the lift. Once the lift doors closed after them, he extricated his arm from hers gently.

"I should think so," she answered, a bit self-conscious now.

They didn't speak another word until they arrived at their quarters, where he asked her to sit and poured her a glass of butterbeer.

"Thank you," she answered, no longer nervous, but still somewhat excited.

"Now, I'm afraid I have to ask you to revise the undoubtfully pleasant interview and tell me about it. I can watch it in the pensieve first if you wish."

Hermione agreed, not really looking forward going through it again. She observed him while he went into the pensieve, sipping from her drink absently.

The clear white light of the pensieve bathed his face, setting its planes and edges in stark relief. She took the rare moment to observe him. As the last time she had that chance, she was struck at how different she perceived him depending on the setting. At the classroom she still saw him as the unapproachable and fearful taskmaster with a beak of a nose and piercing eyes; in their quarters he was a constant, steady figure, dauntingly clever but no longer menacing. And now that she wasn't on her guard, expecting an interaction she only saw a man - a wizard - not quite old but with lines around his eyes, with thin lips and sharp cheekbones she had never noticed before.

Just then, he emerged from the pensieve and Hermione saw her old image of Snape superimposing on the regular, strangely unfamiliar face she had been watching up to that moment.

"Verdict?"

"You did well," he grudgingly admitted, but a faint smile played at the corner of his lips. Hermione beamed, settling more comfortably on the sofa.

"So, everything will be quiet from now on..." said Hermione, stretching with a satisfied smile. She faltered at seeing his face darken.

"Yes, it should be so," he said, however, and Hermione decided to trust him and not to worry anymore.

Chapter Text

"Ron Weasley is in the infirmary. Poisoned."

The words resounded in Hermione's head for a few seconds before the meaning sank. Then she ran to the infirmary faster than she ever remembered running.

"Harry! Colin told me - how's he?"

Harry only shook his head mutely, not taking his eyes from their friend. Hermione followed his gaze and blanched.

Ron was lying on the sheets, unmoving and looking waxy. Mme. Pompfrey made him swallow some pale liquid with some difficulty, then waved her wand around him and tsked and frowned to the symbols that emanated from Ron's body.

Hermione went to grip Harry's hand, and realised he was holding something... a beer bottle??

"Harry, what- is that what he..?"

"Yes."

"Give it to me," ordered Hermione, but before Harry could make sense of what she was saying she had already taken the bottle from him and was running out of the infirmary.

As she dashed through the corridors, her breath becoming short, she bowed to learn to apparate as soon as she could. She was feeling so desperate that she didn't even remember it wasn't possible within Hogwarts' grounds.

When she stumbled into their quarters, she had to rest against the wall for a few seconds before being able to talk. The other inhabitant hurried to her side and was about to scan her with his wand when she waved him off.

"No... Professor... Ron, it's Ron... Poisoned."

He surveyed her quickly as if to ascertain she was telling the truth, then lowered his wand.

"Ronald Weasley's been poisoned?"

She nodded.

"Please-"

"Where is he?"

"In the infirmary," she said, taking a deep breath. "Mme Pompfrey is taking care of him for now, but he will need the antidote soon. Will you do it? please?" She begged, offering him the bottle.

"Is that the poison?" he asked and made to take the bottle. However, he dropped back his hand before even touching. "Where is Slughorn? He is the Potion Master."

"I know. He is in the infirmary too. But please, professor..." she pleaded, stepping closer, her arm still outreached.

Snape observed her, still hesitating.

"Don't you trust him?"

"I trust you more," answered Hermione firmly, holding his gaze steadily.

It seemed to be the right thing to say, as Snape finally took the bottle and marched towards the lab without another word. Hermione followed him.

He summoned a decanter from one of the shelves and situated the tip of his wand hoovering a few inches over the decanter filter. As he was about to pour the poisoned beer he looked up, apparently remembering her presence.

"There's no need for you to keep watch. You can go back there."

"I want to help."

"You won't be of any help until I discover what is this. Here," he said, making a wooden box float towards Hermione, "use the flu, go back to them."

Hermione didn't move, clearly torn. Snape heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"I'll warn you via the floo if I need you when I'm ready to begin. Now go."

Hermione swallowed and picked the box, that had been poking her on the shoulders.

"Thank you I-" she faltered, lost for words. She shook her head, threw a pinch of powder into the fire and stepped into the flames.

Hermione arrived back to the infirmary just in time to see Dumbledore enter.

"Horace, could you fetch Severus for me?" asked Dumbledore after speaking briefly with Madame Pompfrey.

"He knows already," intervened Hermione. She felt the light blue eyes of the Headmaster piercing her. She guessed that in any other situation she might have felt self-conscious but at that moment she didn't give a fig about the Headmaster's intentions and hidden meanings. "He's working on it."

"That's settled then," Said Dumbledore, still regarding her consideringly. "I suggest everybody rest for a while, even if you decide to keep watch. I'll contact Molly and Arthur. Horace," he said briskly, turning to the unsettled big man and walking with him towards the doors "may I have a word with you..?"

------------------------------

Hermione was curled in the chair by the infirmary bed, her eyes fixed on Ron's pale face.

Ron was stable, after taking the draught Professor Snape brought, and was surrounded by his parents, her sister and Harry. She realised she should probably go - she wasn't even on speaking terms with him - but something kept pulling her towards the familiar freckled face and long nose.

No matter how many times they had been in danger, especially Harry, for some reason it had been that time that had finally struck home: any of them could die any day, and they might not even see it coming. The feeling of danger was colder, more real now than the fiery bravery that had accompany them in most of their dangerous excursions.

Something was poking at her shoulder.

"Hermione, we should leave. The infirmary is closing," said Harry.

Hermione nodded absently and followed him and Ginny out. When they stopped awkwardly she realised she had been following them towards Gryffindor tower.

She mumbled a goodbye and turned back, dragging her feet towards the dungeons. She hadn't moved from the chair all day but the heart-gripping fear that had accompanied her during all the waiting hours had seemingly drained her. She felt exhausted, empty.

Snape looked up when she entered the room, looking almost as tired as she felt, and just when she thought she couldn't feel anything else that day, a wave of gratitude swept over her, freezing her in place.

Snape stood and approached with a frown.

Hermione couldn't help it; she threw herself at him, hugging him tightly around his waist.

He stiffened.

"Miss Granger, what-?"

"Thank you," she said forcefully. He seemed to relax minutely.

"Miss Granger..." he said again, and this time there was an edge of warning that made her aware of their position. Hermione stepped back, reddening slightly. "I assume Mr Weasley is feeling better."

"He is," she smiled, relieved. "And all thanks to you."

"Stop the platitudes. It's my duty as a professor here."

"Not really. If it was anyone's duty we both know it was Slughorn's."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Suddenly Hermione realised something.

"You never called me back to the lab."

At that, a faint smile flashed through his tired face.

"I said I would call you if I needed you."

Hermione harrumphed, and went to her room, however she couldn't quite keep the smile out of her face.

"Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight," he replied, for the first time.

Chapter Text

Even if none of them acknowledged it out loud, Ron's close brush up with death had made them rethink their priorities and they soon started behaving as if nothing had ever happened. It certainly helped that Ron had no longer Lavender attached to the hip.

However, the reason for this - still a mystery as far as Ron was concerned - had Hermione in turmoil. All the longing and half-defined hopes she had had in relation to Ron - and had tried to let go during the previous months - had come back with a vengeance, stronger than ever.

Now she found herself wishing, planning even, for the future. She was suddenly startlingly aware of just how ephemeral was her marriage, and couldn't believe she had made such a big deal of it. After all, even now, it basically only stopped her from visibly being with anybody else - not that she was thinking of jumping on anyone. Not really.

Then there were the glances. Hermione had noticed that ever since they 'got together' again, Ron had been sending her insistent looks. At first she had thought it was just a trick of her mind, being hyper-aware of him; then she had fancied he just liked to watch her, but lately, she had started to fear her own infatuation had been discovered.

When, after one of their DADA lessons, he pulled her towards an empty classroom Hermione felt as if her heart would burst. However, all her anticipation turned into puzzlement at seeing Harry had been equally dragged into the empty room.

“Hermione... are you really ok?” Ron blurted and started reddening.

Hermione only blinked at him, confused.

"Married to the git, I mean."

Oh. Hermione checked the surge of irritation and quelled the urge to correct him. After all, even she had to admit Snape had been especially mean during the last few weeks.

“I think so, yes. It’s only a marriage in paper, after all...”

He shook his head and started pacing.

“But the vows and the bonds... they are serious things in this world, Mione. And I know you only took one, one you thought you would keep anyway, but... one just don’t mess with them,” he ended, his unease showing clearly.

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione, even as she started to see where he was coming from. It wouldn't be the first time she missed something just because most wizards, raised in magical homes, took something for granted and didn't bother to explain it in the texts.

“I don’t know... I’ve heard all kind of stories of vows and their consequences, and you bonded to Snape... it can’t be as simple as this,” he insisted, stubbornly.

“Ron, you’re scaring me,” Hermione said, wanting to kick herself for not researching it further. She didn't even hand over an essay without using at least three different sources, how could she have jumped on the marriage trusting a single book?

“No. Listen," kept saying Ron. "I’m just telling you to be on your guard. If you feel something strange with your magic or you feel odd or - whatever, I don't know - you will tell us won’t you?”

“Yes, of course, I will,” she answered immediately, even as she realised that the bond might precisely prevent her from doing that. The feeling of dread in her stomach intensified.

“But Ron, Dumbledore was ok with them” interjected Harry. “He wouldn’t have let her make them if they weren’t safe.”

His tone was reasonable, but Ron's frown only deepened.

“Dunno, mate. How can you be completely sure that formulae are safe when nobody else has tried it before?”

His words struck Hermione, even more so because neither Harry nor herself seemed to have an answer to that.

“But Dumbledore...”

“Dumbledore might be the wisest wizard alive, but it isn’t as if he had a lot of time to plan upon it and..." Ron glanced towards her "... and he needed urgently a way to keep his only spy safe.”

“The spies are the most important weapon in a war” Hermione whispered, suddenly remembering “The art of War”, and exchanged a look of understanding with Ron.

Harry frowned, clearly upset.

“But Snape had to make a vow too. Besides, Dumbledore wouldn’t put his safety before Hermione’s.”

Ron shrugged looking acutely uncomfortable, clearly not wanting to elaborate the point. Hermione, however, did.

“I’m not you, Harry,” she said softly. “I’m not the chosen one, and he has known Professor Snape for years.” Hermione sighed at Harry's indignant look. “Look, I’m not saying he has done it in this case, but it is true Professor Snape’s role in this war is far more important than mine.”

Harry shook his head.

“I think you two are being paranoid. I think you should be more worried that Snape had tampered with the vows somehow, not Dumbledore.”

A tense silence ensued, neither Hermione nor Ron wanting to prolong the argument with Harry.

“Guys, it’s already lunchtime. The owls must have arrived by now. We should go check the Prophet.”

They nodded, awkwardly, while the tension between them dissipated.

“Let’s go.”

At the Great Hall, Lavender, as she had been doing for the last weeks, split her lunch between throwing baleful glances to Ron and venomous glares to Hermione.

Hermione, however, was feeling more guilt than irritation - in part because she spotted Lavender's rings under her eyes and suddenly realised she had totally forgotten about the other girls' dreams. She quickly dismissed the the niggling thought that she might just be looking for an excuse not to check her other pressing topic of research.

That very afternoon she scoured the Divination section about dreams, without finding anything conclusive.

When the torches flared up, late in the evening, she conceded defeat.

Who was she kidding? It was improbable that she would have read something about divination that Lavender hadn’t. After all, Hermione only had been assisting to that lesson for a few months and didn’t read that much about it since she wasn’t especially interested. Suddenly she wondered if perhaps Lavender was approaching her problem wrong. What if what was different, what was giving her trouble, wasn’t the dreams, but herself?

She followed the row of bookcases and examined the other Divination shelves. Lavender had been reading about dreams, she knew, but there it was, an entire shelf about seers methods and ailments.

Hermione reckoned it was a bit too theoretical for Lavender but still if she liked the subject she could have possibly read about it. It couldn’t hurt to have a look, though.

She glanced back towards where she knew her table was with all her transfiguration books bitting her lip. She had wasted enough time already on that and she really preferred going back to her research- she still didn't really want to think about the vows too closely. After a few vacillating seconds, she relented and took the books back to her table.

Hermione Granger, you’re a bloody saint.

Chapter Text

Hermione would never admit it to anyone but after the first few minutes, she was fascinated. All the stories and tales about seers brought her back to her childhood when she heard about Cassandra and the Oracle and thought how wonderful was magic. The unease about the vows and her situation started to fade away.

It was close to the curfew that she suddenly found something that made her heart speed up furiously.

Apparently some seers, especially those without seer blood on the immediate family, usually started manifesting their powers when reaching maturity, being prophetic dreams one of the most usual manifestations. That was it!

But Lavender was seventeen, and she was one of the first ones to get the period, now almost four years ago.

Hermione's hands started to sweat, as she scoured her mind for some other explanation than the obvious one, that was becoming clearer and clearer in her mind. Because, what was the other traditional 'maturity' milestone, the quintessential rite of passage?

The book slid through her fingers and dropped loudly onto the table.

Lavender had shagged Ron.

She raked one trembling hand through her hair, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Then, she clenched her hand into fists and let her face drop onto them, as thoughts and emotions swirled around in her brain. She felt anger and the sharp stab of betrayal... although she knew perfectly well she didn’t have the right to feel betrayed in any way. She was the married one, in fact, she had never dated him, never even kissed him.

When the first silent tear fell over the book she realised she was not really angry; she was mourning. Mourning the loss of something she had never had and, now, would never have but, deep down, had been counting on.

She swore not to let this happen again, let her hopes take over her rational mind. That was her power: she was smart and independent. She couldn’t be happy being all by herself, but neither did she need Ron or any other boy pending on her words.

And now you’re helping Lavender because it’s the decent thing to do, she determined.

The thought that at least now they were sure Ron was not a Seer flickered through her mind and Hermione chuckled wetly - no surprise there.

She took a few minutes to wipe her face and thought carefully about what to do then, as she gingerly put the books back on the shelf.

Deciding that Lavender wouldn’t be receptive to anything about Ron coming from her – and she wasn’t particularly keen on discussing him with her either – she went to the North tower to speak with Trelawney. It was quite late, but Hermione suspected if there was one Professor not bothering to follow a regular schedule it would be that one.

While she was waiting for the ladder to the Divination classroom to come down from the ceiling, she observed absently the Headmaster's tower, visible through the window, in which there was still light.

Another unpredictable one thought Hermione while climbing up the stairs.

The Divination Professor, upon seeing her, started muttering something about having forgotten to purify her soul crystals - which apparently were starting to blur her Sight and giving her a terrible headache - but Hermione was not about to turn away then and rudely interrupted her.

“Professor, I  found-" then she stopped, having the sudden insight that the teacher would rather inhale her glasses than tell one of her favourite pupils that Hermione had been the one to give her the answer of a Mystic problem she hadn’t solved. She decided on another tactic. "Professor, you know I read a lot, and I was wondering how does one know if he or she possesses the gift. I mean, there should be certain symptoms or certain ways to potentiate it," Hermione started, trying to sound innocent.

“The true Seers always know. It’s an art that passes down from parents to children," the teacher said airily, putting back one of the crystals she had grabbed in haste a few seconds before. “For example, in my case, I’ve known as far as I can remember. It’s given from birth...”

“So it is known very young? Couldn’t it be awakened later in time?”

Trelawney blinked at her, clearly confused.

“Why would it be awakened? If one’s a seer, one knows, " she stated, losing a bit of her ethereal tone. "I don’t know why you trouble yourself with such matters, dear. As I've told you many times already books do not hold all the answers and in your case, it’s clear that your aura isn’t... vivacious, let’s say .”

Hermione bit her tongue trying to keep herself from saying something she would regret as the other woman reorganised her shawls around her.

“You mean that the seers come only from magical families and only if they have a direct ancestor that was also a seer? Because this book says that sometimes the inner eye lies dormant until something awakens it.”

“You, my dear, put too much faith in the books, and not nearly enough in magic. There is much more knowledge to be had in the mists of the future than in those material things you admire that much.”

Hermione thought that only a fraud like Trelawney would call books 'material things'. She prolonged the discussion as much as she could, alluding the book a couple of times more about awakenings and premonitory dreams, and then left the classroom in a huff. She didn’t even have to fake the frustration. However, she was careful of ‘forgetting’ to take the book with her, leaving it clearly visible on a chair with certain interesting pages bookmarked.

She directed her steps towards the dungeons, intending to skip Gryffindor Tower altogether, when she bumped into Harry, running in the opposite direction.

"Oomph- Harry, what are you doing up so late?"

"I did it, Hermione, I've got it!" he exclaimed, beaming at her.

"What?"

"I've got Slughorn's memory..." at Hermione's puzzled face, he shook his head. "Nevermind, I'll tell you later. Please wait for me at Gryffindor Tower."

"But Harry, I have to go back-"

"Please. Come on, it's not as if he would know you are not in your room..." he said, and bounced away towards the Headmaster's office.

After half an hour pretending to read under Ron's increasingly worried glances, she forgot all her discomfort with Ron as Harry updated her on Horcruxes.

Hermione tsked at Harry's risky stunt with the Felix Felicis but soon was far more concerned about what she was being told.

Horcruxes. Soul-splitting through murder. No wonder there was nothing even at the restricted section. And seven of them.

She shuddered unconsciously. She didn't even remember that she wasn't supposed to be told - and neither did Harry.

She went back to her quarters in a haze, and later she would think it had been miraculous that nobody caught her.

The next day, she was unable to focus on anything else. For the first time, she wasn't the first to make her chair dance samba during Charms and Professor Flitwick even asked if she was feeling alright. She could count herself lucky that was the only practical lesson of the day.

And all the wizarding world could count themselves lucky Voldemort was such a self-centred, superstitious git, Hermione thought because she didn't doubt he had killed many more than seven people.

Still... seven. Seven pieces of soul. Seven pieces of Voldemort scattered around.

If Dumbledore was right, then they would be significant objects. Powerful or meaningful ones. While she was very relieved Voldemort hadn't turned a pebble into a Horcrux and thrown it in the middle of the ocean, Dumbledore's vague guesses weren't as reassuring to Hermione as they seemed to be to her friends.

She had discovered - in her first year, no less - that wizards could be a superstitious bunch. They would believe number seven had more power than number eight, that black dogs precluded death and that breaking mirrors earned jinxes but they would not believe in tooth fairies, black cats, spilling salt or walking under stairs. These beliefs seemed so utterly random to Hermione...

It was true magic wasn't generally very logical, but it usually had reasons, causes that could be researched and studied. Like potions. You could approximately predict the effects of a potion by studying the individual properties and interactions, ergo, there were rules.

Wand magic should work the same way and, as Hermione saw it, it made a huge difference to learn magic knowing there were rules, even if she didn't know all of them, instead of considering it completely random.

Going back to the potential items, Hermione thought her wand was both powerful and meaningful but, for her, so was Florean Fortescue's ice cream Parlour because it had been while sitting there, watching the people milling around with her astounded parents, that it had sunk in that she was a true, living witch. So, even if somebody discovered the parlour had been meaningful to her, how would anybody ascertain which chair or umbrella she had stored her soul into? Were there dark magic detector charms?

There has to, she thought, immediately thinking of Moody detectors, but why weren't they taught? That way Leanne could have checked Katie when she was acting strangely. And Ginny could have checked the Diary, and maybe the Half-Blood Prince's book-

"You are uncommonly quiet," said a deep voice, startling her out of her thoughts. She looked up and saw Snape piling his parchments together, apparently done with his marking for the day. She hadn't even realised she was back at their quarters.

 "I would hardly call my usual turning of pages and scratching of quills 'noisy'," she answered with a faint smile, while he stretched and moved to the other armchair by the fireplace.

"You are doing neither," he pointed out, settling into the armchair and summoning a book. She had become familiar with his moods and was able to recognise he was in what she had labelled as a 'mild' one. It meant no headache, no injuries, no detentions, no 1st-year parchments and no 6th-year DADA. It also meant that whatever had him in a foul mood these last weeks had receded.

"I was thinking," admitted Hermione, then considered him carefully. Why not? She didn't dare ask for Horcruxes but... "I was wondering, is there any spell that detects cursed objects - dark objects?"

He closed the book he was about to read with deliberation.

"Many, with various degrees of efficiency and difficulty. Almost as many as curses, I daresay."

"Why aren't they taught?"

He stiffened, and Hermione wanted to kick herself. How could she keep forgetting how prickly he was with his subject?

"Well, considering the poor state of the class when I arrived and the special situation we are into," he answered snippily, "I considered other disciplines, such as basic shielding, more pressing than curse-breaking. As to the previous teacher's criteria, if they ever had any, I can not say."

"I wasn't criticising you, you know?" she mumbled tiredly. "You really are doing a good job,"

"Why, thank you. My heart rests lighter now that I have your approval," he answered, his voice heavy with sarcasm, but his anger seemed to abate. "Why the sudden interest?"

"It is just... I thought about Katie - the necklace - or Ginny in our second year. I can't help but wonder if we could have avoided it if any of us had known..." she showed her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I know I would like to know how to."

They sat in silence, Hermione thinking ruefully that even if she had still botched the conversation, at least he no longer exploded around her. They had really come a long way, she realised, glancing at him. Did he still dislike her that much? Did he trust her, at least a little?

"Even if it was taught, you would never had known, back in your second year," he said, cutting into her thoughts once again. "There is another reason why curse-breaking isn't taught regularly: it requires a healthy dose of self-control that is only possible in the last years of education. To go further than the most simple 'finite' you are taught you also need a measure of natural talent not many possess," he said dismissively, with a hint of quiet confidence that Hermione took to mean he had indeed possessed that talent. She had the ridiculous urge to tease him about it. She shook her head and focused again.

"But what about detecting it, not trying to break it?" she asked. "We are taught to detect magic - magicum revelio - and its strength in charms, but not its intent..."

He was shaking his head.

"Asking a semi-sentient object or curse for its intent implies interacting with them, although superficially. Therefore we go back to curse-breaking."

"Semi-sentient?" she asked, her eyes bulging. Did he know?

"Quasi-sentient, if you prefer."

"No, I don't," she answered, shifting uncomfortably.

He, on the other hand, seemed vaguely amused.

"The non-sentient, regular magic can usually be dissolved with a simple 'finite'. To resist a wizard's will an object, or a spell, needs to have a will of its own - or something that resembles it," he chuckled, amused. "I don't know what you find so revolting. You use semi-sentient magic too..."

"I certainly don't!" she exclaimed indignantly. His smirk widened.

"Oh, and what do you think the Patronus charm is exactly?" he inquired mildly.

That effectively stopped her in her tracks. But of course it was; it required a strong will and intent from the caster, couldn't be dissolved by 'finite's of any kind but only by another's strong will. It fit.

"You don't have to look so smug..." she mumbled, irritated at his expression.

"Oh, I disagree. It is not every day that I manage to rend Hermione Granger speechless."

She scowled, but her thoughts turned quickly to the implications of his words.

"So there is no easy way of checking dark intent, then..." she said eventually, disappointed.

He observed her thoughtfully, his finger lightly tracing his lips.

"Well, there might be a way... I wouldn't call it easy, but it is simple," he said eventually, producing his wand. "And certainly safer."

Hermione leant forward, eyes lighting up with interest.

He summoned a wooden box from one of the cupboards and opened it, showing its contents to Hermione. Chess?

"Any preference?"

"Hmm, I'm not a very good player..."

He waved her explanation aside.

"We are not playing. Just pick one of the chessmen," he said, a hint of impatience permeating his voice.

"Oh, okay. The knight," she said, not really giving it much thought.

He lifted an eyebrow but didn't comment as he picked a white and a black knight. Then, as an afterthought, he also picked the second white one. Hermione realised then it was a muggle chess set.

He placed the three pieces on the side table between their armchairs and tapped the two white ones with his wand, a look of concentration on his face. Then, he pushed the black one - the one he hadn't touched - towards her.

"Bring your hand closer and focus."

"Focus on what?"

"In feeling. Just in whatever your hands capture. Feel the air in your fingertips. Feel the temperature - anything - but don't touch it."

Hermione obeyed, feeling silly. There was nothing, although after a few seconds her fingertips were hypersensitive and she could feel the almost-imperceptible currents of air in the room. She didn't say anything but after a while, he seemed to think it was enough.

"Now try this one," he said, flicking his wand and sending one of the white ones closer to her. "Do not touch it," he warned again.

She let her fingertips hover over the white knight, expecting to feel a sting, or a rush of energy - something - but... There was nothing. She frowned.

"Focus," he commanded.

She bit her lip, determined. There had to be something. She took a deep breath and looked for the air currents she had felt before, and then, suddenly- oh.

Her eyes snapped up to his, filled with wonder, and, to her surprise, he gave her a small smile and a nod.

It had been a faint, almost imperceptible, awareness; but it had been there. She had felt magic, for the first time, a magic that was not her own. She extended her fingertips towards it again and this time it was easier to find it. It was there, she felt it. She beamed at him.

"It is easier when you are not also surrounded by magic - this castle is as magical as it gets," he explained. "Try the last one."

She did, and after a few seconds, she felt the same awareness, the dull tingling. She frowned.

"Are they the same?"

"No."

"Oh," she said, suddenly disappointed.

He snorted.

"Don't you think it's enough for a first try?"

She bit her lip.

"Yes, well, I suppose..." she bit her lip. It certainly wasn't enough to recognise a Horcrux but, maybe, with time... "Thank you," she said, earnestly, meeting his eyes.

He nodded again, closing the wooden box.

"I will leave them as they are. One of them has a strong protection charm; the other, a stinging curse. Both activate by touch."

"Wait, you missed this one," she said, offering back the black knight.

"Keep it. Use it as a touchstone."

"Thank you," she repeated, following him with her eyes as he closed the cupboard and walked towards his room. "What am I supposed to feel? What is the difference?"

He stopped by his door, and she thought for a moment he wouldn't answer.

"It is different for each person," he said quietly. "You will have to find out yourself."

Hermione nodded, as she hadn't really been expecting a straight answer.

"Goodnight, Professor."

He seemed about to say something for a moment, but he changed his mind and only added a curt "Goodnight, Miss Granger" before closing his door.

Hermione stood a long time staring at the chess pieces, before grabbing the black knight and going to her room.

As she snuggled into her duvet, glancing wonderingly at the black chessman standing on her bedside table. It was the first night in a long while that her last thoughts before falling asleep did not turn back to Ron.

Chapter Text

Spring came to Hogwarts and even with the exams approaching it was increasingly common to see students strolling around the lake, under the sun. However, most of the sixth years had started to realise that getting the hang of non-verbal spells was becoming a pressing matter, and Gryffindor Common Room was usually full of flying objects - which ranged from cushions to puffkeins - and scrunched up faces.

Having mastered them a long time ago, Hermione spent most of her time in Gryffindor Common Room getting her assignments out of the way so she could focus on her study sessions and side projects whenever in the library or her quarters. In the previous weeks she had scoured the restricted section in search for any information on Horcruxes, without success, and had finally been forced to accept there just wasn't any. She had also gone through most of the genealogy books in her search for the Prince, but the two most modern ones had been checked out and Madame Pince, for reasons unknown, refused to tell her by whom. She had started searching through the newspapers then, but it was tedious work on which she refused to spend more than 10-15 minutes a day, usually in between lessons.

Also, she had found out early on that it was in her quarters where she preferred studying since it was the only place free of interruptions and the most unlikely anybody would go ask her for help. And since Snape hardly ever spent time there anymore, she had been also able to further her animagus research unimpeded.

She had read all the ministry recommended books for prospective animagus and "Tales of a Crow" had become a fixed feature of her bedside table. There wasn't any known incantation to become an animagus - although she had learned the non-verbal reversal spell by heart - but there where some relaxation and concentration methods that were useful to identify and connect with her inner animal. As with magic detecting, after several frustrating sessions she had started to make progress, and from that moment on, with constant practice, her abilities seemed to improve day by day. The same way now she was able to feel the enchantment on most of the suits of armour with minimum concentration, it was becoming easier and easier to reach to her inner animal at will. She had already ascertained it was a mammal - she could feel the hair - and had guessed it to be a small one - the heartbeat was faster than hers. Hermione was also able to feel its curiosity and was fervently hoping for a cat.

Promising as her advances were, however, she was still hesitant to share her progress with her friends, not really keen of having to try to teach them or to report failure if she didn't manage it herself. 

It was while lost in these thoughts that Harry stumbled into Gryffindor common room, drenched and covered in-

"Is that blood!?" she asked, but Harry had already dashed up the stairs to his bedroom. He didn't seem to hear her either while he sprinted back through the portrait hole moments afterwards. When she confronted Ron, that came out of the stairs, he seemed to be as clueless as she was.

"He only asked for my potions book," he said, sottovoce, and Hermione felt the knot in her stomach tighten. She should have reported that book the first time. What has he gotten himself into?

Barely an hour later, however, all her concern was forgotten as she was stomping out of Gryffindor Common Room, barely able to muster enough sympathy to feel sorry for Harry missing the last Quidditch match. How could he had been so stupid as to try a spell on somebody without knowing what it did?

And even after nearly killing Malfoy, Harry still defended the Prince. She couldn't believe he was thinking of getting the book back. Of course, Ginny had to go defend him, while Ron had been pretending not to hear the discussion. Weasleys. She loved them to pieces but sometimes...

When she stopped fuming she had already opened the secret passage between the Great Hall and her (their) quarters, where she realised a very angry wizard would probably be waiting for a scapegoat. It was too late to back off, however, as the wards would have already notified him of her presence if he was indeed there.

 When she opened the door the lights were dim, and she exhaled in relief. However, the moment she stepped into the room, an unwelcoming voice greeted her.

 "Well, well... already done consoling Potter?" asked Snape in a melodic tone. Hermione fought not to react as she tried to walk normally towards her room. "I would have thought it would take a bit longer, but then again, I always underestimate just how unimportant human lives are for the Chosen One..."

"That is unfair," she couldn't help but retort.

"Is it?" he said, standing up from the chair and coming into the dim circle of light coming from the fire embers. "And is it fair that a student is still allowed into a school after a murder attempt?"

"He wasn't trying to kill him," said Hermione, turning to confront him and stalling his retort with a raised hand. "He was careless and stupid, and he might have deserved to be expelled for it, but it wasn't a murder attempt."

"Oh, and how would you call slashing a classmate open from face to stomach and watch him bleed out on the floor?"

Hermione blanched. "I'm sure he-"

"Did you know the curse he used had a single, very specific counter-course?"

"No, I didn't but-"

"but you are sure Potter would, aren't you?"

Hermione didn't answer, being quite certain Harry didn't.

"You are being unfair. You always are with him. You've been trying to get him expelled since you set eyes on him just because you disliked his father. A father he never got to-"

"How dare you? You know nothing of me!" he bellowed.

"And you know nothing of Harry and still go after him!"

"I know that he must have been expelled ten times before now for his dangerous stunts!"

"Stop shouting at me! I told you I agree with you. I'm surprised he hasn't." Although very glad for it, she added in her head. However, some of that thought must have shown in her expression.

"Oh, do you? Are you going to admit at least that he is an arrogant halfwit with no disregard for the other people's lives?"

"He isn't like that! He didn't mean to-"

"Of course not," he cut "Saint Potter could never do wrong. Can you tell me how do you point your wand at somebody and cast a spell without meaning to?"

"He didn't know what the spell was for."

"Oh," said Snape with malice getting closer to her. "That's a completely different thing... And where exactly did poor Potter took that spell from?"

Hermione pressed her lips and fought not to recoil before his menacing advance. She knew lying to him was not an option.

"It's not for me to say," she answered, stiffly, and saw Snape's face contort in rage far too close for comfort.

"Then I will say it. From a book. From a Potions book, more specifically. Where is it?"

Hermione gaped.

"How do you know?"

"Enough to say that I've met that very book before. Where. Is. It." He asked again with the most menacing voice she had ever heard, his face barely two inches from hers.

Hermione just held his gaze in silence, breathing heavily.

"After all the rashness, his childish behaviour his constant and dangerous rule-breaking, all the deaths he has caused with his foolishness you are still covering for him," he said, suddenly quiet, then he stepped back. "How very disappointing."

The last sentence hit Hermione like a bullet. It made her try to press the point.

"You don't understand. He's a good person. Everything he does is to avoid other people getting hurt. He's never tried to harm anyone," she said pleadingly to his back, trying to make him understand.

"He's a cheat and a thief and he nearly killed Draco today!" He roared back, wiping his wand and advancing towards her. The centre table, filled with books and parchments crashed against the thick glass windows. "He could have ruined everything. Everything!"

Hermione flinched and stepped back, truly afraid for the first time since she moved into these quarters.

Something flashed in Snape's face for an instant and he faltered, then rushed past her and into his office, closing the door with a bang.

Hermione picked up her bag and some of her books with shaking hands and hurried out of their quarters. She thought they had gotten a long way... but that was precisely the problem; she had gotten too confident. How could she have forgotten how scary Snape really was?

She ducked into the first empty room she saw and let her bag slip between her fingers as she dropped onto a chair. She put her face between her hands, breathing heavily.

She had never shared Harry's suspicions about Snape's true allegiance, but after this lack of control, this violence... Was she still that sure? Should she start considering other options? He had been unhinged. Would McGonagall have lost it like this if it was one of the Gryffindors injured? Could Harry be right?

The thought made her heart pump furiously once again. And she had been foolish enough to treat him as if he was one of his friends, an overgrown, surly - and admittedly nastier - Harry...

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. No, that couldn't be. He had helped Ron, just because she asked. Harry had never seen eye to eye wherever Snape was concerned - not that she could blame him. And Snape had been close to losing a pupil, one of his Slytherins, closer than Harry had made it sound, for the looks of it. Everyone would be unnerved by that, she reasoned. And, thinking back, it was evident he had been already under strain, not only for the discussion Hagrid overheard but for the increasing absences, the longer patrols, the late working nights... She realised she hadn't seen him sit and enjoy a book in weeks - probably since their last 'talk'. Which brought her to another question: what was he doing?

Unable to give an answer to it, but feeling considerable calmer, she picked up her bag once again and strode towards the Gryffindor tower... only to remember her recent spat with her friends. The library was a long way up and about to close. Suddenly she remembered a small courtyard on the first floor whose difficult access - one needed to ask politely to one of the armours - made it little known. She redirected her steps there, hoping for a much-needed peaceful end of the evening.

Chapter Text

"Good evening. I would like to access the courtyard" said Hermione politely to a polished suit of armour, and stepped back to make room for it to swing before her, opening the secret door to the courtyard on the first floor.

Only it didn't.

Not polite enough?

Hermione stepped back towards it and cleared her throat.

"Could you please grant me access to the courtyard?"

She was surprised to see the steel helmet rotate in what was a clear "no".

Hermione blinked, that had never happened before. Maybe it was because of the curfew being just past but...

A movement in the corner of her eye reminded her of the presence of the portraits. She shouldn't really be seen after curfew. What had the armour in a snit?

Suddenly she remembered sir Cadogan and decided to give it a last try.

"Would you refuse to help a damsel in dire need, valiant knight? For I find myself in distress and I have need of a safe haven..."

For a second she thought it hadn't worked, but then the armour swung slowly, almost reluctantly, towards her. She frowned - she didn't really enjoy playing that card - but still took the time to give the knight a swift "thank you" for good measure.

However, the moment she crossed the threshold, she froze at seeing a tall figure.

"You might as well step in and allow Sir. Caradoc to swing back to its place, since you already managed to get him to move" said the severe voice of Minerva McGonagall, although as the older woman's features came into view as Hermione stepped closer, she could see the professor looked more tired than annoyed.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, Professor."

"Nevertheless, you were quite insistent in getting in, weren't you?" Hermione sent her a surprised glance. "Either that or he favours you... He has had, so far, the deference of not letting students in while I am occupying the courtyard."

"I might have been a bit insistent," admitted Hermione. "It's been quite a long day and this is... peaceful. I didn't know it was occupied, though."

McGonagall nodded and walked back towards the other end of the courtyard, where there was a balcony with a view to the forbidden forest. Hermione hesitated, not sure if she should follow or leave.

"Drop the bag, Miss Granger. If your day has been as long as mine - and I bet it has..." she said, surveying her with a critical eye, "...it would do you good to clear your head."

Hermione approached the railing and breathed in the crisp air. A sidelong glance told her the professor was also enjoying the breeze, eyes closed. She did the same and focused on the faint fresh smell of trees coming from the forbidden forest. Almost unconsciously she started sensing for magic and felt it around her, under her, even on the railing she was leaning against, under her fingertips...

"One of these days one of you are going to give me a heart attack," the older woman finally said, out of the blue, startling Hermione out of her thoughts. She, however only needed a second to connect the dots. Harry. Malfoy. 

She nodded. Then she felt the professor turn slightly to look at her.

"Did the old boy give you much trouble?"

What boy? Harry? Malfoy??, thought Hermione.

Some of her puzzlement must have been reflected on her face, for McGonagall added, "Severus, I mean."

"Oh..." said Hermione, reddening, not knowing what else to say. Old boy?

"Of course he did. He was in a mighty snit when he left Dumbledore office, I can't imagine he has been anything less than a dragon to you."

Unexpectedly, Hermione felt the urge to defend him, but repressed it, he had been a right dragon.

"He wasn't happy," she said mildly.

"Has he been behaving?"

"Mostly. Yes, he has," where did that come from? Although if she was honest with herself he had been quite decent up until tonight. Companionable even. "Tonight it's been the angrier I've seen him. It's the only time he has shouted at me so far... In private, that is," she smiled ruefully.

McGonagall seemed to examine her carefully, then started speaking slowly, as if... unsure?

"Severus has always had a nasty temper. Not that I can't blame him for it this time, mind you - Merlin knows he had a good reason - Still..." she trailed off, then shook her head after a few seconds, apparently deciding to forego whatever she was going to say.

Silence settled again.

"I know how crude some rivalities between students are, but I would never have expected this of Harry. And that spell... What has this boy gotten into? Which reminds me..." she said, in a totally different voice, turning to stare severely at her. "What have you been getting into?"

"Pardon-"

"Your little animagus research, young lady. Mme. Pince has told me the books you've been frequenting lately."

"Oh, that. It's nothing."

Professor McGonagall lifted her brow pointedly and Hermione reddened.

"Nothing," the Professor repeated.

"Well, I have read some more..." added Hemione, diffidently. "And I might have tried a couple of self-reflexion and animagus sentire charms." McGonagall pursed her lips. "But no transformation attempts, of course." Hermione hurried to add.

"How many times? How often?"

"Once or twice a day, every day... mostly before going to bed."

The older woman surveyed her severely for a few long seconds.

"And?"

"Pardon me?" 

"If you have been practising that long I sincerely doubt you have obtained no result. What did it come out of it?"

"Oh," said Hermione, flushing. "Well, it's a mammal. Small. Alert. Has a tail, I think." said Hermione, shifting her legs unconsciously, then looked at McGonagall. "I'm hoping for a feline," she added in a small voice.

"Hmm... have you ever felt the need to stretch your spine?"

"Not that I remember... Not a feline then?" said Hermione.

"Unlikely, I would say, but not impossible. What about your ears..?"

Hermione blinked. "I don't think I've ever felt them... is it a rodent then? It wouldn't be so bad if it was a squirrel, but-"

"Why don't we see?" asked McGonagall, cutting into Hermione's ramblings. "Would you like to try?"

"What? Like now? I wouldn't know how..."

"You only need to concentrate as you do when you practise but this time probe further, immerse yourself, and when you start feeling the change, let it happen."

Hermione stared at her, shell-shocked, then a rush of adrenaline made her produce her wand without her noticing. She found herself asking "do I need it?"

"Probably, at least for the first few times."

Hermione nodded, it made sense. She breathed deeply, trying to focus her thoughts over the blood pounding in her ears. She first felt for the magic, as she always did, then she started the process, searching for her animagus. There it was, the tingling around her nose and on her back, and the trickling on her skin as she felt the phantom feeling wind over her fur... And the excitement smells. What about the ears? She felt for them and found them, small, tiny. And the tail, the weird pressure on her back, and strong muscles she didn't know very well how to use.

She enjoyed the feeling for a few seconds, then remembered she wasn't in her bedroom, in her usual practice. What did McGonagall say?

"Probe further, immerse yourself."

Okay.

She felt for the animal conscience, the entity, and found her somewhere in the back of her mind, pulsing, calling her. With a recklessness she didn't know she possessed, she dived in.

Suddenly her vision blurred and she felt stretched and constricted at the same time, energy - magic -rushing through her limbs. And then it was over.

Her stomach lurched and she felt forced to keep her eyes closed for a couple of seconds to control the empty feeling. She probably should have eaten a bit more at dinner... But Gods, she felt hungry.

A gust of wind caressed her face and she was distracted by the smell of the trees, stronger than before, along with the damp earth and... the lake?

"Take a few moments to settle in," said a strong voice that rang both familiar and foreign in her ears. "But I would appreciate some sort of sign that your human conscience has not been lost in the process."

When she opened her eyes, however, she didn't immediately recognise her surroundings - how has she gotten in the middle of the field? Then she identified the huge black rocks in front of her as boots - McGonagall's - and the proportions became evident.

So she was still in the courtyard. Still with McGonagall. Still Hermione. But what about her body?

She looked down and almost jumped at seeing her hands. Dark brown, blackish, with long sensitive fingers. She looked up to McGonagall in alarm, then back down.

"Miss Granger! Left paw up if you understand me."

Feeling awkward, she sat back and hesitantly held her left arm - paw - up.

"Thank Merlin. Here," said the older woman, and produced a round mirror that she propped on the floor in front of her.

Hermione found herself blinking at... an otter. Of course.

Although quite a nice one, she thought with satisfaction, observing her cute brownish nose and small sharp eyes. She tried to turn to admire her profile and stepped onto something that made her yelp and stumble as she felt a sharp pain in her...spine?

"It takes time to get used to the tail, but with practice, you'll come to appreciate its usefulness," commented McGonagall, clearly amused at her clumsy attempts to move it. " But I think this has been enough for today." Hermione paused and looked up at the woman enquiringly. "Same process to change back."

Hermione gingerly sat, being careful to keep the tail out, and focused obediently. She felt the magic swirling through her limbs again and suddenly she wasn't able to smell the forbidden forest anymore.

"Not a cat then," said the older woman as Hermione took herself from the floor.

"I should have known..." she said, embarrassed. To be honest, she had thought about it at first, but at some point, she had forgotten altogether about the initial purpose and her Patronus research.

"It might seem that your research does have some future, after all..." agreed McGonagall. "Congratulations on your first transformation, Miss Granger."

A rush of pride and excitement flowed through her body, settling a grin on her face.

"Thanks. I did it, didn't I? I did it!" she gushed,

"Yes, you did. Well done, child," confirmed McGonagall with an amused twist of her lips. "Now let's go have some rest... This little experiment won't be an excuse to miss any lessons tomorrow."

Hermione nodded and picked back her backpack, trying to contain her excitement - there was no way she could sleep now. Until suddenly an idea popped in her mind and she could feel the bubble of excitement burst.

"Ahem, Professor, shouldn't we..? I mean, isn't this..?"

"Unorthodox? Illegal? Highly. But if it was going to happen - and if you had kept that meditation regime up, it would have -I definitely prefer it to be under my supervision," the woman stated. "In any case, I will send an owl to the ministry tomorrow to ask for the registration papers. I will tell them I have a pupil interested - no need to mention any names - and I would like to check on the new procedures."

"Thank you, professor."

"Until the moment you are officially registered, however, I advise caution." Hermione started to nod but was stopped by a hand grabbing her forearm tightly. She looked at McGonagall's expression, far graver than she had expected. "Not a word to anyone. And by anyone I mean anyone. I will only inform Dumbledore myself."

 "Of course," assured Hermione solemnly. "I promise."

McGonagall nodded and released her arm. They exited the courtyard in silence.

Hermione bid the professor "Goodnight" and they parted ways. Barely a few steps in the direction to her quarters she heard the unmistakable squeak of metal and turned just in time to see McGonagall give a swift nod to another suit of armour a bit further up the corridor.

Then it dawned on her why the armours obeyed McGonagall. Not only was she the transfiguration teacher - probably she had a hand in keeping the armours up to shape - but she was the Deputy Headmistress, of course, Hogwarts itself had to recognise that.

She shook her head, not quite believing all the events of the day, and walked back to the dungeons with a light skip in her step.

Chapter Text

To Hermione's relief, Snape wasn't anywhere to be found when she arrived back to their quarters. She didn't saw him outside DADA lessons during the following days either and, if the notion hadn't sounded completely ridiculous, she would have thought he was avoiding her.

It wasn't until Saturday, as she sneaked inside her quarters quite a bit after curfew, that she was alone with him again.

Gryffindor, against all odds,  had won the Quidditch Cup - the party in Gryffindor Common room had been something else. And Harry - she smiled at remembering it - Harry had finally done something about Ginny. Something very grand and visible, as they were bound to do. She shook her head. No matter how annoying those two could be sometimes, she was very happy for them.

All the giddiness flew away, however, the moment she got into her quarters and realised that the armchair that had been empty lately - his - was occupied.

"About time, is it?" he asked rudely, however, Hermione couldn't help but notice the tiredness permeating in his voice.

"Gryffindor won," she said unnecessarily, and his sneer became more genuine.

"Of course," he said, infusing so much derision behind those words that Hermione felt instantly mortified. 

She shuffled her feet, unsure if she should go or if that would only make the situation worse. And suddenly she felt angry.

She was a prefect, allowed out after curfew, and she was in her rooms. Rooms in which he was no longer her teacher, but her husband. Her equal. He had no right to making her feel bad just because he was in a sour mood. She was having such a nice evening...

Without deigning to say another word, she turned on her heel and went to her room, closing the door with a bang.

The next day she was totally expecting him to be absent, as it had been his custom even before his avoidance of the last few days. However, most uncharacteristically, he was there again, sitting in his armchair, apparently doing nothing. Was he waiting for her?

Still annoyed, she decided to ignore him and went to the bathroom, through his room. She barely spared a glance to his bedroom, used to it as she was. Bare walls, huge four poster bed, big wardrobe, two chests that she suspected to be unused, since they were always unpracticable - he kept piles and piles of books over them - and the chest of drawers that she always felt the urge to investigate (but had refrained to, up until that moment).

She made her mourning routine - had a shower, tidied her hair, brushed her teeth - then stepped back out. He was still there, still in the same position, as far as she could see. And still without a book in sight.

"If you can spare a minute of your undoubtedly precious leisure time, Miss Granger-"

"For being mocked or shouted at? Not really," she answered, directing her steps back towards her room.

"We need to speak," he said to her back, and it was something in his voice, more than the words themselves, what made her stop.

She turned, frowning.

"I need to know if your absence would be noticed this morning," he continued stiffly and clearly uncomfortable. She remained silent and he exhaled a long-suffering sigh. "It has been decided that you should learn to send messages with your Patronus - I assume you know how to produce one."

"I do. But why now?"

"Corporeal?"

"An otter," she said impatiently. "But does it have to be now? What's the hurry?" she insisted, not really looking forward spending time with him and, if she was honest with herself, very much looking forward spending some girl time with Ginny.

"Do you have anything more pressing to do?"

She wanted to say "yes", but didn't dare, since she was pretty sure the 'it has been decided' involved Dumbledore, which, in turn, involved Harry. She wished the Headmaster would deign to discuss these decisions with her. Besides, why wouldn't he teach Harry directly?

However, she said nothing and took a step forward, placing her hands on the back of her armchair, facing him.

"How do I do that?"

"In a nutshell, you need to produce a Patronus, then picture the words in your mind and direct your thoughts towards the person you wish to contact. If you hold your will long enough, you will feel when the message is delivered."

Hermione went over the words in her head and nodded. It made sense, why hadn't she tried before?

He turned her attention back to him and saw he was regarding her, clearly expecting her to produce her wand and try. However, the part of her still annoyed with his treatment reared back.

"I will practise - and I'll make sure Harry learns too," she conceded, bad-humouredly, heading back towards her bedroom. "Thanks for passing the message," she added by her door, giving him one last glance. However, the intense clearly conflicted look she could glimpse at that moment unsettled her. She hesitated for an instant and it was gone.

"There's something else," he said, and his tone was so indifferent, even bored, that Hermione was sure she had imagined everything. He stood up and approached her.

Hermione barely just refrained from going to her wand. However, unlike last time, he stopped at a reasonable distance from her. With a guarded look he offered her a crumpled piece of paper she hadn't noticed before. Hermione picked it, and read:

87, Spinner's End - Manchester

She looked up, puzzled, and he took the parchment back from her swiftly.

"What-?"

"Will you remember it?" he cut, but without any heat.

Hermione tried to picture the message and the words came back to her, loud and clear.

"Yes, but what-"

"Think of it as a last resort," he said, making the paper disappear somewhere inside his robes. At her look, he elaborated, although he seemed to choose the words very carefully. "If at some point the... situation gets so dangerous, so... dire, that you have no other place to go - none at all - remember it," he said, and Hermione saw again, for an instant, that intense, conflicted look she thought she had imagined. "Otherwise forget you ever saw that paper."

 She held his gaze for an instant before he turned away. She had the urge to ask if this had also "been decided" by Dumbledore, but some instinct made her hold back.

 "Why now?" she asked instead. It was the third time she asked the same questions, but this was the first one that she acutely felt the answer was important. "Has something happened?  Are my parents alright?" she asked, her voice becoming high-pitched.

"Calm down," he ordered. "Nothing extraordinary has happened, but dire situations don't announce themselves beforehand... generally," he added, and before he turned completely Hermione was able to see his face twisted in a most uncharacteristic way. 

Chapter Text

The next day she couldn't shake the sense of unease and found herself going back to the works in the piece of parchment over and over, to check that she remembered. However, it was obvious to her that she was missing something.

After the third time she wrote a meaningless sentence in her Charms essay about the differences between vanishing and disappearing, she gave up. It was clear it bothered her enough to keep her from studying.

She dropped her quill and pressed her fingers against her eyes to order her thoughts.

It was evident something was going on in the castle and with Snape. If Draco had the Dark Mark and was carrying out a mission from the Dark Lord, then it would make sense Snape had also been involved. That would explain the scene Harry 'witnessed' during Slughorn's party at Christmas - although she didn't discard the idea the obviously spiked punch might have blurred his impressions... 

But there was a big caveat. Why would You-Know-How choose Malfoy to do anything by himself, having a most capable, loyal Death Eater around to help? Unless the Dark Lord no longer trusted Snape... But how did Snape know of the plan then? Had he discovered it somehow even behind Draco's occlumency? Could Draco be stupid enough to be hiding information from Snape against the Dark Lord wishes?

No matter how she looked at it, it made no sense.

She went back to the (apparent) facts:

Someone was intent in killing some other someone and had no qualms in leaving a few corpses in their way. Probably You-Know-Who ( but how? through whom?)

Draco was plotting something - Snape was trying to get the details out of him.

Dumbledore was pressing Snape about doing something - info from You-Know-Who? maybe info from Malfoy? - that Snape thought was asking too much.

Dumbledore was also absent most of the time - in which Hermione now reckoned was a Horcrux hunt.

Dumbledore held Snape responsible for the school safety in his absence.

Snape was spread too thin.

So again, what was he doing? What had You-Know-Who asked him to do? Hermione had to admit she hadn't given it much thought except for the marriage business. She had even stopped noticing when he left and came back in the weekends. But then again, she was having such an irregular schedule lately...

Proof that they were all busier than they've ever been with their studies was that her friends were treating her as if she had simply moved to another room and even seemed startled when they were reminded, from time to time. that she was living in the dungeons. And actually, she could have the key to solve Malfoy's mystery and Snape's involvement, because: who was in a better position than herself to track Snape's movements? And who lived very close to the dungeons and could monitor when Malfoy went in and out?

She could do it. Malfoy was easy - tracking charm in the corridor - only she would have to check how to customize them to detect a particular person. As for Snape, she would finally start paying attention to his schedule, and to what he did in their quarters - enough tip-toeing around him.

Crookshanks butted his head against her thigh and she remembered her homework. Having worked through the problem this time she was able to go through her Charms essay without trouble.

Barely a few weeks later, she would go back to this moment and would berate herself for not being smarter, more persistent, more discerning... or simply, more empathetic.

---------------------------------

It had passed in a blur.

She was sitting in the infirmary, numbly trying to make sense of the events of that evening: Harry's warning and the Felix Felicis, her walks around the dungeons with Luna, Snape hurrying out of the room leaving Flitwick behind... how hadn't she found strange that a master duelist would faint when in danger?

Then the loud noises, clanking armours, shouts and explosions, and the frantic fight for her - and her friends' - lives the moment they entered the corridor. Then it ended, and she had hurried to help Ginny get Bill to the Hospital Wing. Eventually, Harry came back, bloody and sweaty and made his announcement: Dumbledore was dead, and it was Snape who did it.

She had crumbled down and made herself small - not that anybody was noticing her much, really. Maybe they didn't even remember. They had all acted so normal these last months. Hell, she had felt so 'normal', so at ease, these last months.

She couldn’t believe that the man she had been living with was a traitor and a murderer. Most murdered had families who thought the best of them, she thought inconsequentially. Although he wasn't her family, not really.

Actually yes, really. There were a couple of elaborate parchments somewhere deep in the ministry attesting to exactly that.

But that was of no consequence, she knew she wasn't feeling this anxiety due to her role as his wife. She wasn't his real wife. She certainly didn't have feelings for him - hell, she wasn't even sure she liked him!

But as she saw the defeated faces around her, that had instantly accepted Harry's words, she realised that for her it wasn't as easy to accept as it seemed to be for all the others. It didn't fit.

Before she was aware of it, she was out of the infirmary and hurrying towards the dungeons. If there was another answer, it had to be there. People always were predisposed to think the worst of him, but she simply refused to be another one.

She entered her rooms as if expecting to find the explanation sitting on her favourite armchair. She surveyed the room as if it was the first time and even in her turbulent state she couldn't find anything amiss. It was still so familiar...

She charged into his room. Still as bare as she had ever found it except for the books, that were still there - he wouldn't leave them there voluntarily... She took them and scanned the titles frantically, discarding them on the bed - potions journals, defence essays, muggle novels... it was as random a selection as the one in his living room, but there was nothing that provoked any further revelations. There has to be an explanation, she whispered again and again, desperately.

Then her eyes fell on the cabinet full of drawers, as she was touching the handle of the first drawer she saw a torn piece of parchment on the floor and the words that had been haunting her a few weeks back came to her head in full force.

87 Spinner's End, Manchester.

And suddenly she knew, without a shadow of doubt, that that wasn't Dumbledore's hideout. It was his.

She apparated in front of an undescriptive door, in a row of abandoned-looking houses. However, she didn't doubt for a moment that she was in the right place, as she clearly felt the wards detect her and let her in.

She opened the door without knocking and what she found left her speechless.

There was her husband, still in his teaching robes – although they had been singed or burned, Hermione didn’t know – his wand on his hand raging at the room at large. Books were flying in every direction, one chair was upturned, and there were traces of pottery smashed against the floor. She watched open-mouthed as he slashed his wand violently towards the armchair, slicing the seat open while swearing like a sailor.

“...you had to get away with it, as you always did! You bloody conceited bastard! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW!? IS IT FINALLY ENOUGH??”

At witnessing this desperate rage, the realisation came crashing in.

He did it.

She whimpered, overwhelmed, and he turned swiftly at the sound.

They stared at each other for what felt like hours; she, terrified and pressed against the wall by the door; he, breathing heavily in the middle of the room, probably assessing if she was alone and if she was a menace.

“Leave. Now,” he uttered roughly.

“But Professor...”

“NOW!” He roared approaching her, wand drawn.

She didn’t need to be told again. She fled.

She ran for her life up the street, not daring to apparate in her state and not stopping until she turned the next corner and collapsed against a brick wall to take her breath.

It can’t be, she thought frenetically. Dumbledore trusted him. Hell, he had married her to him to protect them both. Gods, she was bonded to a murderer.

She couldn’t match the grumpy and careful man he had been with her during these months with a traitor. Suddenly, in between the whirlwind of thoughts, some of the swearings she had heard him shout at the house came back to her. 'Hope you knew what you were doing...You didn’t have enough with my life, you had to use my soul too.'

"My soul", she mouthed. Why would a death eater be concerned about his soul? Besides, why was he so distressed? If he was a true death eater, he should have been ecstatic to finally get rid of Dumbledore. Was he struggling with guilt? Was he repentant? She surprised herself realising she wanted him to be.

She remembered then their ceremony and the vows they swore. He swore a vow of protection. Of protection...

She didn’t know if it was her adrenaline still flowing through her veins or just plain Gryffindor recklessness, but she decidedly stood up and made her way back towards the house.

She would take the chance, and she prayed that the vow would keep her safe if she was mistaken.

This time she drew her wand before opening the door. The room was still a mess, but the occupant had stopped his pacing. He was curled against the wall with his head in his hands and emitting strangled sounds.

She approached him cautiously, not sure if he frightened her less in this state than in the previous one. She kneeled by his side.

“Professor...”

His head snapped up sharply and she could read fear and embarrassment in his face before he let it drop back to his knees.

“I told you to leave. You want me to kill you too?” He asked with difficulty.

Want him to kill her too? she wondered. She put her hand on his arm tentatively.

“Professor... Severus...Talk to me. What–? ”

Her question was cut when he turned and held onto her like a drowning man. She froze, not sure what to say or do, but then he started taking shuddering breaths and she automatically held him back. He had been in shock.

When the shuddering breaths stopped, he still held onto her for a few seconds, while his breathing evened. When he finally pulled back he averted his face in embarrassment, but not before she could see the dry tear tracks on his red cheeks. He looked awful.

She remained silent and sat against the wall by his side, thinking what to do next. She had been immensely unsettled at first, but she reckoned that now she was the only person he had. Although the doubt hadn’t quite gone from her head – he might still be a remorseful but loyal death eater – she was quite certain she was safe with him and decided to keep her judgement until he spoke.

“I apologise for... this,” he said at last, without looking at her.

She only nodded in return and waited for him to say something else, not sure where to begin.

“You reckon that coming here was a stupidly dangerous thing to do, don’t you?” said Snape quietly, his voice raspy.

“Yes.” Another pause.

“Now, Granger, what do you want from me?” He eventually asked, his tone guarded.

“What happened back there?”

“I killed Albus Dumbledore,” he intoned, lifelessly.

Hermione fought not to react to that, she already knew he had done it, but to hear him confess it so plainly affected her more than she expected. She had to take a deep breath to ask her next question.

“Why?”

“Because he asked me to. And to fulfil a vow.”

“Why would he ask you to kill him?” She pronounced calmly, trying not to sound accusing.

He took a deep breath.

“Believe it or not, because he was already dying and wanted me to benefit from his death. Also, he wanted to protect Malfoy’s soul.” He nearly spat the last two words, and Hermione started to understand his previous tirade. She fought not to ask the obvious question ‘what about yours?’, deciding to enquire after the Headmaster’s health instead.

“Last summer he had been mucking about the Dark Lord's old possessions - 'gathering information' he called it. One of them backfired. You might have noticed his withered hand,” he told her diffidently. Hermione had the sudden impression of being speaking with a reluctant teenager.

“I thought it was only the hand.”

“It was. It started there but has been spreading ever since. It’s – it had gone past his elbow, almost to the shoulder.” He shifted a bit, beginning to feel uncomfortable on the floor. “It was a matter of time that it reached his heart. A few months, probably. A year at most.”

She closed her eyes and let the wall support her head. It sounded plausible, and she could always check when she got back. But for now, did she believe him?

One of their first conversations came back to her. He had told her that she would protect her unless it interfered with ‘what was necessary', and that she was a fool for trusting him. It didn’t reassure her, just as it hadn’t reassured her back then. But why bother? She thought. It would have been easier for him to say nothing, or even to lie.

But he was a Slytherin, cunning and deceitful, and a spy. He would be good at manipulating people... No, she corrected herself, having a sudden insight. Manipulators were charismatic people. Sociable, with many friends. Voldemort had been one, before showing his true colours and in fact - now that she thought of it - even Dumbledore filled the role much better.

Snape might be good at hiding information, for sure, might even be a masterful liar, but manipulative? He wouldn’t know where to start, she surprised herself thinking. Besides, he didn’t know she would come back. His suffering is not feigned. Still...

The thoughts kept circling each other in her head until a movement on her right stopped them. She realised that he must have been fidgeting for a while. He was clearly uncomfortable but had tried not to move. Is he afraid?

She concluded that all her reasoning depended on if she trusted him or not.

She stood and observed him consideringly from above. He had regained his bearings, and other than a slight tinge of red in his eyes his face was as hard and inscrutable as it had ever been.

Their eyes locked and she realised that he was awaiting judgement.

Eventually, she extended her hand towards him deciding that, God help her, she believed him.

The bewildered look that flashed through his face at her gesture, reaffirmed Hermione in her decision. He schooled back his features and accepted her hand to stand up with a solemn air. She felt as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

“Do you have tea or something?”

He guided her to the kitchen and started pottering while she took a seat at the dingy table, still shaking slightly at the release of tension. She pondered about everything he had revealed.

“ What about the vow you mentioned?”

“It was an unbreakable vow. I made it to Narcissa last summer.”

Hermione mulled the name in her head, as the sink spouted some water with a pitiful creak.

“Draco’s mother?”

“Yes. I vowed to protect his son and to aid him in the mission the Dark Lord had bestowed upon him.”

Hermione felt terrible. Harry had been right all the time.

“And that mission was...?”

“To kill the Headmaster, obviously,” he stated, recovering some of his usual demeanour. “And apparently to find a way to sneak Death Eaters into Hogwarts.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No," answered Snape quietly, looking remorseful. "He didn’t want me to know what it was about. Her aunt taught him occlumency, so I couldn’t see anything without forcing him. And of course, the Headmaster wouldn’t do it or let me do it,” he explained bitterly while depositing a mug before her and taking a seat with another one. “Merlin help him to not distress poor dear Draco...”

He stopped in mid-motion and stared at her directly with a frown as if it was the first time he saw her.

“Won’t you be missed? And you might be even suspected, having been living with me. You should go.”

She shook her head.

“It has been nearly an hour. And they saw me run away. I’ll need a good excuse for my absence anyway, so it doesn’t matter if it's for one or two hours. Won’t you be missed?” She asked, looking pointedly to his left forearm.

He shook his head, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

“No. I already went to him before coming here.”

He took a seat in front of her and they both sipped their tea in silence. Earl Grey, no sugar. It suits him, Hermione thought inconsequently.

“May I ask what benefits did the Headmaster expect you to get out of this?”

He lifted his eyebrow amusingly.

“Now you ask me permission to ask questions?”

She reddened slightly and shrugged. Wondering if this was the only time she had come to talk to the real Severus Snape.

“Probably I shouldn’t tell you this, but as it’s quite evident anyway... the Dark Lord is planning to take over the Ministry. Soon. The board of Governors, appointed by the Ministry, decides about the regulations of Hogwarts and names the Headmasters-”

“He wanted you to take his position?” She interrupted.

At her incredulous tone, he turned defensive.

“He wanted me to protect the students.”

“Oh, right.” She mumbled apologetically, thinking quickly. “What will happen when the Ministry falls?”

“Who knows? Muggleborns will be persecuted, for sure.” He threw a glance her way. “Expelled from our society or otherwise controlled. They will also eliminate all kinds of opposition or suspects of having been associated with the Order. For this, they will take hostages - families...”

She jumped from the chair clearly alarmed.

"My parents..." she whispered horrified and started to pace. She had been thinking for a while to take them away from Britain. She had even done some research about changing identities or even modifying memories, but she wasn’t prepared to act so soon. She looked at the man still sitting defeatedly at the table and started. "Will you help me?"

He stared back at her blankly.

"How? Right now I’m a wanted criminal. On what exactly do you think I could possibly help you like this?"

"You are right, I will have to tell the Order first," she muttered, still thinking frenetically.

"Tell them what, exactly?" He asked sharply, cutting her train of thought.

"That you are with us, of course."

"You will do no such thing," he stated, regaining some of the authoritative presence Hermione was used to seeing.

"What do you mean?" she asked, facing him with her hands on her hips. "How long do you intend to remain a traitor for them? The Order needs you. Besides, if they don't know you are on our side, they will attack you on sight. You will be in danger even when you take your position as Headmaster. Unless you plan to sack all the teachers..." She rambled. He was shaking his head slowly.

"You can't tell anyone. They won't believe you, not at this time, and you must not try. You'd only get them to distrust you too."

Hermione bit her lip.

"But there must be a way to prove it..."

"There isn't, girl. Not this time," he repeated quietly, looking into his mug.

Hermione bit her lip, unsure. If Snape lost contact with the order, they would lose all visibility into Voldemort's field. Unless...

"Is there anyone else? Another spy?"

He looked back at her, his face inscrutable.

"What for? The Dark Lord's actions are going to become visible enough..."

Understanding passed through them.

"This was part of the plan all along, wasn't it?" She said, dropping heavily on the other chair. She didn't wait for an answer. "How much time do I have? For my parents."

"Before the Ministry falls? I don't know exactly, but not much. What did you have in mind? I can't make any promises but perhaps I'll be able to help."

During the following half an hour she explained the situation, her plans and her research. The night had come upon them.

“... and you excel at occlumency and legilimency, you must be good with memory charms,” Hermione ended, hopefully, although his face had been darkening during her explanation.

“I am," he conceded. "but you don’t know what you are asking for. If I lock all their memories of you, they might never get them back... One can never be sure of the reversal of memory charms.”

Hermione felt very tired all of a sudden. She would have even said she felt old for the first time. She knew it was a turning point and tried to bring all the facts to the front of her mind despite her throbbing temples. She had thought about this before, always reaching the same conclusion, but this time was different. This time she had to make a choice. She kept silent for a few minutes, but when she talked, she did it fiercely.

"I’d rather have them alive and happy without a daughter than dead with one. Will you do it?"

He scrutinised her for a few long seconds, then nodded gravely.

"When?"

"Now. Tonight. Since I can't tell anyone about this either," she said, motioning between the two of them, " It will give me an excuse for my absence too."

He looked startled for a moment, then slowly nodded again and stood.

“I will go change,” he said.

She noticed for the first time that her own robes were torn and that his were not only torn but stained with blood.

“Are you hurt?”

“Only a scratch. It’s nothing,” he answered, waving her off. However, now that she was looking, she realised there was quite a bit of blood and that the robes seemed to be sticking weirdly to his shoulder.

“Would you like me to heal it?" she asked, refraining to reach for him without permission. "One can’t use healing spells on oneself.”

He hesitated, then extracted a flannel and a plastic jar from one of the cupboards and motioned her to follow him to the bathroom. It was a small room, as neglected as the rest of the house, with only a sink with a stained mirror, a toilet and a stool by a yellowed bathtub. In there Snape took out his robes and his shirt unceremoniously, cursing loudly when they tore open the wound again.

Hermione tsked at his carelessness.

"You're supposed to cut the fabric when it's stuck."

"Very helpful now," he muttered, trying to see the wound in the filthy mirror and wincing when he tried to turn his torso.

"Stop moving," ordered Hermione, intently focusing on what she remembered of her healing research. Cleaning, Examining, Disinfecting, Fixing, Knitting. She grasped his upper arms from behind and directed him to sit on the dingy stool. Then she made a bunch of the torn shirt and placed it on his lower back. "Tergeo," she said, syphoning the dry blood downwards to be able to see the wound properly. It was a long, thin but deep slice starting on his shoulder and running down his upper back. There was another, shallower one, parallel to the first and a slight bruise on the left. He seemed to decide she had stared long enough and offered her the jar of disinfectant.

"Wait, I'll need to clean it first. This isn't the Sectumsempra, isn't it?" said Hermione, knowing that spell wounds usually weren't that dirty and didn't need a disinfectant.

"No. Hippogryff claws. Ask your friend Potter," he spat. Hermione ignored the quip and started cleaning the wounds of dirt gingerly. "Did you know I invented that spell?"

Hermione's hand faltered as everything finally fell into place with a click. Of course, brilliant at Potions and fascinated by the Dark Arts. Snape couldn't be a muggleborn, being a Death-Eater, nor a pureblood, living here. The Half-Blood Prince.

She felt like smacking herself, remembering their fight after the Sectumsempra incident, he had told her he had seen the book before, seen it enough to remember an annotation at the margins. And now that she thought about it, it wasn't the only thing he had revealed that night. "Your friend Potter nearly killed two people today." She felt so stupid...

Hermione realised he was waiting for her answer.

"No, I didn't," she eventually answered, returning to her task. "I didn't know, either, that you liked to be called 'Prince'," she said, glancing briefly at his reflection in the mirror and meeting his piercing black eyes.

"'Prince was my mother's maiden name," he said eventually, enunciating slowly, as if daring her to mock him. "She was a pureblood witch. Being in Slytherin House, it was a decidedly better choice than my father's." He seemed about to add something but thought better of it.

Hermione didn't notice, thinking about that girl she found in the yearbook. Eileen Prince. His mother, probably. She motioned for the jar and applied the salve in silence.

"Will it be enough with a 'Regenerum Carem'?" she asked examining her work critically.

"Probably. Try it," he said, shrugging, then wincing.

She held her wand over the wound and focused. A faint glow came from her wand and under it, the flesh started to reknit. Five minutes later the wounds had become only angry pink lines.

"That's it. Do you have any dittany?" Said Hermione, probing carefully the skin with her fingers.

"No. It doesn't matter," he said, standing and looking self-conscious for the first time at being shirtless with her in such a secluded space. "I'll go change clothes. Come to the living room when you are ready."

Hermione nodded and picked up the flannels absentmindedly, still trying to process the situation she was in. Just the thought that she had had at her mercy the wanted man that all the people she knew believed to be a traitor and a cold-blooded murderer made her head spin.

However, it was the most human and approachable she had ever seen him. Hermione was certain that he had been more unguarded with her in the last hour than in the last 6 months. She had seen his emotions playing in his face nearly constantly, and his reactions to her questions, something that rarely happened. Gods! She had seen him cry! And shirtless, added a small voice in her head.

Hermione shook her head. Now was not the time, she thought pragmatically. She washed her face and hands, thinking about the more pressing matters.

And ten minutes later, they were knocking on her parents' door.

Chapter Text

She had lived stressful moments during the last year, but she was sure none of them even came close to the moment she pointed her wand against her sleeping parents.

They had waited, disillusioned, outside her house until all the lights were off and loud snores could be heard coming from the balcony on the first floor. At that moment, they had sneaked into the master bedroom and had stupefied them. Hermione had had to struggle to make out her parents forms through the tears clouding her vision and running down her cheeks.

Then she had crumbled on the floor against the bed, trying to pull herself back together. She knew some meaningful amount of time had to have passed, since she had been vaguely aware of Snape closing the shutters and exploring the house, then coming back and perching on the chest at the foot of the bed. However, that had been a while ago.

Hermione forced herself to look up to him.

"You can still change your mind. There are other ways..."

"Can you truly think of any other way that's safer than this one?" Asked Hermione, her voice trembling, her eyes red and puffy. He held her gaze for a few seconds.

"No."

Hermione nodded.

"Then do it. Please."

After that, all passed in a blur for her.

He brought her mother's computer and wallet to the bedroom and plugged it there; she didn't want to leave them alone during the process. Not that there was anything she could do. She observed Snape deftly mixing two vials into a third one, then dosing her parents with it. Then he sat on the side of the bed by her father's side, and leaned towards him as if to kiss him, their faces less than 20 cm apart. Suddenly their father's eyes opened and Hermione had to look away.

With her mother credit card, she bought two plane tickets for the next day and browsed several house rental websites, eventually renting a small flat in Melbourne for the first month. She typed letters to all their close family members and Claire, their receptionist, and also browsed through her parents' email to write to all the seemingly close friends. By the time she had finished, Snape had changed sides in the bed and was in the same awkward position with her mother.

She approached the bed carefully, to avoid disturbing Snape, and sat by her father's side. She placed her hand carefully over his, knowing he wouldn't wake up - Snape had dosed him with a powerful sleeping potion mixed with a headache one. Her eyes traced avidly his peaceful face, trying to memorise even the faintest wrinkle. Just in case you'll have to remember for the both of you, piped a nasty voice inside her head that made her choke.

She glanced towards Snape. He had explained the process to her before: he was going to cast the variant of obliviate she had found and keep it active while he brought all their memories of her to the front, then he would end the spell and key it to the sentence they had agreed on: "My Patronus is an Otter". She knew she should be eternally grateful towards him - she knew it was unlikely she would have been able to make it on her own; she was no legilimens - but found at that very moment she was unable to muster the feelings.

She went through their wardrobes picking what to pack. In the end, she decided to enlarge magically their suitcases, adding a weightless and confundus charm - so they wouldn't notice anything amiss - and packed most of their clothes and shoes.

Then she conjured three boxes of different colours and started classifying their belongings in three categories: to send to Australia, 'for sale' and 'hers'.

The kitchen was easy work; she planned to rent the house eventually, so it was just as well that it was kept furnished. When she had finished piling the albums and decided started sorting the books the living room instead Snape came downstairs. It was apparent he had been through an ordeal; he was sickly pale, with deep shadows under his eyes, and his shoulders, usually ramrod straight, were sagging.

"It is done," he said simply.

Hermione nodded, but couldn't say anything. He noticed a pile of albums besides the coffee table and the photographs lining the walls and decided to make himself useful.

"Let me do that, you go through the books."

They worked in silence, room by room, and finished at dawn, just in time to disillusion themselves and watch the excited Monica and Wendell Wilkins go through the door with their luggage to pick a taxi to the airport.

Hermione watched the taxi disappear, despondent, thinking that that may be the last time she ever set eyes on them.

The tall man beside her put a hand on her shoulder, and she found herself unable to keep herself from turning to him for comfort. After a moment of hesitance, she felt his arms wrapping around her back gently, and she started crying, her body wracked with shuddering breaths. She didn't know how long it had taken her to pull herself together, but she was grateful he had held her stoically until she did. It was more than she would have expected.

"You did the right thing," he rumbled.

She nodded, and stepped back, drying her tears. When she looked at him, she was struck at how awful he looked. Remembering what he had done for her just after his very own tragedy made all the gratefulness she was lacking before come rushing. He truly was an extraordinary man. It wasn't fair. She didn't know what he had done before, but she was convinced he didn't deserve this.

"Thank you, professor. This means more to me than I can say," she said solemnly when she trusted her voice not to tremble.

He only shrugged, clearly exhausted, but picked on her formal tone and straightened, clearing his throat. And, just like that, they were back to their traditional roles.

"We should part now, Miss Granger. Your friends must be mad with worry."

"What will you do?"

"Stay at my house – it's secret kept – or perhaps with the Dark Lord if he requires my presence." He shrugged again, then observed her, gravely. "Listen, Miss Granger, when the Ministry falls you must hide. So must Potter. He cannot come back to Hogwarts." He paused. "When – if – I am finally appointed Headmaster, you – and only you – can come to me. However, even if I can't hurt you on the Dark Lord orders and will protect you to the best of my abilities, I'm not infallible, and you will be a target. Also, if you come back, associating with me, the Order will mistrust you, for you will have to pretend to have changed sides. Still, it might be safer for you than most places... Your choice."

He looked at her searchingly before continuing.

"The - late - Headmaster," he said with a grimace, "told me that he had entrusted Potter with a mission he must carry out at all costs. A mission you were aware of, hence your use of the pensieve in our lessons. However, I don't know if he expected you to accompany him or not, so that is going to be a decision you will have to make."

Hermione nodded, gravely. Then a thought occurred to her.

"Do you need me to get something for you from your quarters at Hogwarts? I mean, if there's something you don't want anyone to find before they go through your things... you know."

"I don't think so... although many of my books are there." She fought not to smile at the confirmation. He looked at her and seemed to hesitate.

"Just tell me, I don't think we will get another chance to do it."

"Very well. If they haven't forced their way into our quarters when you get back, I would appreciate it if you sealed them, so that only you and I are allowed in. McGonagall, as Headmistress, may eventually discover how she can end the seal, but still..."

"I understand. How do I do it?"

He explained the process in the barely ten minutes that it took to secure her house. Then he went back to practicalities.

"I won't try to contact you unless absolutely necessary, and in that case, it will be through my Patronus. I expect you to do the same, but only in extremely dire circumstances. Do you know how to do that?”

She nodded, then her face lighted up.

"I have another way. A safer one. Last year I made some coins with the protean charm. When one receives a message, the coin grows hot and vibrates, and when the person touches the coin with the wand, the message shows on it. To send a message you only have to think of the receiver – if his coin is linked, that it – and speak softly the words while tapping the coin.”

"I will make something else for you and leave it inside my wardrobe at our quarters, so you can pick it up when you next go there. I'll need to know that it is you, so the first thing you must send me must be...Hmm... I got it, 'mercury'. The password you had for my bedroom,” she explained, almost triumphantly, then smiled ruefully at the glint in his eyes.

"Impressive, Granger, I'll do that."

"Call me Hermione," she asked in a hunch. She didn't know why that seemed important at that moment, but it did."

"And you, me, Severus," he conceded.

Chapter Text

Hermione apparated back to Hogwarts' gates wishing she had stayed home a bit longer and caught up some sleep. She produced her Patronus and hesitated. Her first instinct had been sending it to Hagrid, but the remains of his hut were still smoking. Harry would probably still be crushed, and irrational. The Weasleys had enough in their plate with Bill's injuries...

Yes, let's get it over asap.

Look for McGonagall, little otter.

Barely ten minutes later McGonagall was in the gates, surveying her with gravity.

"What significant bit of magic did you learn this year?"

Hermione hesitated for a moment, thinking she had learned a great many things, but she realised quickly what McGonagall was talking about.

"I became an animagus. It's an otter, like my Patronus."

The older woman nodded but did not sheathe her wand.

"As relieved as I am to see you alive and well, you must understand your... status has been compromised."

"I understand."

"Will you agree to come with me and allow me to question you under veritaserum?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"I would like to explain my situation first and afterwards, if you still consider it necessary, I will drink the veritaserum."

Hermione had seen the professor's wand hand tensing and was relieved when she allowed her to finish. She hoped if it came to it the vow would protect her secrets as she certainly would think to talk about Snape as a betrayal, but she would like to avoid veritaserum, if possible.

"Will you render your wand?"

Hermione nodded, turning the wand in her hands and offering the hilt to McGonagall. The older woman took it with a relieved look and opened the door.

"Where were you, child?"

"I'd rather not say until we are sure we cannot be heard."

They started walking back to the castle.

"How's Harry?" asked Hermione after a while.

"As affected as one would expect, but enduring, I'd say."

"And Bill?"

Hermione saw McGonagall press her lips together before answering.

"He's had a rough night, Werewolf injuries have to heal on their own. The flesh hasn't started to knit until dawn, which suggests there will be, in fact, some werewolf influence on him."

Hermione nodded.

In the stark morning light coming from the windows, the remains of the fight were almost invisible. She had the impression of it having been much more impressive. Maybe they had somebody fix it during the night.

Her thoughts stopped wandering when they stopped at the Gargoyle.

"Mint Pops"

Once upstairs McGonagall bode her to sit on one of the chairs. McGonagall summoned her Patronus and sent it away without an explanation, then surveyed Hermione over her glasses.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"No, professor."

McGonagall tsked and summoned a house-elf to ask for tea, toast and muffins.

Hermione took the teacup grateful for the respite. Eventually, however, the staircase started to move again and Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody entered through the door.

"What is this?" asked Alastor, surveying her with the blue eye while addressing McGonagall. Lupin sent her an uncertain smile.

"That's what I'm trying to ascertain. Please take a seat," she said to the two men before turning to her. "And now, Hermione, could you please explain where have you been all night?"

Hermione took a deep breath and told them how she had been thinking ways to keep her parents safe, how she had researched, practised and developed a plan. Then she told them how she went to them, locked their memories, made preparations - it took a while to explain to them how the internet worked - packed their belongings, and waited for them to leave before securing the house. Her voice caught at places, but she was able to tell the story without interruptions.

To prove what she said she produced the box with her things and offered to take them to their place.

Alastor snorted.

"I had a shock with Snape's actions - I think we all did," said Hermione defensively. "My first thought was to protect my parents - they're muggleborn, you know - and I know Snape knew. I told him myself. So I went home and sent them to a safe place."

McGonagall and Lupin seemed far more relaxed. Alastor seemed as suspicious as ever.

"That is understandable, although reckless in the extreme. However, I don't understand why you didn't tell us this under veritaserum."

"There are two main reasons. The first one is that I wouldn't want to involuntarily disclose my parent's new identity or location, or any other data that could lead you or anyone else to them. Now that you know what to avoid, I wouldn't have any issues with taking veritaserum... if it wasn't for the fact that I am bonded to Snape-" she said, but was cut by Moody.

"Of course..."

Hermione sent a glare his way.

"I am bonded to Snape by a vow of loyalty and, no matter how repulsive I may find it now, I wouldn't want to test it carelessly," she finished, fixing her eyes on McGonagall, that looked stricken for a moment. She had forgotten about it, Hermione realised. It hurt a bit, although she couldn't blame her, with everything that was going on.

"What were you thinking?" Exhaled Lupin and only then she realised he was also looking stricken, but his attention was focused on McGonagall.

"It was sound at the moment... you know as well as any how much Dumbledore relied on him, swore time and time again how he was to be trusted... This way both of them were protected..."

"How would binding Hermione to a spy be in any way be beneficial to her?" retorted Lupin, pointing at her and looking furious.

"That will be enough, Remus. He swore a vow too, a vow of protection."

Moody snorted again.

"And I have had enough of your snorting too, Alastor. Could you please give speech form to your snorts so we can understand you?"

"So the fact that Dumbledore made him swear a vow of protection didn't make anyone suspicious?" he rasped with a sarcastic half-smile. "Let me spell it out for you: Dumbledore didn't fully trust him either, but hoped he could and lied to us so we did the same. That was Albus, wise beyond words, but far too trusting by far... I am glad that some part of his conscience still held the small doubt that made him ask the vow from him to keep you protected."

"But how would that affect him? - or us? - Is Snape going to feel forced to protect her? Would he even be able to harm her?" asked Lupin, with a frown

"We don't know for sure..." started McGonagall.

"And I, for once, am not willing to test it," retorted Hermione. She had kept quiet, relieved that they seemed to buy the story, but she was already annoyed they were ignoring her so blatantly.

"Of course," quickly agreed Lupin "but I still think it is something we should take into account."

Alastor nodded slowly.

"The Order should know," he declared from his stand against the library, then pointed to Hermione. "And she should still take veritaserum." Hermione fought not to react other than look to McGonagall. "We do need confirmation, and without a legilimens we just don't have any other way to know."

McGonagall fixed her with one of her stares, then nodded once.

"You said you would agree to it. In return, I promise you I will make very general questions."

Hermione took a few seconds longer than Alastor and Lupin seemed to think appropriate before agreeing, judging by the discrete relocation of their wand arms. She pretended not to notice.

"Do you have it in hand or do you need me to fetch it myself?" she answered trying to sound earnest.

McGonagall produced a bottle from a cabinet on the right and offered it to Hermione.

Hermione poured three drops on her teacup very visibly, then drank deeply. She closed her eyes as she felt warmth climbing from her tongue and up to her brain. After the stress and the exhaustion, the warm, foggy feeling in her brain was more than welcome. She basked in the sensation until the question came.

"What is your name?" she heard as if far away, then felt the question resonate in her head and the answer surged from within almost as a reflection of the question.

"Hermione Jean Snape"

"Did you, in any way, conspire or take action to bring down the Order of the Phoenix?"

"No."

"Did you, in any way, conspire to harm Harry Potter or hinder him in his mission?"

"No."

 "Where did you spend the night?"

"Alastor!" exclaimed McGonagall.

At Snape's and at home, she wanted to say but a small part of her mind, still fully awake, objected. Not Snape's - that was evening, she thought, and the pressure seemed to disappear. Where she actually spent the night was...

"At home."

But she either had taken too long to answer or her struggle was visible since Alastor was looking like a bloodhound that just sniffed prey.

"Do you know where Snape is?"

"Alastor, enough!" said McGonagall firmly, standing and producing her wand, but the question was posed. The first answer that went through her foggy mind was 'Probably at his home, but... no' Hermione blinked at him a couple of times while the force of the veritaserum and her own will fought inside her brain. 'No,' she fought to say, desperately. No, no, no, no...

"No."

And the word came out as she thought it, because no matter where she had seen him last, she couldn't really, honestly, be certain of where he was at that very moment of time.

"Well, I do hope everyone's fears have been allayed now," said McGonagall, throwing a pointed glare towards a clearly disappointed Moody, that "Hmfped" annoyed. "Hermione, would you like me to put a sleeping spell on you for a couple of hours until it passes, or would you prefer to stay awake? It will last for another 20 minutes or so."

"I would prefer to sleep, thank you," she answered, relieved.

McGonagall raised her wand and muttered something before throwing silver powder over her.

The next thing Hermione knew, she was looking at the infirmary ceiling. She blinked a couple of times taking in her environment.

"Ah, at last!" she heard, from the familiar voice of the school nurse. "You had me a bit worried, dear."

"Oh?" she said stupidly, pushing herself up to a seated position. Meanwhile, Madame Pompfrey had produced her wand and was waving it around her in circles. A series of numbers and symbols appeared from it and Hermione wondered just how difficult it would be to learn those diagnosis spells.

"Hmm hmm," the nurse commented. "The sleeping spell Professor McGonagall placed on you was only supposed to last for a couple of hours at most, but you have slept for eight hours straight!"

"What happened? What does it mean?"

"Since my readings were normal I took it to mean that you were in need of sleep, dear, but I was about to wake you up just in case."

"So everything's alright, then?"

The nurse sighed deeply, looking around at her other patients.

"I wish I could say that, but you are well enough to leave, I guess. If you hurry, you will have time to clean up before dinner. Prof- The headmistress has summoned everybody."

"I will do that. Thank you, Madame," Hermione said. Mme. Pompfrey simply nodded, then went back to the area surrounded by curtains in which Hermione guessed Bill was healing. Hermione was tempted to follow but then she remembered her other mission and walked out of the infirmary and towards Gryffindor Tower trying to appear calm. Then, at the first deserted corridor she found, she stopped to think. What would be riskier: disillusionment or animagus?

Or neither, she realised. They were her quarters after all, so why would it be suspicious for her to go back? And she could always pretend she wasn't able to enter if caught.

She walked down to the dungeons, looking straight ahead, trying not to look suspicious and feeling she was failing miserably.  A group of fourth-year Ravenclaws stopped and stared at her, even, but didn't dare to say anything. She thought she was lucky that the dungeons corridor was deserted when she arrived. With a last glance, she crossed the wall into her corridor, casting a quick "homemum revelio" to confirm she was alone.

The quarters looked exactly as she remembered them, except for the mess she had made in his room, partly visible through the open room.

She looked towards the hearth, as he had instructed her, and focused in the winged serpent etched in the stone over the fireplace. She hadn't particularly paid attention to it before, as there were plenty of other references to snakes in their quarters. This one was a very detailed relief, but indistinct from any other statue of the castle. She looked for the piece of blood-soaked cloth in her pocket and went to rub it against the head of the snake, then thought better of it and rubbed it against the flank - nobody would like to have blood on their eyes.

Before her eyes, the snake seemed to separate from the wall and its head turned to look at her, hissing something she was not able to understand. However, she knew the answer.

"The blood of Salazar Slytherin's successor in Hogwarts summons you. He has been persecuted while remaining loyal to Hogwarts, and therefore orders you to seal these quarters and keep its contents safe from anyone but himself or his kin."

The snake kept looking fixedly at her, the tongue sizzling in her direction, then its head tilted wonderingly.

"I am Salazar Slytherin's successor's next of kin, and I summon you on his behalf since he is in danger and unable to summon you himself."

At this, the snake seemed to retreat only to throw itself back at her lightning-quick. She stepped back but not before the snake grazed her cheek with its fangs, making a slight cut.

She summoned a ward, fearing another attack, but the snake seemed to be ignoring her now. Hermione had the distinct impression that it was thinking. It retreated then, snaked up the wall, then disappeared inside it. She watched it reappear and disappear around the quarters, her wand still up, but she had the inkling it had worked. Either that or it was giving the alarm. She hoped, not for the first time that day, that McGonagall hadn't acquired Dumbledore's omniscience where the castle was concerned.

She looked at the clock and saw she still had ten minutes before dinnertime. She hurried to her room and looked into her drawers for something she could make into a token for Snape. Earrings (no way), a couple of useless silver girlish bracelets (he couldn't use silver near his hands while brewing) - and a golden charm from her grandma she refused to part with. She scanned the room and her eyes fell on the chessman standing guard on her bedside table beside a pile of books, a useless watch and a mug full of quills. The black knight.

She took it to the living room and placed it beside its white brothers, still lying on the bedside table where Snape had originally put them. She had certainly made advances and was able to get a different feeling from each of the knights. Still, she hadn't been able to detect which one of them held the malicious curse. She drew her wand but hesitated just before casting the counter-charm. She extended her other hand and felt for the magic. First left, the slight pleasant sizzling, almost like electricity. Then right, the rumbling feeling, steady and constant.

There was no clear feeling of danger coming from any of them, however... with slightly trembling fingers, she grabbed the one on the right. Warmth covered instantly and she laughed, delighted, at the unmistakable feeling of a protection charm.

Hermione sliced both chessmen open with her wand, then carefully burned the same runes on both of them. She waved her wand forming the complicated pattern of the protean charm that would link both of the chessmen, her breathing becoming more and more laboured. When she was done, she sealed the halves back together and leaned back into the sofa with a sigh of satisfaction.

However, just then sounded the chime announcing dinner.

"Drat!" uttered Hermione, straightening up.

She sent a message from the black knight to the white one "Hi" and watched it appear on the side. Oh. She had been expecting it on the bottom, but there was really no good reason why it would. A thing to think about later.

She pocketed the white knight and carried the black one to her bedroom. She surveyed the familiar space, thinking quickly... where would he find it and recognise it but wouldn't look suspicious if found by any other person?

In the end, she simply placed it back on her bedside table, smiling ruefully at her overthinking. She hoped that he would remember.

Chapter Text

Hermione walked quickly towards the Great Hall, casting amplification sounds in every direction. If she was able to reach the entrance hall without being seen, she would be able to pretend she had been walking outside and nobody would know of her little incursion in their quarters. The dungeons were surprisingly silent and empty, and it wasn't until she reached the dungeons' main corridor that she heard the hushed voices of a group of Slytherins going towards the main hall. Hermione hurried towards the closest door - a toilet - and locked the door behind her.

She warded the door with a mild repellent spell and forced herself to breathe evenly while she waited for them to pass. With the amplification spell, the conversation they were having soon reached her hears.

"Stop your fidgeting, Nott. You look like you killed the Old Fool yourself."

"I ain't done anything, I was in my room, sleeping" a voice - Nott - answered defensively.

"More like snoring like a dragon..." added a third voice with a chuckle.

"I know," answered the first voice, tiredly.

"Then what d'you care?" asked Nott snappily.

"I don't want to get hexed all the way to Hogsmeade just by walking beside you!"

Someone huffed.

"We're going to get hexed no matter what..."

"Not if we hex first. You know what Greengrass said: hand on the wand at all times and move in groups."

"Not even Gryffindors would be stupid enough to start a group fight in the middle of..." added another voice, but they were walking away and Hermione wasn't able to hear anything else.

She went to one of the basins and was startled by her appearance. Her hair was tousled, her clothes rumpled and dirty. And now that she was thinking about it she started feeling smelly.

As she splashed water over her head and straightened her clothes with her wand, she thought absently about what she had heard. The Slytherins were scared, strange that she hadn't thought about it. But of course, she would never think of attacking any Slytherins - other than the ones she knew were implicated in the attack, and they were not anywhere in the vicinity.

Once she thought herself presentable and made sure nobody was approaching, she directed her steps towards the great hall, only to hear some shouting ahead. What now? she thought desperately, pulling out her wand and praying the Gryffindors hadn't been indeed that stupid.

She peeked through the corner to see small groups of students staring unashamedly at a sandy-haired, sharp-faced woman standing with her arms crossed and the impression of being genuinely affronted.

"I am not leaving Hogwarts, everybody's here and Dumbledore's-"

"So what? Death Eaters attacked yesterday. They proved they could get in whenever they please. I'm not leaving you here."

"I'm not running away now. I'm not a coward."

"I don't care what everybody else is doing. We are leaving today."

"I'm of age and I-"

"And you are still my son!"

"Not even You-Know-Who is making me leave before Dumbledore's funeral, not even you."

"Seamus..."

"Mother..."

They both looked at each other, two sharp, freckled and stubborn faces, until maybe for the first time, the mother sighed.

"Alright, but only until after the funeral. Not a second longer."

Seamus nodded, stiffly, then grudgingly passed an arm around his mother's shoulders, and she gave him a brief hug with a sigh.

The onlookers dispersed and Hermione entered the Great Hall unremarked. She immediately located the Weasleys at the end of the Gryffindor table. When she approached, Harry and Neville made some room for her when she approached and she took the seat gratefully. Now that she was confronted by the delicious smells coming from the table she realised just how hungry she was.

"Hey Hermione, everything's alright?"

"Hi, Neville. Yes, sure. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, it was only a few bumps and some cracked ribs. Mme. Pompfrey let me go early this morning. I saw you on the way out, though, but you were sleeping and since I didn't see you in all day..."

"What, you were at the Hospital Wing? Why?"

Asked Harry, and as much as it alarmed her that her absence had been noticed, she felt mostly hurt that it hadn't been Harry or Ron the ones who had.

"I couldn't sleep so McGonagall sent me to the Hospital Wing this morning" answered Hermione, the twisted words coming easily to her mouth, then she turned to Neville. "I spent there the most part of the day."

"You do look tired," added one of the twins helpfully, from the other side of the table.

"Thank you, Fred."

"I live to serve," answered the other twin immediately, flashing a somewhat half-hearted smile.

"What are you two still doing here?"

"McGonagall missed us..." answered Fred.

"...and we thought it a good opportunity to give out some flyers..."

"They were called a bit as reinforcements, just in case," explained Harry quietly from her other side. 

"Everybody else is alright?"

"Ernie got a broken leg, and Hannah was hit by a course and it's still in the Hospital wing, but Mme Pompfrey says she will recover completely. And, well, there's..." trailed off Neville, making a gesture towards the twins.

"Bill is fine," said Ron.

"Well, not right now, technically, but he will be," added George Weasley.

"Sturdy as the dragons he trains, he is. Oh, wait... was it that brother?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and threw a chunk of bread at him.

"Not funny," she declared. However, the meal passed in higher spirits than Hermione would have hoped for.

The next two days dragged by slowly, even though there seemed to be a lot of movement around them - parents picking up their children, family visiting the convalescents and guests arriving for the funeral.

Harry and Hermione took turns accompanying Ron and Ginny at Bill's bedside table. He was already conscious and alert on the second day and was, in fact, much more entertaining company than most of his visitors, Hermione reckoned.

All the time they weren't visiting Bill, Harry disappeared with the excuse of "needing to check something" - which Hermione interpreted as wanting to grieve alone. Hermione knew Harry was shutting them off but, after Sirius, she also knew that he would be more receptive to whatever she had to say to him when he cooled off. Also, she had another pressing worry: what to do next.

She knew they would have to leave Hogwarts and, unless absolutely necessary, wouldn't be able to come back. And that was assuming Hogwarts would open at all. What would happen with the library, where would she be able to do research at? How would they find how to destroy Horcruxes? But not only that: healing spells. Who would they go to if they were injured? And who would make the Order potions? Would they be able to use Grimmauld Place? Was there any other safe place to use as Headquarters?

She would have talked about most of these issues with McGonagall but after her recent stunt, she considered it wiser to keep a low profile. In addition, Molly had already extended an invitation to her and Harry to go to the Burrow after the funeral that she planned on taking, so she figured she could leave her concerns about the running of the Order until then. However, the Horcruxes were a different matter altogether.

For some unfathomable reason, Dumbledore had decided that Harry should be the one to carry out that particular task and Hermione feared it might be too much for him. For all of them. For this reason, she had sneaked back into Snape's quarters and revised his library, taking a few books on dark curses and counter-curses to revise at a further date that was now safely packed in the bottom of her trunk. She hoped he wouldn't hold it against her.

She had also scoured the library anew in search of any information on Horcruxes, as well as dark spells, and had an alarmingly big pile of books disillusioned by her reinstated bed in Gryffindor tower that, however, Hermione had little hope of finding useful.

After revising for the third time "Darkest Darkness" without finding anything relevant, she did something she rarely did: threw the book against the wall. It was useless. Hermione made a noise of frustration. It couldn't be. She couldn't accept that there was not a single book on Horcruxes in Hogwarts. What had she missed?

She spotted Crookshanks on the window sill and went to join him. He immediately climbed on her lap and she petted him automatically. A light warm breeze was coming through the open window and she felt her tension ebbing. She needed to think. They would leave after the funeral the next day and there was a very real possibility that they will not come back.

What to take? What to leave? The book search had proven fruitless, but she had already taken some potions vials and ingredients. They should also prepare for persecution. If the government were to fall, they couldn't possibly keep imposing their presence on the Weasleys; they would be apprehended and prosecuted. Where to go? To the mountains? To France? Hermione thought it unlikely that they would be able to advance much on the Horcrux hunt in either place, but still added Mr Weasley's tent and a portkey guide to her mental list. Canned food for three had already been on the list for a while.

However, that reminded her of the conversation she had been putting off.

She had no doubt about her role in this mess: she would help Harry defeat Voldemort or die trying. As far as she was concerned, the war was not only about Harry. It was about prejudice, and it was about Muggleborn's rights. Her rights. She had two options: to fight or to flee, and Harry or no Harry, her own conscience wouldn't allow her to do the later. However Ron... he did have another option, and before she enrolled him in whatever searching those Horcruxes would involve, she needed to be sure he had considered all his options first.  

She would speak to Ron that evening, she decided. In the light of the recent events, she no longer thought their uneasy feelings even remotely important. At the end of the day, she cared for him and she would put her life in the line for him if it came to it. Exactly as she had decided to do for Harry.

As she observed absently the Headmaster's tower, the lights went off. However, an idea lighted up in her mind. Dumbledore should definitely have read about the Horcruxes somewhere. He must have done some research himself; it was likely he would have kept the books close by for inspiration. And even in the distance, she could see that the window was open.

Nothing to lose, she thought.

Gathering her thoughts, she opened the window wider, pointed her wand towards the Headmaster's tower and enunciated clearly: Accio Horcrux books.

To her delight, after barely a couple of seconds, a few undistinguishable objects seemed to come out of the Headmaster's open window and glide across the night sky towards her. She stepped to the side to make room for the books. A total of four aged books in different states of decay landed on the floor by her feet and for the first time since the Headmaster's death, she felt some hope.

Chapter Text

As Hermione had predicted, they had left Hogwarts, then the Burrow, then Grimmauld Place. And in the Woods it was indeed difficult to come by any new information of any type.

They had managed to find a Horcrux in the Ministry of Magic, although creating an awful racket, and it was making an already difficult situation completely untenable. That thing was vicious. Evil. And to top things up even Ron had left them.

She clenched her teeth and clamped down the surge of angry tears. She would have never expected it. He was loyal, reliable Ron. A bit of a git sometimes but he had always had the heart in the right place. The frustration and anguish was absorbing her and, all of a sudden, she realised that she couldn't possibly make it. She wanted to leave, go to her parents. She could, couldn't she? After all, that's what Ron had done...

She shifted and the shock of cold of the metal chain against her chest reminded her she was wearing it. She took it off and threw it to the floor, silently daring Harry to come out and say something about it. He had been adamant that it should always be around the neck of one of them, but Hermione had thought for a while it would be better to just drop in the bottom of her bag.

Harry, however, was hiding inside the tent with Rita Skeeter's book and probably in one of his moods. He had barely spoken to her after the fiasco at Gryffindor's Hollow, although Hermione suspected he was mostly sulking about his broken wand.

Hermione sighed firmly pushing down the surge of guilt that appeared everytime she thought about the wand. Becoming bitter herself wouldn't help the situation. The Horcrux situation. The wild goose chase.

Harry was desperately guilty about everything and she was at her wits' end. Although, if she was honest, there was still a tiny, slim sliver of possibility that, although potentially catastrophic, it had appeared more and more recurrently in her thoughts.

Her hand slid into her pocked and twirled the white knight between her fingers, consideringly. It was cold and inert, as it had been since she made the first and only contact with Snape two months ago. She had been desperate then too. That morning they had overheard the conversation between the Goblin, Dean Thomas and Ted Tonks about Gryffindor's sword and she had spent the day fretting if she should let Snape know or not. But when Ron had left she had given in - they definitely had needed help. She had waited until Harry fell into a restless sleep to throw protective enchantments around her bed and produce the chessman.

She still remembered the conversation word for word. She had sent the first message only too aware of the code they had settled between them at her parent's door. If the answer hadn't been the correct one, she would have burnt the knight to ashes.

Who is there?

Mercury.

When the word had materialised she had felt a weight fell out of her shoulders.

Safe to speak?

Yes

Gryf's sword Gringotts 

Is fake

There had been a lengthy pause and Hermione had thought he might have gone. Then,

I know

Need original

Not possible

Need it.

Another lengthy pause. Then finally.

Where?

Hermione had felt the blood pounding in her ears. She trusted him, but it wasn't her secret alone and...

Can't say.

Can't meet with you

Sorry

Then how?

Hermione had felt completely miserable. How could she be asking for help if she wasn't able to compromise? To trust?

I don't know

Hide it?

We'll take it

Unreasonable.

She had silently agreed.

Please?

Seconds tickled by.

I'll think about it.

The rush of relief had been so strong she had felt light-headed.

Thank you, she wrote fervently. Then, you ok?

Fine

You?

Same

She had hesitated. She had had so many things to ask, so many things she would have liked to tell him, to tell somebody... In the end she had only wrote two more words.

Take care.

And she had not received anything else ever since.

It was true that she had felt immensely relieved right after the conversation but as time went by without answer she had started to doubt that she had made the right choice. Had something happened to him? Had she given up too much info? Sometimes she had to convince herself that she hadn't dreamt the events at Spinner's End.

She heard shuffling on her back and turned to see Harry approach with a grim expression. Only then she noticed that it was completely dark except for her bluebell fire. She sighed and grabbed the locked from ground. She was supposed to have given it to him at sundown.

"It is my turn," said Harry unnecessarily but Hermione bit back the remark and just gave him the locket instead. After all, he had not commented on the fact she hadn't been wearing it.

She walked pass him into the tent and waved her wand, reigniting the fire and reinforcing the warming charms. Meanwhile Harry had gone to the kitchen and returned with two bowls of smoking soup. Hermione took it as an apology for his behaviour and thanked him politely. They ate in silence. When they were done and the dishes were clean she stood and offered her wand to Harry.

"Take it, you have that thing. Besides, I'm going to sleep."

He nodded and took the wand before settling back around the fire.

Hermione entered 'her bedroom' and collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to change. She hadn't done it since Ron left. It was hard for her to admit it, but without Ron the balance did not hold. They lost their stability. They felt more wild. She felt more hopeless.

She kicked out her trainers and bundled herself in the blankets. What would happen to them?

Unconsciously her hand went to her pocket and closed around the white knight. Uncharacteristically for her, she felt like praying - she wasn't sure to whom. Please, let me have made the right choice. Please let everything be okay.

As sleep took her, she could almost feel a caress, an awareness, coming through the chessman.

Chapter Text

Someone woke her up roughly and she half aimed for the wand that wasn't under her pillow while trying to keep her eyes open and focused.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

"See who's back," answered Harry, grinning madly.

Before she could ask anything else, he stepped aside to show her a tired, soaked figure with an uncertain expression.

Hermione blinked at the image for a few seconds before she felt sure she wasn't dreaming and a surge of happiness threatened to overwhelm her for an instant before it was replaced with cold fury.

"You complete ARSE," she sputtered, and proceeded to tell him just how angry and disappointed she was with him in the most colourful terms she could think of.

She admitted it had been ages since she had lost it like that.

However, a couple of days after her tantrum, she still could not muster regret or embarrassment over it. Although she did not feel so hopeless any more and that morning, as she browsed through her books, deciding which one she should review, she felt almost cheery.

Her eyes fell on Skeeter's book, lying on Harry's bedside and decided to give it a try. She had been postponing it, thinking that in some way Harry had the right to read it first but since Ron's return he had seemingly forgotten about it.

That same afternoon, barely one third into the book, she found it, the same sign again. Grindelwald's sign. The exact same sign Dumbledore had written in his book and, Hermione would swear, the sign on Godric's Hollow's grave. Sleep refused to come that night.

The next day, while the boys were preparing lunch, she dropped the bomb.

"Harry, I want to visit Xenophilus Lovegood," she stated. Harry protested immediately and Hermione was glad she hadn't mentioned her first idea: Dumbledore's portrait at Hogwarts. She then explained how signs had been piling up and she just couldn't ignore them anymore. "It there is a link between Grindelwald, Dumbledore and Godric's Hollow then we should know about it," she explained in a reasonable tone, "and you know well enough where the portrait of the only other possible source of information is hanging..."

She could see the conflict in Harry's face and thought she had won him over. Still, she had been secretly grateful for Ron's intervention and consequent favourable voting. A smile had almost escaped her. Gods, how she had missed his antics.

And so they paid Lovegood a visit.

It was a close scape. But however close it had been, nobody dared suggest the visit had been futile, even if it made even more questions arise.

Deathly Hallows. She simply couldn't believe it. There had to be another explanation, she simply refused to start a new goose chase of mythical objects. And the worst thing was that Harry had become obsessed about it, despite all her explanations and Ron's doubts. But he would not be deterred; he was convinced that he had two of the Hallows and You-Know-Who was looking for the third. Hermione had begun to suspect he had also started to avoid her and Ron.

As the days passed an idea had been taking hold in her mind, growing stronger and stronger. There was only one way Harry would believe the Deathly Hallows were not real: hearing it from Dumbledore himself. In addition, she might be able to trace the Peverel's line and see if there was indeed a connection with the Gaunts. She shuddered to consider the implications if that was confirmed.

Meanwhile, Ron had committed himself to re-start the Horcrux search and they were going over and over their information. They visited more and more unlikely places searching for a hint of You-Know-Who's presence or, in Hermione's opinion, a miracle. Unsurprisingly, nothing new was coming up. Still, Ron insisted, all while trying to keep a heroic balance, not confirming or denying the existence of the Hallows.

"Other than the ring, the locket and the sword, there were no other known existing relics from the founders," Hermione repeated, for what felt like the thousandth time.

"As for the Deathly Hallows, we know he's looking for the wand, therefore, he doesn't have it yet."

Hermione bit her lip to keep from answering him. She found plausible that You-Know-Who was looking for a more powerful wand or at least one that would solve the link that joined his with Harry's, but the Deathstick? A stick made by Death itself?

"I think by now it would be a good guess to assume that if there's a complete invisibility cloak, that's Harry's," said Ron, conciliatory,"But You-Know-Who has never seemed interested in it..."

Silence settled again and Hermione thought it was a good moment to put her plan at work.

"Now let's think about another possibility. What if the Hallows do not exist - or at least he doesn't know about them?" They both looked at her, Harry with suspicion, Ron with hopelessness. "I just think maybe we should consider other options than the relics and the Hallows..."

"You are right," said Ron immediately, "What else would You-Know-Who consider good enough to stick a bit of his soul in? What else is important to him?"

"Hogwarts," answered Harry instantly. "But we have already covered it."

"The founders' relics, once again," agreed Ron.

"And the diary, for his school days and the chamber of secrets," added Harry, looking incensed, as always. "He was so proud of that one..."

"Exactly," replied Hermione, "I'm thinking we should focus on objects like that diary, personal objects, things he could be proud about..." she trailed off, seeing Ron's face had become sickly white. "Ron?"

"The diary is not the only proof of him opening the chamber," he enunciated, looking nauseous.

"What do you mean..?"

"The Trophy. He got a Trophy for that. 'Special Services for the School'. I told you after my detention with Filch, remember?"

They looked at each other shell-shocked.

She had completely forgotten about it.

"Could it be?" she asked with a weak voice.

"It can't be," said Ron, recovering his natural colour "not right under Dumbledore's nose, all this time."

"The diary was under Dumbledore's nose too..." said Harry somberly.

"But only for a year."

"And the Chamber of Secrets?"

She took a deep breath. It was time.

“I think I should go back."

"What?"

"Where to?"

"Hogwarts. Hear me out," she begged, "Dumbledore thought You-Know-Who asked for a teaching position to be able to access Hogwarts, not because he actually thought they would give him the post. Except for the Orphanage, all the clues are constantly pointing to Hogwarts, to a Horcrux being kept there. In addition, I think it's about time Dumbledore gives some explanations. About the Deathly Hallows, among other things," she added, trying to sway Harry.

Harry pressed his lips together, but Ron was quite adamant for once.

"But it's madness! Hogwarts is a Death Eater stronghold. Half of the teachers there are Death Eaters."

"And Snape's there too," added Harry as if that solved everything. "He knows we have the cloak. Besides, there's no way the three of us would fit in there anymore."

Hermione took a deep breath.

"I know. That's why I want to go alone."

“What? No way. If someone is going it will be the three of us,” stated Ron.

She shook her head in negation.

“Listen, it’s not just sneaking in and out. We would need some time to look for it. I would need time to do some research. As you say, the school is full of Death Eaters, if someone noticed us, we would be dead. And if we stay there they would notice us for sure. Going the three of us would be plain stupid.”

Harry scoffed.

“And it’s much more reasonable sending you all alone as a sacrificial lamb so that if you get caught only one of us dies. Perfect!” he said nastily.

“We can go to the chamber of secrets. The only Parselmouth apart from Harry is Voldemort, and I don’t think he’ll visit the school that often,” said Ron.

“It’s not that simple... Myrtle lives in that bathroom, remember? If we go in and out several times a day she would end up seeing us.” Replied Hermione. “Besides, we need to talk to Dumbledore’s portrait, and the other portraits will warn Snape. Now he is the Headmaster and they are sworn to serve him. Getting out of the castle from the Headmaster tower once we are seen will be impossible.”

“Then we won’t talk to Dumbledore...”

“But Harry, we need to! We are totally stuck right now.”

“So what are you suggesting? Sending you there to be killed on the spot after sending us a coin message? We aren't even sure that he has something to tell us.”

“When - if - I get caught Snape will protect me. After that, I'll figure a way out,” stated Hermione with more confidence than she felt. "He doesn't know I'm an animagus."

Harry goggled at her as if she was raving mad. "Protect you?"

“He’ll have to.” She insisted quickly. “Look, Harry, no matter what he did and how he felt about it, he swore an oath of protection towards me. Once he knows I’m in the castle, he will have to protect me or he will suffer the consequences. Moreover, if he’s as high ranked as you seem to think, then the others Death Eaters will have to respect that. But it might not come to that, as I said, it would be easier to sneak in and out for one of us.”

He opened again his mouth to retaliate but was cut by Ron’s grave voice.

“She may have a point, mate,” Ron said quietly but making both of his friends turn to look at him. He looked as dejected as she had ever seen him. “I don’t like one bit the idea of separating. And I’m not so sure about the others Death Eaters... but if the vows work as they should, then Snape would have to protect her, by force. And you and I know that he’s not one to be trifled with.”

“But we don’t know that. And I won’t risk it!” Harry exclaimed.

“We can check it.” Ron motioned towards Hermione. “She made a vow too. And it should have the same strength like his.”

“Oh, Ronald. That’s brilliant!” She exclaimed, and she suddenly got the feeling that he was avoiding her eyes. “It should be easy enough to check the strength of the vows with mine.”

Harry put off a fight for a bit longer, but in the end, he agreed they were running out of options and after a few more discussions they developed a plan. During the following week they spent the morning testing just how far she could go, from thinking in revelling his true loyalties to try to explain the personal "tells" she had discovered while living with him.

The results were promising. Even thinking of doing something that she would even remotely consider as a treason made her nauseous and the moment she tried to act on it she felt an intense pain in her stomach that almost paralysed her and that evaporated the moment she redirected her thoughts.

To come up with an infiltration plan that satisfied both Harry and Ron took a couple of weeks longer. Ron had proven to be exceedingly good in pointing out the flaws and extremely exigent. However, they eventually agreed and the moment to part ways arrived.

Chapter Text

"Remember, three days," repeated Ron for the thousandth time. "In three nights from now, you need to get your furry arse back here. Not a second longer."

Hermione, in her animagus form, huffed indignantly not knowing very well where to glare. They had decided Ron should remain under Harry's cloak when they were not under their protection spells. However, when she felt the fabric-covered hand hesitantly caressing her neck, she forgave him immediately - she had noticed he was hesitant to pet her in animagus form.

Harry had remained silent and was looking into the distance. Hermione understood. The painfully familiar silhouette of Hogwarts' Castle was visible from where they were standing, bathed in the moonlight. At their backs, the too well-known streets of Hogsmeade were tempting them with the promise of familiar faces and a sweet butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks, even if at this time of the night they looked empty and silent. Only the smoke coming out of some of the chimneys reassured them that it wasn't a ghost town.

She gave him a few more moments, then nudged his leg. She had a long way to the castle, particularly if new wards had been cast to prevent animagus interference and she had to try Hogsmeade's passages. She was hopeful, though. As far as Snape knew, the only animagus alive were McGonagall and Wormtail, and much as he might dislike them he had no real excuse to keep either of them outside Hogwarts. Harry crouched by her side and patted her on the back of her head.

"Please be careful," he said gravely, holding her eyes. She nodded emphatically to reassure him and after quick nudges, to both of them she bounded off towards the silent gates. Harry and Ron would keep guard in case she had troubles until they saw her pass the gates.

She reached them without trouble and confirmed with satisfaction that the space between the bars was indeed more than enough for her to slip through. But first, she had to check the wards. Even in her animagus form, she was clearly able to feel them, and when she discreetly transformed and disillusioned herself the feeling was so strong that her skin tingled. She wondered at it for a moment before realising she had spent months subjected to minimum amounts of magic. She remembered a deep voice saying 'It's easier to detect magic when you are not surrounded by it - this castle is as magical as it gets.'

Hermione shuddered.

Now that he was so close and there was the very real possibility of meeting him, she was having very contradictory feelings. After all those months with only Harry and Ron, there were two 'Snapes' warring for dominance in her head; the evil traitor that murdered Dumbledore and the reliable and capable companion. Sometimes she felt a frisson of fear just by hearing his name and had to remind herself who made possible that her parents were safe and oblivious in Australia, while some others she was immensely comforted just to think he was somewhere out there and that if it came to it, he would be on her side.

Now it's not the time for reflection, she chided herself and started concentrating on the wards. After changing into an otter and back a few times, she was able to detect the same layers in both forms with a single difference: as a human, she sensed the subtle rumble she had come to identify as a sign of hostility that had passed by her as an otter. She transformed again and looked for it but it was gone. Inert.

What to do? It could mean the castle protections did not recognise animagus as wizards, which would mean a clear path for her. But it also could mean that in her animagus form she was simply not able to detect the nuances.

The sky was clearing out over the mountains. Sunrise was close and she had to make a decision. With a deep breath, she jumped through the bars inside Hogwarts' grounds...

...and nothing happened.

Feeling equally ridiculous and relieved, she turned to give a last wave towards the hill she knew Harry and Ron where occupying and skipped out of the path and towards the castle until she had a clear view of the main doors. Closed, no surprise there. Then she directed her steps towards Greenhouse 1, the one with the most innocuous plants, and transformed. She took the backpack off her shoulders and checked its contents. Transforming without losing the backpack had taken her some practice, but everything was there: a blanket, the marauder's map, a galleon, two sets of mirrors and a bunch of carrots to chew on if she had troubles getting some food.

She checked on the map that there was nobody around before searching for each and every member of the old Dumbledore's Army. Of the original group, only seven members remained at Hogwarts. She picked the Galleon then and sent a message, her eyes alert to the slightest movement of any of the seven dots.

Anybody there?

The answer came before any of the dots shuffled and her heart sank.

Yes. Who is it?

What to do? It might mean that whoever saw her message was outside Hogwarts or one of the coins had been intercepted. But, on the other hand, if somebody at the castle had noticed the message, it had to be because they were sleeping with the coin, so they would not have necessarily had to move. Very smart, Hermione.

Go out of the room

please

She waited for an answer with batted breath, her eyes watching avidly the map. With a jolt, she noticed Neville's dot moving out of the bedroom and into the seventh years' bathroom, just before the answer came.

Done. Who R U?

It's HG.

Need to see u

Bouncing Bulbs

After breakfast

If it was really Neville, he wouldn't ask for more indications. After a few moments, he answered.

Ok

Hermione let out a sigh of relief letting her head fall against the wall behind her. She couldn't have asked for it to go any better. Then a thought struck her.

Bring Gin.

Ok

Hermione hesitated whether to write anything else when he took the decision from her.

See U

Take care

 ----:----

Neville threw his arms around her the moment she appeared from behind a wall of sleeping ivy.

“How are you?" he asked. "And Harry and Ron?” he asked, searching around her. Ginny had remained a few steps behind, her wand out, and was also searching around her.

“They’re not here. But they’re fine.”

“I thought you were with them,” said Ginny accussingly, raising her wand.

“I was. I came here to research. Wait...” she thought briefly how to convince them she was herself. "I was the one that chose the name Dumbledore's Army, just to spite the Ministry."

Neville nodded, and Ginny pocketed her wand, looking a bit disappointed. Hermione felt for her, she was sure she was the one she least wanted to see from the trio.

“How can we help you?” asked Neville.

“I need you to carry me inside.”

“Carry you? How?”

She transformed quickly into the otter and back.

“Wow... That’s cool, Hermione,” Neville said, his eyes boggling a bit.

“Thank you,” she replied with a satisfied smile. “I reckon I should fit in one of your backpacks. Also, I need to ask you some questions. Can you think of someplace safe to talk?”

“This should be pretty safe," answered Neville looking around," most of the plants here won't need tending within the next two weeks and Professor Sprout doesn't care that much anymore, I mean-"

"He means that Professor Sprout keeps to herself this year - and her Hufflepuffs," added Ginny in a sharper tone that she was used of hearing from her. "And not a lot of people would dare to roam around isolated places by themselves, just in case."

Neville shrugged.

"In any case, we could use my bedroom for now. It’s only me and Seamus this year, and he's on detention all day,”  he proposed.

"With a muffliato and a couple of well-placed wards we should be safe to talk," agreed Ginny, "But be warned you will have to give some answers too...”

Fifteen minutes afterwards they were settled in a extrangely empty seventh years' bedroom at Gryffindor tower. As Neville had said, there were only two beds on opposite sides of the room and not even Seamus' messiness helped to make the room any less empty.

“Ok, you first," prompted Ginny, "ask away.”

“I need to know everything that’s happening. Changes, new rules, who patrols the corridors and when, which passages are safe... everything,” she repeated, slightly apologetic.

Ginny and Neville took turns to explain. Hemione produced a notebook and a pencil from her cloak and pretended not to notice the shared look of amusement of her friends as she started taking notes. However, the amused expressions were short lived. Soon she knew who the Carrows were, about their punishments and their lessons. Also who the remainder members of the DA were, what they were doing and who was supporting them.

She tried to ignore the wary looks they would send her way - and the little somersault her stomach did - everytime they mentioned Snape. Even though their dislike towards him was apparent, they also seemed to be a little puzzled by his behaviour, as they had already noticed that it was far better to be discovered by the Headmaster than by any of the Carrows.

“They are bloody evil, I tell you. Evil, sick and cruel,” Neville said, with a ferocity she had rarely witnessed in her friend.

"Scum," added Ginny. "The worst type of rotting, worthless scum."

“They don’t care if it’s a seventh year or a little first year what they catch, they punish it the same. There’s always someone at the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey doesn't know what to do.”

Hermione thought she was close to be sick.

“They have it in for the Gryffindors, that's for sure. We try to protect the little ones, but there’s not much that we can do.”

“Have you thought of the Room of Requirement?”

“Yes, we hide people there when the Carrows are looking for them, but...” Neville shook his head.

They reflected in silence for a few minutes.

“Now, your turn. Ditch!” Exclaimed Ginny.

“There’s not much to tell..." started Hermione. "We've been moving around, changing places often. I’ve been with them until yesterday. I can’t tell you where, but they are fine. We decided to split because I needed the library, and entering the three of us here was very dangerous.”

“We could have done research for you if you had told us, you know?” said Ginny.

“Yes and no. For starters, we couldn't contact you safely - we made too many coins and I don't know where they are. Sending the message this morning was already a huge gamble-"

"We could make new ones, just for us," cut Ginny.

"We could," agreed Hermione cautiously. She had not thought about including them in the communication network, but she had spare mirrors so maybe...

"So what do we have to research?" asked Neville, not sounding very enthusiastic. Hermione smiled, some things would never change.

"Nothing, really, that is my job."

"We can help," stated Ginny.

"No, you can't. Listen," said Hermione placatingly, seeing the girl was about to protest. "You know that Dumbledore gave Harry a special task...”

“Yeah,” answered Ginny. Neville only shrugged. Hermione looked at him, surprised.

“I guessed so,” he elaborated. "There was no way Harry - and yourself - would just go and hide away until the war is over."

“That's... very nice of you, Neville," said Hermione sincerely, blushing slightly. "Still, nobody else can know of this task. Seriously, nobody. If you all started suddenly researching on the same topic, Snape would notice. You know he is actually a legilimens, don’t you?”

They nodded, paling slightly.

“That’s why I will try not to be in touch with you after today unless it's absolutely necessary. And if he asks you about me, you should tell him the truth: that you have seen me and that you have spoken to me but that you don't know where I am - you won't, after all."

“Rubbish! If you are caught at it, he will know far worse things than if we are...”

She shook her head.

“Not necessarily. I know how to defend myself from that.”

“But Hermione," said Neville, "there are other ways to make somebody talk...”

“I know, but you are forgetting something. He vowed to protect me; he can't hurt me. In fact, if I am caught by those Carrows, you should go warn Snape at once. Promise me.”

They acquiesced grudgingly. She took a deep breath.

“And I need to ask one last thing of you,” said Hermione, holding her hands together so they didn't give away how nervous made her what she was about to do. It had been a subject of heavy discussion between her, Harry and Ron, without reaching a definitive decision. However, Hermione thought their situation was dire enough to risk it.

“I need you to be alert to the Carrows', Snape's or even the Slytherins’ conversations. If you hear anything – anything – about the Dark Lord wanting them to guard something, look for something or even having an interest in any particular item, tell me at once, in person. The same if you hear something about relics or legendary objects like Gryffindor's sword or Merlin's left sandal - you know, that type of thing.”

“It’s that what Dumbledore told you to do? He send you off to a treasure hunt??” asked Ginny in an incredulous tone, and Hermione couldn't blame her. If only she knew...

"Partly, but not quite. And it’s truly important, Gin,” Hermione chastised. She decided that at this point a bit more info wouldn't hurt. “We think – we are quite sure - that part of You-know-who’s powers come from these objects.”

"How can that be?"

"It's dark, very dark. It's sort of a reserve of power he... draws on when he needs it," hermione explained, thinking ruefully about just how useful her lessons to face her ministry citation had been.

“So you have to find these things before Harry or the Order attack him, so he would be weaker than he is now,” reasoned Neville.

She nodded, biting her lip. She knew she had said far too much, but they really needed help.

“And remember, above all, you must tell no one else. Under no circumstances. If he knew we know about them, he would hide them, and then it’s all over.”

Her two friends nodded gravely.

“You can trust us.”

“I know, Ginny, I know. Thank you, guys,” she said before hugging them fiercely. "Just... be careful," she added, hoping that she hadn't just made a mistake that would cost them all their lives.

Chapter Text

After her conversation with Ginny and Neville Hermione asked them to bring her to the kitchens, where they gathered some supplies for her, then dropped her under a table in the etymology section of the library - an area close to the restricted section and generally deserted. It took her ten minutes of nudging them out - and even a small bite to Ginny's heel - before they finally left her alone and went out of the library. She really didn't want to call attention to herself and chances were that the Carrows were keeping an eye on them both.

In addition, she wasn't able to get the Horcrux that might or might not be lying at this moment in the trophy room out of her head and did not feel up to struggle to have a normal conversation with them. At times she thought she could even feel it, to then resort to her concentration exercises and only feel the familiar buzz of the castle.

When the library close, she explored around and found a dark niche behind one of the dustier shelves, deep in the restricted section, where she felt comfortable enough to transform and have some careful bites from the food her friends took from the kitchen.

The light fell painstakingly slow and by the time it was totally gone and the torches of the library shut down for curfew she had already eaten, out of anxiousness, more than half of the treacle tart she thought that would last for a week. She transformed, feeling the belly uncomfortably full, and padded to the entrance of the restricted section, where she could have a clear view of the study areas and the exit. She observed the dark sky through the big windows and not for the first time she wished she knew a bit more about guiding herself by the stars. She waited still for what felt like hours. Just when she was about to get out of her hideout she heard some steps and saw a short figure enter the room and point around with a lighted wand. It was only Flitwick making rounds, but she chastised herself for her carelessness.

She decided to go back for the map and survey Hogwarts before leaving - she didn't dare to bring it with her. Finally, around 1 a.m. when she saw all the teachers in their respective bedrooms, she put away the map and made her way towards the trophy room.

Moonlight filtered through the windows at the back of the room, bathing the room in a cold, eerie light that reflected in the glass of the showcases and the metal of the trophies, making her see flashes of light on the edge of her vision that set her nerves on edge.

She locked the door behind her and turned nervously towards the showcases. Where are you?

She didn't dare summon it so she walked slowly through the room, checking each and every label. Special Awards for Services to the School. Tom Riddle.

She rigidly observed it for a few minutes, a layer of cold sweat forming. She checked for protection spells or wards without result. Then, taking a deep breath, extended her hand towards it, trying to feel it, as she had done with Snape's chessman all those months ago. She had become familiar with the foul, thick feeling the locket gave off so she was pretty confident she would be able to detect this one. However, the expected feeling didn't come.

She focused harder. The buzzing of the castle grew stronger and her fingertips tingled with it, still, nothing was coming out of the trophy itself. It can't be, it fits! They had been so sure...

She looked around to the hundreds of trophies and thought that of course, it couldn't be this simple. This might not be the true trophy. The real one might have been transfigured or glamoured. It could still be here, only posing as another one. The best way to hide something is in plain sight.

Knowing, deep down, that it was unlikely but also that she wouldn't feel completely reassured until she tried, Hermione started checking them one by one.

A couple of hours later the only thing she had found was a total of 16 trophies charmed with a variation of a tripping hex that made them tumble to the floor at variable intervals. Since none of them had triggered while she was there she reckoned the charms were cast a few years back and were getting weak, making the trophies fall at more and more spaced intervals. Still, she had taken them all off - what a way to annoy poor Filch.

As she let herself slid to the floor, exhausted, her thoughts went to the Weasley twins - who else would have thought of doing something like this? - and felt a strange craving of having them around. They were infuriating at times, but so funny. And now they were playing such a dangerous game with Potterwatch... She let herself close her eyes for a moment to keep a sudden rush of tears in. She missed them but, more than that, she missed Hogwarts - her Hogwarts, not the dark and unsafe place that it had become.

She pulled herself together, she couldn't become sentimental in her situation; she was weak and depleted due to all the spell detecting and she would make an easy prey. Even if the Horcrux wasn't there, she still had a mission at Hogwarts before she went back to Ron and Harry.

She transformed and stretched to throw off the tiredness. She still had about an hour before Hogwarts started to wake up and she needed to gather the spell books for the two-way mirrors before hiding for the day.

She quickly found the books she used for the DA coins and added to her bag another couple she thought promising. Then, she took a step back and surveyed the shelves with apprehension. Now, what next?

Despite herself, she thought she had a better chance at finding something new about the Deathly Hallows than about the Horcruxes, however unassailable the former seemed since she had already scoured the library in search of any mention of them or the founder's relics.

Still, where to start? Legends? Too obvious. History? Too extensive. She needed another approach. Elder Wand. Resurrection Stone. Invisibility Cloak. She decided immediately to forego the stone since she didn't even want to imagine the kind of crap she would run into if she looked into resurrection before finding anything remotely useful.

Invisibility gave her no trouble, and soon a couple of manuals were added to her bag. However, wandlore... She skipped the readily available volumes on the proprieties of wood and cores and browsed through the catalogue of the restricted section, deciding to add to her selection an obscure volume about wand-binding and a catalogue of wands.

A quick tempus check told her it was already past five, so she hurried to the statue, and entered the tunnel to Honeydukes, where they had decided she would settle her camp; this way she had a way out of the castle in case of necessity.

As the statue closed the entry leaving her in darkness and the smell of mud and dampness hit her, she decided that they hadn't really thought this through. Fighting exhaustion she summoned a bluebell fire and cast a quick warming charm before wrapping herself into a blanket. It was no use, the floor was hard and cold and she quickly felt the dampness seeping through her robes.

The silence was deafening and, for an instant, she would have given up anything to be able to hear Ron's snores close to her. How would she explain this? She could already visualise their faces, filled with disappointment.

She shivered suddenly.

It was so cold, but she felt so tired... Instinctually, she transformed and, curled into herself, Hermione was finally able to stop thinking and surrender to sleep.

 -------

She woke up confused and in complete darkness. She could sense (smell?) wet earth and water somewhere on her right even though the floor felt mostly stony under her paws. Paws?

Everything came back at once and she transformed. A quick tempus told her it was past two in the afternoon; the bluebell fire must have gone off at some point.

She lighted another small fire, ate some fruit and sandwiches she had kept from her trip to the kitchens, set a timer and started pouring over the texts. When the castle fell asleep once more, she sneaked to the library and replaced some of the books. Then filched some food from the kitchens and went back to the hidden passage to hide for the day.

By that night, she already had not only a pair of two-way mirrors but three connected ones. And exactly a day after, she climbed up the hill to meet with Harry and Ron.

-------------

"I still don't think it's a good idea," mumbled Harry after they had gone over their plan once more. They seemed to have deflated when she told them she hadn't found a Horcrux but, to their credit, they had not dwelled on it and had thrown themselves onto their next step.

"It's the only one we have," replied Hermione, afraid that the old argument would start over again. She quickly changed the topic. "Oh, and there's another thing. I made a third mirror."

"As a back-up?"

"Not really, I thought... Ginny."

There was a stunned silence for a few seconds.

"Let's do it," said Ron firmly. Harry remained silent, but the struggle was clear in his face.

"Come on, what harm would it do? As long as we don't tell her anything she is not in any more danger..."

"But it will be hard on our side - and theirs. It's still a huge risk."

"Come on, Harry. It's my sister. The Horcruxes are the last thing I would want to talk about - I would never involve her in this-" he cut himself abruptly.

Hermione wondered briefly if what he had meant to say was "mess", "disaster" or anything stronger.

"Alright," conceded Harry eventually. "But we would have to be very - very - careful," he warned.

"You bet it," promised Ron immediately, his face alight as Hermione had not seen it in months. He turned to her. "I don't know what we would do without you."

Hermione reddened slightly and waved him off. "Then, if everything's settled, I should go back..."

It seemed as if a light had been switched off. Suddenly the atmosphere became sombre and they were back being the hardened, serious people they had become during the previous months. She was equally nervous and terrified of what she would try to pull off but she pushed through, she had to. "I will let you know through the mirrors when it's done - if you don't see it yourselves..."

"And if something happens we will check at the top of the hill every three nights," continued Ron dutifully. Then, he gave her a long look and hugged her suddenly. "You be careful, you hear me?"

"Of course," replied Hermione, gathering strength from his embrace and his warm, familiar smell. She thought, randomly, that she would be able to recognise that smell everywhere. She had grown up with it. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

Ron pulled back, clearing his throat, and Hermione went to hug Harry, that held her fiercely for a moment.

"Don't do anything reckless - nothing that I would do," he added ruefully and Hermione gave a watery chuckle.

"See you in a few days," she replied, and walked away, into the woods, where she would apparate back to Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

There was nothing for it, she thought before checking her pockets once more for any object that might offer more information than necessary about her (and the boys') mission and whereabouts. Hermione sighed deeply and transformed, with the last, consoling thought that whatever happened, it would be worse going back without trying.

Once back at the Castle it had been evident soon enough that the only feasible way to enter the Headmaster tower was through the Gargoyle - she wasn't about to try anything with a broom - and this required to know the password. She had gotten inside Hogwarts the same way she had the previous time, and she had had the chance to give Ginny the third mirror along with a request for the password of the Headmaster Tower. The redhead had apparently asked around but hadn't been able to convince McGonagall, Flitwick nor Mme Pomfrey to tell her the password, particularly without having a plausible reason why she would need it.

"I guess they fear another stunt like the last one - they were really scared of Snape handing us over to You-Know-Who," had told her Ginny the previous evening through the mirror. "Sorry, Hermione, but I really don't think I should risk it with Slughorn... Maybe if we hadn't tried to steal the sword..."

Thus, Hermione had decided she would have to get the information she needed herself, through the simplest, most ancient method in existence: overhearing it.

That was why in the early hours of the morning, two days after leaving the boys, she was sneaking her animagus form around the seventh-floor corridor that held the entrance to the Headmaster tower. The Gargoyle was placed almost at the end of a corridor decorated with tapestries and several suits of armours but no portraits. She curled carefully behind the feet of a particularly big armour with a long surcoat and waited until somebody came to look for Snape... or he exited.

She didn't have to wait long. Barely half an hour after she arrived, an angry-looking, lumpy witch stomped past her to the Gargoyle and... 'Kwaszsbo', was all Hermione heard. However, she must have said the password right since the Gargoyle started moving. Hermione somehow got the impression that it did it grudgingly.

Hermione shifted carefully in her hiding place. Maybe the heavy fabric hanging beside her was blocking the sounds, or maybe otters didn't have such a fine ear. Undetectable sonorus charms rarely lasted more than 10-15 minutes, and she couldn't cast them in this form. What to do?

Her musings were interrupted by the rumble of the staircase moving again. The angry witch walked out of the tower with a menacing smile on her face that left Hermione decidedly uneasy. She prayed that that smile was not in any way related to Ginny or Neville. Or any of the students, really.

She witnessed three more instances of people accessing the staircase - the same witch with Minerva barely ten minutes after the first one, Madame Pomfrey and a chubby man that seemed to have a problem with personal hygiene - but she had been unable to distinguish the sounds clearly. The only thing she was sure was that it had three syllables.

Admitting that her hiding place just wasn’t close enough to let her hear the password, she retreated and waited until after sunset before seeking a new one. After some time moving around, Hermione decided to wait under a window on the corner closest to the gargoyle. She hoped that the Headmaster or whoever came first would do it from the other side of the corridor, which was the shorter path from the Great Staircase. She also hoped that, in the darkness, her dark fur would contrast enough with the light of the window above to camouflage her with the shadows. Or at least to make me appear nothing more than a sleeping cat, she thought while curling into herself.

She dozed until the clicking of a determined pair of boots woke her up. She checked, alarmed, that she hadn’t turned back to human form while sleeping and pressed close to the wall for good measure, just before seeing a dark billowing form turn the corner.

Snape! She thought, tensing, her heart beating wildly. She watched him approach the gargoyle and stop.

“Quicksilver,” she heard him mutter, stunned. The password she had chosen for her room in the dungeons had been "Mercury". Could it be a coincidence? She observed him with alarm as he looked around idly, while he waited for the gargoyle to fully open. She knew she was not completely invisible... When his eyes settled on her, she thought her heart stopped beating.

Gargoyle apparently forgotten, he approached her and squatted by her side. She looked directly into his eyes, frozen, and although they were every bit as piercing as she remembered she could also detect a definitive hint of something that in anybody else she would have simply called "curiosity".

“What do we have here?” He said quietly while extending a careful hand and touching the back of her head with a tentative finger.

Hermione knew she should have run, but fear had paralysed her. She clearly remembered telling him her Patronus was an otter. She wasn’t sure that Snape had actually seen it... but if he had, he was nothing if not sharp.

“A ferret... perhaps a weasel?” He continued softly, now petting her with more confidence.

It suddenly dawned at her that he probably had never seen a living otter and thanked God, not for the first time, that she was such a small one. Ferrets weren't that unusual as pets, even among wizards... She reasoned that her only option at the moment was acting it out. She uncurled at his prodding and started sniffing his hand tentatively. He smells right, she thought involuntarily at the familiar scent. She would never have thought she would have any particular smell associated with him.

“In any case, there’s no doubt your owner keeps you well-fed and fat,” he murmured with a half smile, scratching her round belly.

If she wasn’t still so very afraid she would have squeaked indignantly. Her fur needed to be that thick to keep water at bay, but due to the last months in the wild, she was actually little more than skin and bones. He must have noticed some of her thoughts, though, because he flashed a smile.

“Vain, aren’t we?” He asked, amused, petting her a bit more. “You'd better go back to your owner. This is not the safest place to sleep.”
He stood up with a tired sigh and frowned.

“Besides, you’re not even allowed as a pet. I wonder who would– ”

“ Headmaster Snape!!” someone screeched at the end of the corridor.

He turned swiftly towards the voice, fortuitously (or not) standing just in front of Hermione and hiding her from view.

“Yes, Alecto?”

“They’ve done it again!! The message on the wall! Dumbledore’s Army... Longbottom and Weasley, for sure!”

“Calm down, Alecto. Miss Weasley is still in the hospital wing and Longbottom is on detention with Professor McGonagall because of his 'disrespect' towards you of this morning.”

“Then she’s covering for them!”

“I seriously doubt McGonagall would do something that foolish. However, let’s go see that wall and then I’ll have a chat with her.” He said with finality. “Don’t worry, Alecto, I will ensure that the culprits spend all the night cleaning it up.”

Dumbledore’s Army! Thought frenetically Hermione, seeing them walk away. Ginny in the Hospital Wing... However, the clear opportunity she had wished for was there; he had said he would ensure that they spend the whole night cleaning...

She listened intently for footsteps, and hearing none, turned back to her human form and disillusioned herself.

“Quicksilver.” She muttered, and half a minute later she was carefully opening the door to the Headmaster office. She slipped through the crack and looked around, relieved to see all the headmasters dozing. It must be later than I thought. Then her eyes searched for Dumbledore’s portrait, finding him just on the right of the big desk. Her heart lurched.

Fighting to keep her breathing even, she approached quietly and poked it slightly with a finger to wake him up.

“Headmaster... It’s there someplace we can discuss children’s tales privately?” She murmured cautiously. The other portraits seemed to be still asleep, but she didn’t want to risk exposing herself.

The painted Dumbledore lifted both of his eyebrows and smiled, clearly surprised. Then pointed towards the door on his left, at the back of the room.

She opened the door and found a small cosy sitting room shaped as a half-moon and a narrow spiral staircase on her right. She guessed the bedroom had to be over the office.

A polite cough directed her attention towards the sitting room, where she saw Dumbledore waving from a previously empty frame over the fireplace. She swallowed and discreetly checked that the mirror hanging around her neck was still disillusioned. This had been a conflictive point in their planning since Harry was adamant he should speak with Dumbledore while Hermione and Ron were hesitant about showing the portrait their way of communicating - he was, after all, still bound to the current Hogwarts Headmaster.

“Well, my dear," the portrait said in a warm voice. "I’m so very glad to see you again. I trust Harry and Mr Weasley are well?”

“They are. Or at least they were when I left them.”

“And when and where did you left them, if I may ask?” he asked mildly.

“Not long ago and in a safest place for them than Hogwarts is right now, Headmaster,” she answered, reddening as his eyes hardened slightly. She really didn’t want to test just how far reached the vow of service of the portraits towards the Headmaster. Besides, she no longer had that intrinsic faith in this particular one.

“I see how you caution must have help Harry in his... quest. I trust you are still in contact...” At her curt nod, he added. “Will you tell me at least if there had been any advances?”

“It’s not going well, but...” She said and ordered her thoughts to be as brief as possible. “We destroyed the locket, the authentic one – the one you took from the cave was a fake."

"Fake? How so?"

"No time now. We also have Gryffindor sword, although you may know more about how we got it than we do...”

He nodded, agreeably, but said nothing.

“We also know about the taboo. We went to Godric’s Hollow, but there was nothing there, and we don't know any other place to look for the cup. Now, Headmaster, I haven’t got much time...Do you have any ideas about where are the others or what they could be?”

He shook his head regretfully.

“Just hypotheses, my dear, that I shared with Harry for the most part. What I am certain of is that Tom strives for highness, and has much faith in symbolism. That's why I strongly believe he would have made seven, the magical number."

"Hypotheses would work just fine right now-" interjected Hermione, but he kept talking as if he hadn't heard her.

"His egocentrism would have led him to chose relevant victims, relevant places and magnificent or legendary objects such as his private diary, the founders'' possessions-”

“And the Deathly Hallows? Do they truly exist? Are their powers real?” Blurted Hermione. The portrait gave her an approving look.

"Well done, Miss Granger. But the point is not if they exist or not, but if Tom Riddle believes it to be so...” He replied, cautiously, but Hermione was thinking frenetically.

“The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup... could the Hallows be the remaining three?"

Dumbledore negated with his head.

“You are forgetting Nagini...”

“Who? Oh, of course, the snake.” She shuddered, remembering her own encounter with her. She thought bitterly that they missed the chance to killed her at Godric Hollows. “Then in any case not the three of them, if any.” An idea popped into her mind. "Can a wand be a Horcrux? Is that why he is looking for another one?”

That seemed to catch his attention.

"Tom is looking for a new wand? How do you know?"

 "Long story," she answered vaguely, feeling a pang of petty satisfaction, but it quickly was replaced with concern. “Is it something we should worry about?”

“Everything he does is something to worry about but you should focus on finding the Horcrux before he finds you" he stated. “Do you plan on staying here?” He asked out of the blue. At her puzzled look, he added. “On Hogwarts’ grounds.”

"Not if I can't help it," she answered, then she discreetly cast a silence bell around her neck, where the mirror was. “I was meaning to ask you about it too. Is it safe? I mean, is he safe?”

He shook his head.

“If your presence here were to be known, you would be in grave danger.”

“But Professor Snape vowed...”

“Headmaster Snape may have sworn to protect you, but that isn’t his role in this war. He is in a uniquely difficult situation. I strongly recommend you not to make it even more so.” He said with authority. “You have your role to play: help Harry find the Horcruxes and destroy them. However, once you have finished with them, before facing Tom, it is of vital importance that Harry speaks to me - or faces the Headmaster.”

"What? Why?"

"There is something he needs to be aware of."

“I can tell him.”

“It’s not the right time.”

What? Hermione gaped, not believing her ears. It was clear that even now he still had a plan. And still couldn’t be arsed to come clear and explain once and for all. They could die any day, for Merlin’s sake!

Hermione remembered suddenly the mirror in her chest and dispelled the silencing bell, bracing herself to say a few truths, but he talked first.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with this, nor Headmaster Snape nor the Hallows. Your priority now must be finding and destroying the Horcruxes.”

“But then why did you give me that book?”

“To make you aware of them, as Tom is. There is always a grain of truth behind superstitions. The Hallows might end up playing a part... or not. Only time will tell. And now, I would advise you to go before the Headmaster comes back and wakes the portraits.”

“Wait, Headmaster. And Harry’s snitch?”

Her surveyed her lengthy.

“It is the very first snitch he caught in his very first match. A very memorable match for him, I expect. Didn’t he liked it?”

“Yes, of course. He did. He carries it with him everywhere. But...”

“Good. Make sure to keep it that way.” He interrupted. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment with Paracelsus, on the third floor. If he doesn't start his chess match in time he will sulk for weeks. Good luck, Miss Granger or well, Mrs Snape.”

The Headmaster Dumbledore winked at her and without further preamble exited merrily his frame.

She stood there dumbfounded for a few seconds until the voice of Harry shook her.

"Wait, Hermione, call him back. You need to ask-"

"Get out. NOW!" said Ron firmly, overriding Harry.

"OK, ok..." she answered, flustered, still not believing how the conversation went.

She backed out of the half-moon room and into the office, her mind churning with questions.

Chapter Text

...she backed out of the half-moon room and into the office, her mind churning with questions.

So the Hallows were real – or Voldemort thought they were – but in any case, they weren’t Horcruxes. Snape was safe, but Hogwarts wasn’t, and Dumbledore didn’t want her contacting Snape for reasons unknown - could it be that he had turned..? Not now, she chided herself.  Harry must talk to Dumbledore before going to Voldemort. And the snitch...

She stopped abruptly, meeting a pair of brown eyes that were staring back at her from a portrait. She blinked.

“Intruder! Intruder in the Headmaster’s office!” screamed the owner of the eyes with a shrill voice.

Within a fraction of a second, all the paintings were wide awake, half of them repeating the message, the other half disappearing through the frames, presumably to warn the rest of the castle.

Hermione cursed aloud; she had been so distracted thinking about the Headmaster's words that she had forgotten the disillusionment charm. Without a second thought, Hermione flung herself towards the stairs and pushed the gargoyle’s door open. No sooner than she entered the corridor, she heard the hurried steps of a couple of high-heeled boots.

“Stop right where you are!” screeched a voice.

“Impedimenta!” fired Hermione and started running in the opposite direction from the voice without even checking who was the owner.

She had planned for this event, she knew what she had to do. Her best chance was to reach the secret passage behind the mermaid tapestry of the sixth floor. It was one of the few hidden corridors that always had an open entrance; a hole of the size of a first year. If she could climb through the hole before her pursuer turned the corner, she could rest and concentrate enough to transform.

“Amycus, get her!” screeched the same voice as before.

Ok, pursuers then, in plural.

“Diffindo!” Shouted a male voice.

Hermione ducked instinctually and fired back a stunner without looking, thanking Harry for the DA lessons as she saw the curse flying over her left shoulder and hitting the wall. The loud clanking of an armour falling down told her she had missed her target too.

She turned a corner. The next turn would bring her to the tapestry corridor. She felt her sides begin to ache; she definitely wasn’t prepared for this run. She braced herself and fired again just before the turn.

“Opugno!” she shouted with all she had.

A flock of tawny birds the size of a fist appeared out of nothing, flying towards her attackers. The moment she saw the tapestry she flicked her wand to leave the opening in sight and flung herself through it, landing with a hard thump and a crack, her wand clattering out of her hand.

She rested her cheek on the stone floor and heard, over her frantic heartbeats, two sets of running steps. Then one of them stopped.

“What the hell? Where did she go?”

The second one stopped too. Hermione tried to move slowly, only to have to stifle a whimper at the blinding pain coming from one of her knees. Oh, no…

“You lost her! You idiot!”

“I ain’t done nothing!”

“That’s the problem. Finite incantatem!” screeched Alecto.

Hermione tensed again. If they tried a “Revelio” spell they would discover her. She took hold of the mirror, still active around her neck and thought desperately "Finite, finite, finite, finite..."

“See? She isn’t here.”

The woman emitted a sound of frustration and another armour clashed to the ground noisily. New steps were heard. The even, measured clacking made a chill run down her back.

“Alecto, Amycus. I trust that in exchange for all this mess you have, at least, obtained results…” said the unmistakable drawl of Severus Snape. "Where is the intruder?"

“She disappeared!”

“She? Who exactly was she?”

“It was that mudblood whor-” the man - Amycus, Hermione reckoned - cut the sentence short with a yelp.

“He means Potter’s mudblood friend, the girl Dumbledore made you marry.”

There was a short silence.

“Are you certain it was her?”

“Of course we are, Severus. You know that their photos had been in the prophet all the term...” Said Alecto indignantly.

“And Potter?”

“It was only her.”

“Without Potter?” Asked Severus again.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“Very well. Amycus, go ahead and secure the front door. She will have to go through there at some point. Alecto, go fetch McGonagall and inspect Gryffindor tower. I will speak with the portraits.”

Hermione, who had been carefully crawling inwards during the entire exchange, feeling for her wand in the darkness, ceased her movement at hearing the fading steps. She was pretty sure that at least Snape knew of this corridor, but she hoped he would try to intercept her at the other side to give her time to try something on her leg.

A shadow drew itself on the other side of the tapestry. Hermione braced herself in case it wasn't Snape, but also in case it was. It had been a long time, and the late Headmaster hadn’t really helped to ease her mind about him. What if she had been wrong at Spinners' end? What if she hadn't but he had since turned to the Dark Lord? How to tell?

The tapestry was flung violently to the side and a wand pointed directly towards her.

However, when her gaze locked with the familiar black eyes she felt something akin to relief thumping in her chest, despite herself. Something must have shown on her face, as he lowered his wand slightly. It was all the encouragement she needed to give voice to a sudden thought.

"Which form does your Patronus take?"

He studied her face for a few long seconds, his expression unchanging.

"Yours?"

There's nothing for it, girl.

"An otter," she answered promptly. Her heart was thumping so strongly in her ears that she was afraid she wouldn't hear his answer over it.

"A doe," he replied quietly, still looking at her intently. She nodded, and the rush of relief was so great she felt faint. “Miss Granger-”

“Hermione,” she said, putting herself in a sitting position.

“Hermione,” he repeated, finally climbing into the corridor. “We don’t have much time. Did you come alone?”

“Yes. Don’t worry, they are safe.”

He nodded and crouched down.

“What are you going to do? Are you staying or leaving?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes. Amycus will guard the front door until I tell him otherwise, and if McGonagall thinks you might be at Gryffindor tower she will stall. She is a good match to Alecto any day so we have some time. I can still get you out, especially if our furry friend makes an appearance again...” He said with a smirk. “It wasn’t a ferret, but an otter, wasn’t it?”

Hermione nodded with a slight smile, then sobered.

“Wouldn’t give you trouble to let me go? I mean, if the Dark Lord gets wind of it...”

“I can handle it. I wasn’t the one who lost track of you, after all.”

“What will happen if I stay?”

He thought about it for a couple of seconds.

“You’ll probably spend most of your time confined in the Headmaster’s tower except for when I decide to parade you around. The Dark Lord might want to look into your mind for information, though, but if you pass that test I think you’ll be safe,” he answered, although he looked doubtful.

“And how about escaping in the future? Even if it’s for short periods of time.”

“I can’t guarantee that. If you escape, it’ll have to be believable, and preferably not under my watch,” he threw a suspicious look at her. “Why did you come here if you didn’t mean to stay? What do you need?”

“Information. Research. Advice, perhaps.”

“I see.”

They remained in silence. Hermione was thinking frenetically. She had planned to escape if possible, but the leg changed everything - it was starting to really hurt. In any case, she couldn't go to Voldemort, she didn't trust her capabilities enough to risk it with him. On the other hand, she knew she was going to be of more use in here where she could investigate than out there digging up mushrooms. Still... She bit her lip. She didn’t want to leave Harry alone. Only he wasn’t. He was with Ron. And they could be in touch permanently...

"Hermione, you need to make a decision."

She looked at Snape and wondered if there was anybody out there helping him. She thought not. She decided not to think why that should matter to her at all.

“I’m staying. But you'll have to keep me hidden; I can't go to Voldemort, it's not just my life that I'd be risking. Besides, I'll have to leave again. Can we do that?”

Snape didn't seem impressed by this. He mulled about it for a while - longer than Hermione thought sensible given the situation - but eventually nodded. He stood and offered her a hand up.

“Be forewarned, if you ever are discovered, I will have to make an example of you. It'll be far more dangerous, and far more unpleasant than getting caught now, believe me."

Hermione nodded with a grimace and let herself be pulled up until a sudden, blinding pain in her knee made her whimper.

"What's wrong with your leg?"

“I don’t know. I fell hard and dropped my wand somewhere in here. If you could..?”

“Accio Hermione's wand! Can you walk?”

Hermione made a try and had to clench her teeth to keep herself from moaning.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Very well. Then you'd be better be unconscious. I'll force you to transform, and then I'll carry you disillusioned over my shoulder. It won't fool anyone looking too closely, but it's better than the other options." He said, producing his wand again but then, he suddenly let his arm fall limp. "It won't hurt." He added.

Hermione realised he was waiting for permission.

"Go ahead. I'm ready."

He nodded.

"Desmaius," she heard, then everything went black.

Chapter Text

She woke up with the fuzzy, woolly feeling of having slept for many more hours than necessary. She was on an incredibly soft canopy bed and sunlight was filtering through some purple curtains. She turned her head to shade her eyes from the light and she found what struck her as a most incongruous sight: Severus Snape fast asleep on a velvet chair, his chin to his chest and his feet propelled on the bed.

It took her a few minutes to realise that the reason why she found the situation so foreign was not the luxury of the room after so many months in hiding, nor his presence by her bedside but the fact that she had never ever seen him asleep. Something twisted in her stomach and she realised that, in some way, she had been missing him. Somehow, even in the impossible situation they were both in, she still felt his presence reassuring.

Hermione closed her eyes. She had planned for this situation but she still took the chance to gather her thoughts. Much as it pained her to admit it, Harry had been right in that the tidbits of information had not been worth the risk. The only actual new info was that the Deathly Hallows might be real and that there was a hidden plot at work that Dumbledore still refused to share. And Hermione doubted that the Headmaster would be any more inclined to tell her anything after she had gone against his express orders and contacted Snape. Not that that would keep her from trying.

Her mind turned to the Hallows. What did Voldemort want with them anyway? Even if they were real, a possibility she had to force herself to consider, he had already avoided Death so it made no sense that he would want the cloak. Nor the stone; she couldn't imagine that Voldemort missed many people, either dead or alive. Although Hermione did see the potential he would see in the wand, of course. 

So, what if Harry was right and Voldemort was looking not for the explanation of his wand link with Harry but for the Elder wand? It sounded ludicrous but there was generally a grain of truth behind the legends - she decided not to duel on the fact that where they did appear was in a children's tale.

Hermione added 'wandlore' to her list of things to investigate just as she sensed movement from the corner. She opened her eyes.

"Hi."

"Hi," replied Snape with a raspy voice. He immediately took his feet from the bed and propped himself up, sitting straighter. "How do you feel?"

Only then Hermione remembered her knee. She tried to move it; it felt a bit rigid and sore, but nothing felt out of place.

"Fine."

"You cracked it. I gave you some skele-gro, but I'm no mediwizard..." explained Snape. Hermione meanwhile had stood up and was walking through the room experimentally under his watchful gaze.

"It feels fine, really," she said, flexing and unflexing. "It's a bit stiff, but it doesn't hurt at all. Thank you."

He acknowledged it with a nod.

"Now, I think we need to talk," he said. Hermione threw him a wary glance but sat on the bed, facing him. "First of all, how did you know about the fake sword?"

Hermione had been expecting this and had already decided she would tell him all he wanted to know except about the Horcruxes and Deathly Hallows, at least for the time being.

"We overheard a goblin talking about it" answered Hermione truthfully. He arched an eyebrow. "It's the truth. We were camping at the Forest of Dean. Hiding. We heard some noises, so we took some extendable ears - Fred and George's invention - and listened to determine if they were dangerous. They weren't. They were a group of refugees hiding from the Ministry and the snatchers. As a matter of fact, we knew who most of them were, except for the two goblins. These two Goblins apparently had to make a run from Gringotts, and they started joking about the little revenge one of them took on the Death Eaters - on you - before leaving. This goblin said he knew the sword was a fake the moment he saw it, but 'forgot' to tell you. Now, how did you know how to find us?"

Snape smiled fleetingly.

"Phineas Nigellus."

"What? But we were very careful... I even blindfolded him!"

"Was that it? He told me that you had blinded him but he never explained how. However, paintings not only see but hear, you know? Apparently, you started speaking about visiting the area before. Oh, don't look that upset. It all worked up fine."

"I guess so..." she admitted. Still... The fact that she had slipped in something that obvious made her think that there might be other obvious things she had overlooked. Maybe even on the Horcruxes or the Hallows. Or on Dumbledore...

"Are they safe?" asked Snape in a tone Hermione did not know how to interpret. "Potter and Weasley," he added.

Hermione fought the urge to bring her hands to her chest, where she felt the weight of the mirror against her skin.

"Yes, they are. As much as they can be, considering," she amended. She fervently wished that the wandless, silent, desperate "finite" she had thrown in the secret corridor had worked on the mirror. But there was nothing for it now: either it did and they were going mad with worry or it didn't and they were going mad with rage. She would have to check at the earliest opportunity.

"So why are you here?" he asked flatly. Hermione was relieved he had not asked for their whereabouts.

"I need to do some research," she answered simply.

His eyebrows raised in incredulity.

"Research? What about?"

Hermione sighed and braced herself; she knew that the conversation was about to turn very ugly, very quickly.

"I cannot say," she answered and almost flinched at seeing his entire body minutely freeze.

"Are you under any spell or subject to any magical compulsion of any type that can prevent you from speaking of your research?" he asked in a flat voice.

"No, I am not but... it is not my secret to tell," she finished lamely.

"I see."

"Severus-"

"No, let me get this straight," he said leaning forwards on his chair and looking like a predator preparing to jump on a prey. "So you have been successfully hiding for months now, then suddenly decide to risk everything by waltzing in here, alerting half of the castle of your presence and putting me in the spotlight in front of the Dark Lord. All for a certain "research" that needs to be done in this castle of all places... Not content with that, now you expect me to keep you hidden from the castle inhabitants and the Dark Lord all by myself without even giving me a hint of what is it that I am protecting... other than yourself," he managed to inflect that last word with so much disdain that this time Hemione felt as if struck.

"It's not like that!"

"Isn't it?" he said, leaning back.

"It isn't. How can you think-?"

"What else I am to think?" he asked sweetly. "I did warn you coming here was to be your last resort, and yet here you are, making demands." Hermione reigned in her temper.

"I know things that the Dark Lord must not see... he just can't know. And I don't trust my Occlumency enough to risk it."

"Then trust mine."

The words rang in the silence of the room. Hermione held his defiant gaze, her heart beating painfully on her throat.

"I can't."

He stood abruptly.

"Then we don't have anything else to discuss," he said, darkly, and turned to get out of the room.

"Wait! There might be a way..." called Hermione, thinking fast. "Has Dumbledore told you anything about what we are doing? Because if he has, if you could give me a hint that he has..." Hermione bit her lip. She didn't want to offend him, but if he said 'yes', she would need to ask him to prove it, and she knew it will certainly break the frail trust they had.

He had turned at the door, arms crossed and looked at her intently for a few long seconds.

"No," he spat eventually, "he hasn't."

Hermione's shoulders slumped.

"Then I can't tell you. Not now, it's not the time-"

 "You are speaking just like him, you know. Expecting me to put my neck on the line for you without even giving me an explanation."

"Don't say that! I can't tell you, Severus, truly, I can't. I'd put you into even more danger, and-"

Snape gave a short bark of humourless laughter.

"More danger, you say?"

"Severus-"

"Enough, Miss Granger," he cut, stalking out of the room with finality. Hermione jumped out of the bed and hurried after him, wincing with every step at the stiffness of her knee.

He had stopped at Dumbledore's - his - desk and was shuffling through his papers. Tension and anger radiated out of him in almost visible waves.

Hermione approached, not knowing how to fix the situation at all. Afterwards, she couldn't have said what made her touch him.

He tensed momentarily to then gently shrug her hand off his shoulder with much less heat than she expected and Hermione had a sudden insight.

"Severus, listen to me. I trust you, completely. I trust you with my life," she enunciated clearly, placing herself by his side with her back against his desk and making herself very difficult to ignore.

"You are here because you got caught," he spat, while still pretending to look for something in the papers on her right. She put her hand flat over them.

"Still. I could have run away this morning. Attacked you. Refused to tell you anything."

"You are still not telling anything," he pointed out, finally looking at her face.

"For God's sake, I am putting my life in your hands!" she said, exasperated, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"And what, exactly, do you think I am doing?" he hissed, drawing uncomfortably close.

She opened her mouth but she was at a loss for words. After a few uncomfortable seconds he seemed satisfied to have made his point and pulled back. He took a step back to rest against the shelves opposite to her, unconsciously mirroring her stance. She tried again.

"Sev-"

"Save it," he said with a sigh. "I am not going to hand you over. I will abide by your orders without asking questions, like a good soldier."

From any other person, in any other situation, she would have laughed in the face of such a dramatic stance. Unsurprisingly, at that moment, she did not feel like laughing at all.

"Thank you," she said, instead. "I promise, in turn, that I will tell you as much as I can. And that I will not lie to you."

"That would be very much appreciated," he said, with only the slightest hint of sarcasm.

She sighed at the acute feeling of impotence.

"Severus, it's not that I - that you..." she tried to explain. "You are not infallible, you are human", she stated bluntly," and, as far as I've heard, he is not."

He did not comment on this and Hermione took his silence as acquiescence.

"There will be rules," he warned, after a while.

"Of course there will be," replied Hermione almost smiling, remembering him saying almost the exact same words when she first went to live with him.

"They will not be optional," he warned, seeing a hint of her smile.

"I know."

He nodded but seemed to be thinking of something else. "First, however..." he muttered, propping himself up.

(...)

Chapter Text

"There will be rules," he warned, after a while.

"Of course there will be," replied Hermione almost smiling, remembering him saying almost the exact same words when she first went to live with him.

"They will not be optional," he warned, seeing a hint of her smile.

"I know."

He nodded but seemed to be thinking of something else. "First, however..." he muttered, propping himself up.

----------------------------------------

Severus Snape cleared his throat and addressed the room. Hermione was forcibly reminded of her potions lessons.

"Headmasters, Headmistresses, I require your attention. I need each and every one of you to check if your predecessor is present and let me know if it is not. Now, please."

There was a sudden hubbub in what until that moment had been a perfectly silent room. Hermione realised with embarrassment that the portraits had been there all along and had been likely closely following their argument up until this moment. The old, gossiping goats.

"Dilys Derwent is not is his portrait, Severus," piped a thin man with a sap green sleeping cap that did nothing to hide his oversized ears.

"Nor is Walter Aragon," added another man in a muggle-looking dress jacket.

"Thank you both. Philippe, please go fetch Dilys, she will probably be around the hospital ward. Do not talk to any other portrait other than what it is strictly necessary to find her and do not mention anything that you have seen or heard here in the last 24 hours."

"Headmaster," said a witch with a round face in an orange robe. "Professor Gagwilde is gone too. He will probably be playing chess with Professor Aragon somewhere on the second floor."

"Thank you, Heliotrope. Then please go fetch them both. The same instructions apply to you: do not dawdle and do not speak of what you saw or heard here."

The witch nodded regally and exited the frame. Snape pulled out the winged chair and sat heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"That was some fast thinking on your side," commented Hermione quietly. "Do you know the name of all the Headmasters?"

"It would be irresponsible not to," he answered. "But in any case, they make a point of introducing themselves to you in the first days in the post."

Snape seemed content to be surveying the portraits and Hermione decided it was time to move from the desk. She chose a comfy-looking chintz armchair by one of the windows, from where she had the chance to look around. The office looked remarkably similar as it did the last time she had been there, already two years ago, she realised. However, the old office used to give the feeling of movement, of life, with continuous clinking and whirring sounds. In this one, there was a marked feeling of stillness. Now she could hear a low muttering coming from the portraits but there was not even a cuckoo clock that disturbed the silence in the lulls of the conversations. She wondered if he had done that on purpose.

"We are all here, Headmaster," announced Phineas Nigellus in a pompous voice. Hermione looked sharply at him but the wizard seemed to be pointedly avoiding looking in her direction.

"Thank you, Phineas. Heads of Hogwarts," he called, addressing the entire room. "I am calling on your oath of service to Hogwarts and to myself as the current Headmaster. You did well to raise the alarm when you detected an intruder in these rooms..." he said, and Hermione felt many painted eyes turned to her. "...and I thank you for it. That said, I must inform you that Hermione Snape, my bonded wife, is here under my protection and that she does not pose any threat to the school or any of its inhabitants. However, for her own safety - and my own - it is imperative that no*one becomes aware of her presence in these quarters..." he seemed to hesitate for an instant "...or anywhere else in the castle. It is for this reason that I must ask your complete discretion in this matter for as long as she remains here: not a single word over her presence, whereabouts or actions should be said outside this office or within hearing distance of any other persons or portraits. Are there any questions?"

"I do have one," said a voice that made Hermione stiffen. Dumbledore had spoken in a very mild voice but all the portraits quieted at once. "How does putting your safety in jeopardy poses no threats 'to the school or any of its inhabitants'?" he asked, paraphrasing Snape.

"I misspoke," answered Snape with a silky voice that made Hermione nervous. "As Headmaster Dumbledore pointed out, it is my own safety that I am putting at risk, not the school's. Even if I were to be incapacitated or replaced, that would not affect the school's workings any more than any other transition between Heads... and hopefully less than some."

Dumbledore, seemingly unfazed by the reference, was clearly not convinced.

"Considering the current situation-"

"Oh, hush, Albus. There is always some Dark Acolyte or another with pretentions meddling somewhere," intervened a witch in purple robes. "And no decent husband would leave his wife defenceless!"

There were some polite coughs and muffled scoffs at her words but nobody dared to contradict her openly.

"Hogwarts must not deny protection to anyone with a kind heart," added Dilys Derwent with a conciliatory smile.

"Merlin protect us," muttered a male voice quite audibly.

"or anyone in need," repeated Dilys, that time with steel behind her words. Hermione would have bet the other voice had belonged to Phineas Nigellus. When she looked, however, he seemed to be finding something on the cushion of his seat much more interesting than anything the rest of the portraits were saying.

Snape waited for a few seconds until the murmurs settled before speaking.

"If there are no other comments, I declare the matter settled. Thank you for your attention. You may go."

There was a general shuffling and budging but Hermione realised that not many portraits actually left. She looked back at the black, still figure sitting behind the huge mahogany desk.

"That should cover it for the time being," he told her. "Breakfast is almost over. I'll need to make an appearance downstairs and ensure everything is under control. In the meantime, I suggest you get yourself comfortable. I will send some food to the office. Is there something else you need?"

Hermione did not have to think about it.

"A shower," she answered earnestly.

His face froze for an instant, then he gave the most inelegant snort Hermione had heard in months - and she had been living with Harry and Ron in a tent. She felt herself redden.

"It's the door at the back of the bedroom. I am afraid the Headmaster's bathroom follows the wizard's preference for baths rather than showers but I do not expect you to be picky right now," he said, pulling a remarkably straight face.

"I am not," she assured. Hermione saw the ghost of a smile flash through his face again before he turned and exited the room.

The moment the door closed she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding then let herself go boneless on the armchair for a minute. She'd done it, she'd gotten into Hogwarts, sneaked into the Headmaster's office, confronted Dumbledore, confronted Snape and convinced him not only not to hand her over but to help her.

Now it was just a matter of letting the boys know, she thought, and the tension gripped her body again.

She looked around for a clock, finding a small, silent one in one of the vitrines. Breakfast would be over in 20 minutes and it was 5 to 10 minutes walk from the Headmaster's office so she had roughly half an hour before Snape was back in the office.

She spent ten fastidious minutes trying all faucets to find the combination that created more noise and generated more steam. She wanted to ensure that even if somebody (or something) was spying on her, they would have a hard time telling her apart, much less recognising her friends in the mirror. When she was barely capable of seeing her own hands, she got into the small pool, clothes included.

The bath was fashioned after the one in the prefect's bathroom - or the other way round - and although it barely reached her waist it would comfortably fit four or five people without them needing to touch.

She finished the disillusionment charm and tapped on the mirror with her wand.

"Psst, guys. It's me, H," she waited for a few seconds, straining her ears for any sounds from the other side. "Please answer me, I don't have much time."

She tried in vain for several minutes, getting more and more desperate. "Please please answer me." What if they were there, listening if they had been all this time and didn't want to answer anymore? What if they had given up on her because she had betrayed them? 

With the hair plastered to her face and the moisture on her skin, it took her a few seconds to realise that she was crying. She swallowed the lump in her throat with difficulty and tried one more time. "I just want you to know n-not to worry, that I'm f-fine, that I'm with you. Always. I will scour this castle until I find something that'll help us finish this. And I'll find it, I swear," she whispered fiercely.

She took a deep breath and pressed the mirror against her ear, in case she was able to hear something, anything, but one of the pipes was rattling loudly. She closed it with a slash of her wand but the mirror remained woefully silent.

She opened the windowpanes to let the light in and made the steam disappear with a wave of her wand.

When she looked down at the palm of her hand the only thing she saw was her own damp face, hair plastered against her scalp, split in two by a thin, black line. The mirror had cracked.

Chapter Text

She stood staring at her tired, waxy reflection on the broken mirror as if frozen.

Had Harry and Ron scratched her out for good or could it be that the charm broke as the mirror did?

It could make sense, thought Hermione, her heart starting to speed up. In the end, the charm was designed to convince two objects that they were the same to be able to exchange views whenever the charm was activated. It was possible, likely even, that once one of them changed form - in this case, broke in two - the connection broke too since the charm was not strong enough to hold up the pretence that they were still the same.
So it was possible that they were not ignoring her at all...

A knock on the bathroom door startled her out of her ruminations and some instinct made her slide neatly into the pool - clothes still on and wand in hand.

"Yes?" she called, hoping against hope that the splash had been small enough as to be taken as a result of a sudden movement inside the pool rather than what it actually was.

"Is there a problem?" said Snape muffled voice from behind the heavy door.

"Hmm, no," called Hermione, trying to untie her shoelaces under the water. "I could be out in 5 minutes," she offered, carefully placing one of her trainers outside the pool.

"In your own time," he answered, and Hermione could not discern if it was meant sarcastically or not. "I've left some clothes on the bed. I hope you will find something of use."

"Thank you. I am sure I'll find something," she answered politely, cringing at her lameness. She placed out the second trainer, along with her socks.

After a couple of unbearable seconds in which Hermione was sure the door would blast open any time - it was evident he had noticed something was off - he spoke again.

"I will be in the office," he stated simply, then Hermione could hear his muted steps (thankfully) going away.

She counted until 10, then got rid of the rest of her clothes. As an afterthought, she fished her underwear from the pile and scrubbed it with one of the gels. She sincerely hoped that he had not thought to provide underwear himself, she would be mortified knowing that he knew what she was wearing underneath.

She washed quickly but thoroughly, hoping against hope that the sickly sweet smell resulting from the mix of all the faucets would not stick to her hair.

She dried her soaked clothes with her wand, then wrapped herself in a towel, genuinely curious to see what he had managed to gather for her within such a short notice. To her relief, there was no underwear in sight. However, except for a high-necked white shirt that she immediately suspected to belong to him, Hermione had no idea where he could have gotten the rest of the clothes.

There were a pair of black thick woollen tights that could be her size, two hideous green woollen socks, a purple nightgown that, at first sight, was far too long for her, a garish pink gown, a Hufflepuff outer robe and, of all things, a clearly worn muggle black t-shirt with the cover of a Jethro Tull album.

Instinctually steering clear of the pink robe without really knowing why, she quickly donned the white shirt and the tights and took the Hufflepuff robe in case she was cold. As an impulse, she grabbed the muggle t-shirt and the green socks and took them with her downstairs - she figured she could use them as pyjamas.

She padded down the dark, stone stairs and through the half-moon living room in which she had spoken to Dumbledore only a few hours before, then pulled open the door to the office. The moment she entered the brightly lit - and richly decorated - room, it struck her where she was. She pulled down on her shirt tails self-consciously even though she knew they fell almost to her knees.

When Snape's eyes latched on the shirt, a deep frown on his face, she suddenly wished she had chosen the horrid pink robe. She almost apologised.

"Once I saw the pool and the faucets, I couldn't help having a proper bubble bath," she said instead.

He waved her explanation away and motioned towards a silver tray balancing on the corner of his desk. Hermione forgot every concern about her attire the moment the delicious smell of a full breakfast Hogwarts' style reached her nose.

"Thank you," she said earnestly, feeling a pang of guilt at thinking about Harry and Ron. She dug in immediately and ate with relish, barely aware of his scrutiny. Once she was done, she leaned back and closed her eyes in satisfaction, feeling completely content for the first time in a long while. The troubled thoughts did not take long to pull at her.

At some point when she was out there, frozen and malnourished, under the yellowing fabric of the tent, it had seemed as if that Hogwarts could still hold all the answers they were looking for. Once the idea had taken hold, they had planned and plotted relentlessly to get her here. Now, confronted with the reality of it, she was equally hopeful and scared of whatever answers she would find...if any at all.

She looked at the floor-to-ceiling shelves, packed with books and she wondered if there would be actually anything useful there. She had already summoned the Horcrux's books before leaving for the summer so she had little hope there, but there were two other open topics, both related to magical history in some way: the unbeatable wand and the founders. She had trusted up to that moment Hogwarts, a History as the reliable and thorough book it was but there should certainly be more and it was under the realm of possibility that the author would have by-passed some information on the founder's relics - or even decided not to include it due to thinking the source unreliable. If she was being honest with herself, though, she was not really convinced that she would be able to find more information in Hogwarts' books than Dumbledore had during an entire year or research...

However, there was something that Hermione suspected the Headmaster might have overlooked, as would have most wizards raised within the wizarding world: Hogwarts' only source of information was not its library. The castle itself had a marked tendency to allow their inhabitants to have secrets, two places came to mind straight away: the room of requirements and the Chamber of Secrets. The portraits were another source worth exploring; it would definitely be helpful if Dumbledore decided to give her a hand but in the end, he was not the only portrait in the castle... nor had he any control over the ghosts - that she knew. She would have to be careful to involve beings capable of speech but there might be no other way of getting a reliable account of what Riddle did in his Hogwarts' years.

And if everything else failed... her gaze fell on the man looking at her with an inscrutable expression. It seemed so obvious that she should ask him what he thought that it made her all the more hesitant to seriously consider it. Why, with him being in a such obviously key position, had Dumbledore not involved him?

She suddenly realised that she was staring straight into his eyes and looked away - if he had ever felt tempted to look into her mind, she would bet that was the moment.

"So, Miss Granger... what do you plan to do now?"

"May I ask you some questions?" she replied, trying not to show her sudden nervousness.

"You may, but I can't promise I'll give any answers."

Fair enough. She tried to organise her ideas.

"Whose are these books?" she asked tactfully, not wanting to mention Dumbledore.

"Most of them are Hogwarts' although there are some of my own here and there. However, you might be interested in knowing that most of them belonged once to Albus Dumbledore," he said cunningly.

She smiled ruefully and nodded, conceding his point.

"Is there a catalogue of portraits?" she fired. If he was surprised, he hid it well.

"There was a try in the late eighteen century, if I'm not mistaken, which has been mostly acting as the official one since very few portraits - other than the Headmaster's, of course - have been added ever since. I could dig it up for you."

"I would appreciate that. And... is there any registry of ghosts?"

This time his eyebrows went up.

"I don't think there is such a thing. I don't even think anybody would have thought of it."

"Why ever not?"

He seemed to mull over it for a bit.

"Ghosts are generally volatile... They tend to keep around a place but sometimes they don't really have to, and most of them evaporate after a while - life goes on and at some point, they come to accept how things stand. Ghosts in Hogwarts are a bit of an exception, although not the only one, probably because of the castle essentially remaining unchanged for the last thousand years." He seemed to reflect for a moment. "I don't suppose you will tell me whose ghost you are looking for..."

"I don't think I should. Yet." Hermione could almost see him pushing down his annoyance. "It would be immensely helpful to know if ghosts can take vows of secrecy, though."

His eyebrow raised again.

"Do you realise how close that is to Dark Magic?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Vows, although fully accepted in wizarding society under certain circumstances, are magical compulsions that enslave a person's will. A well-placed vow - or set of vows - on a person would bind more effectively a person's will than the Imperius... Do not let my -our - situation misled you; it is exceedingly rare for wizards to take vows these days, and if you were to propose they would act terribly offended."

Hermione felt as if something had got stuck in her chest.

"But the portraits..."

"The portraits are not people, Miss Granger."

"And ghosts..? What are they?"

Snape spread his hands in demonstration.

"Whatever you believe they are - nobody knows for sure - but the common conception is that once somebody dies his or her magical core, his spirit - his soul if you wish - can go forwards... or remain."

"Then how can I..?" started Hermione, feeling quite uncomfortable, then changed course. "Can they be affected by vows at all?"

He negated slowly with his head, then spoke gravely, enunciating every word.

"The question you should be asking is, no matter what they are, if the answers you are looking for are worth binding a - perhaps - eternal entity."

Hermione closed her eyes and thought of herself, of Harry, of what was a stake, on the effort that took to bring her here. She swallowed thickly. "If there is a way to bind ghosts to secrecy, I'd like to know."

Chapter Text

"It's not a punishment," he ground out after Hermione failed to comment on her new bedroom for a few seconds. In truth she didn't know what to say; it was a room the size of a walk-in closet with bare stone walls and no windows in which a single bed and a chair just barely fit. There were not portraits, at least, she had to give it that, although there was a full-sized mirror opposite the bed through which, he was explaining, she could access the bathroom. She took in everything and looked back at him. All in all, it was an improvement over the dingy tent, but just barely.

"I'll take whatever you can give me," she answered, trying to keep her resentment out of her voice - and probably failing. She had barely spend a couple of hours conscious in the tower, and no more than 15 minutes in the bedroom floor which, by the way, was huge, but she was sure there was another entire upper floor she had not visited, not to mention the half-moon living room downstairs that could perfectly fit a bed.

"There is a wide working area upstairs," he explained, "with an observatory and a balcony, and a second set of rooms. However, if somebody were to come flying, he would be in between you and m- the exit," he elaborated.

She raised her eyebrows sceptically.

"Who exactly would fly up to here-?"

"You know who," he replied, with only the barest hint of irony.

Hermione had no more objections.

After their conversation about ghosts, Hermione had a hard time falling asleep. However, as it often happens, the next day she woke up feeling her worries greatly diminished. There was no need to take drastic decisions; at this point, she was just exploring all the possibilities. When she went down to the half-moon room, there was a breakfast tray waiting for her by the XVIII century portrait catalogue she had already started to work her way through the previous day. They had an agreed that, for safety, she would keep out of the office and the upper floors when he was out of the tower.

Hermione soon discovered that this happened far more often than that she would have expected. Although he had no lessons to give, he made a point to be present in each and every meal, held a general staff meeting once a week that could go on for hours and summoned each teacher individually at random intervals - when it was not him being summoned. What it was discussed during these meetings, she didn't know for sure, since every time the stairs started moving she was sent to her "bedroom" for the duration. All this meant that the only time she actually had left to peruse the old Headmaster's books or try to convince Dumbledore to speak to her was in the brief intervals Snape whenever Snape was showering, changing clothes or working upstairs - which rarely happened, since most of his work seemed to consist in perusing, scribbling on and shuffling around parchments in his office.

Still, she kept trying every chance she got.

While she worked tirelessly in the biography of portraits and her own catalogue of ghosts when he was in the tower, the moment he was out and she moved to the half-moon room her notes transformed into spell-diagrams for the mirror connection, lists of historical figures that could potentially have held the Deathstick and a reproduction of her old notes on Horcruxes, including a timeline with people an events on Tom Riddle's life.

However, a week after her arrival, her concern over the broken mirror overweighted any other topic; she didn't know what Harry and Ron would do if she did not get in touch soon. She had ascertained on the first chance she got that the charm in the mirror had effectively broken, which left her with two options: either she figured out a way of connecting the mirrors again or she had to somehow manage to contact Ginny. With every hour that passed, she felt more and more tempted to just send a Patronus.

The tray with her meal appeared on the desk, startling her out of her thoughts and indicating dinner had started in the Great Hall. She dropped her quill with a sigh and started recalling all the reasons why sending a Patronus to the boys was not a good idea. She covered how a Patronus could alert any number of snatchers in the area of the exact location of her friends' tent and how inconvenient - inexcusable, more like - would be if somebody were to see a Patronus coming out of the Headmasters' tower as he was away. When she was about to tackle just how unlikely it was that her patronus would actually reach her friends in the first try when she had no idea where they were, she heard the rumble the spiral staircase made as it moved.

She sighed, up we go again. She dropped the fork and gathered her papers - after doing this routine at least twice a day for a week, she had everything perfectly timed. In the time a person opened the gargoyle and let himself be lifted to the door of the office she had more than enough time to summon her papers, wipe any trace of her presence and climb her own stairs at a leisure pace. Once she was on the floor of the main bedroom, she would have to do an incredible amount of noise to be heard downstairs.

This time, she stopped to take a last look at the half-eaten pudding- it really was a pity to let it grow cold. What would Snape want just now, anyway? He never missed a meal...

The implications dawned on her the same instant she heard a door in the next room being pushed open forcefully: it was not Snape. She looked at the stairs to her safe room, directly in front of the door to the office and made a split-second decision: instead of running up, she disillusioned herself, and quietly backed away from the door, wand in hand and her papers against her chest, praying that the spell would take effect in time.

As she felt the cold trickle of the spell reaching her feet the door opened, and she had to suppress a gasp.

The solution of her most pressing trouble was at the door, wand in hand, with her jaw clenched and a fierce expression she recognised too well. She observed as Ginny surveyed the room and entered, keeping her wand trained on the staircase. Hermione was torn. It would be so easy to show herself, pass information, ask for the mirror... However the vow was acting out, and a blunt pressure on her throat was giving her a more than clear warning against it.

The sensation was familiar, but never, in all the times she had tested the vow with Harry and Ron, had she felt this suffocating pressure. She realised that they had been incredibly naive, all of them. After all, when they had been testing she had been "regulating" the level of treason since at that point the only thing she could possibly do to betray him was something she had no intention of doing. This time she definitely had the intention of showing herself to Ginny even though there was no doubt in her mind that she would be betraying his trust... She reckoned that she had 5 to 10 safe minutes, would she be able to convince herself of the contrary in such little time? 

Before she could even consider the possibility twice, he noticed him at the door. A shiver ran through her back at his cold stare, completely devoid of feeling. How had he known this quickly? His wand trained on the back of her friend, who had progressed until the table and was looking at the half-eaten meal suspiciously.

Everything happened very fast then. Ginny felt his presence and tried to turn but it was too late; his silent spell hit her in the back and the girl collapsed in a heap mid-turn.

Hermione approached at once and kneeled by her friend's side. Snape barely looked at Hermione when she disillusioned herself and she had the disturbing thought that he had known she was there all the time.

"Tell me this was not your doing," he demanded.

"I had nothing to do with it," replied Hermione truthfully, throwing a basic diagnosis scan at the redhead which, to her relief, glowed blue.

"Did you speak to her?"

"I didn't let her see me."

"What did she want?"

"How would I know?" she threw back, busy trying to turn her friend on her back. "Help me, will you? If she stays in this position she will have neck pains afterwards."

He remained standing over them unhelpfully, his arms crossed.

"You expect me to believe that Ginevra Weasley trying to get into my quarters within a week of your arrival has nothing to do with you?"

"Yes," she challenged, not quite looking into his eyes. She felt strangely off-balance after what had happened - she had somehow forgotten how capable he could be. "Don't look at me like that, I know this is not the first time she tries to pull this off and I had nothing to do with that one either."

"How do you know..? Nevermind," he said with an impatient sigh. "You are sure she didn't see you?"

"Yes," said Hermione her eyes still fixed on her friend, but no longer trying to avoid Snape's; they were now fastened on a thin knitted chain wrapped around Ginny's neck that continued inside her robes. Her hands started sweating.

"Then bring her to the office," he ordered. "I will have to stage a small scene. Can I trust you not to interfere?"

"Can I - Could I have a moment with her?" Hermione asked, her throat suddenly dry.

"You can not speak to hear," he stated.

"I know. It's- just a few seconds... You never know when it'll be the last time," she improvised.

She could feel Snape start at her explanation and she fought not to blush as he looked back and forth between them. She liked Ginny well enough but they'd never been that close - he didn't have the means to know that, though.

"Very well," he acquiesced.

Five minutes later Hermione was listening from the half-moon room - he had forgotten to ask her to go upstairs and she had not offered to - to a version of Snape she had forgotten about and she decidedly liked less than the one she was getting used to. They had settled in a congenial routine easily, and she had quickly noticed how much she had actually missed his quiet company and intellectual back-and-forth. It was daunting to confront just how disconnected the image she had of him was from what everyone else saw. It begged the question of who was he, really?

Ginny was, after a series of rather insulting barbs and veiled threats, sent to detention with Hagrid for a month. After a couple of seconds of silence and the rumble of the spiral staircase, her Snape came back to the half-moon room.

"Have you been eavesdropping all the time?"

"Were you expecting me not to? It's my friend."

He didn't answer, but took out his outer robe and threw himself onto a sofa. Then he opened a couple of bottoms at the neck of his shirt and proceeded to roll up his sleeves, as she had seen him sometimes do when they were in the dungeons and he was not expecting any visitors. It was the first time, however, that Hermione found herself following the agile movement of his fingers and remarked on the shape of his wrists and the tendons on his forearms. The feeling was similar to seeing a familiar figure through her father's unfocused camera lens unknowingly and suddenly having the figure move into focus. Her eyes felt on the hint of the clavicle bone, peeking through the opening of his shirt and she turned her head away sharply, suddenly uncomfortable.

"So, what did you think of it?"

Hermione needed a few seconds to understand that he was referring to his "scene".

"You were not very nice," answered Hermione lamely.

He scoffed. "I was not in top shape. Still, with some luck it will deter her from trying again - whatever it is that she is trying to do," he said, looking pointedly at her.

Knowing the trademark Weasley's stubbornness, she sincerely doubted it but she was not about to say that.

"What was she trying to achieve?" he insisted, leaning forward towards her his elbows on his knees. "Hermione, if you do know anything...it is important"

"I imagine," she answered, then took a few seconds to put her thoughts in order. What had Ginny been thinking?  "She seemed to be looking for something. She might be even be looking for me - after all, I disappeared without a trace."

"You were in contact with her before meeting with me," he stated.

"Yes, of course."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and Hermione felt suddenly guilty.

"I did not mean to cause you trouble," she said, sincerely. "I will leave if you ask me to. Tonight, if necessary."

He opened his eyes and watched her carefully, seemingly thinking over her proposal.

 "That won't be necessary", he replied, but Hermione heard a clear just yet. She was relieved, of course, but also, she took it to mean that he was not finding her company that bothersome. Almost she was well aware that he didn't have much choice for company at the moment... it was either her or nobody.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said after a few minutes of silence. "Have you thought of telling somebody?"

"Telling what?"

"That you are with us, with the Order."

"No," he said abruptly. "That is not my role anymore. Besides... who would believe me?" He chuckled darkly. "Nevermind that, who would not kill me on the spot, given the chance?"

Hermione had to admit he had a point but the answer came unbidden.

"McGonagall."

He snorted.

"You have quite the distorted image of her - maybe I should allow you to "overhear" my meetings more often - but I can't blame you, you were one of her kittens..."

Hermione tsked.

"Don't be patronising. She's probably hurt and angry, but once she knows the truth..."

"Forgiveness is not one of the Gryffindors' strong points-"

"Nor Slytherins'," she cut.

"You'd be surprised," he answered coldly.

Realising she was going nowhere, she changed tactics.

"Will you at least think about it?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"There's nothing to think about."

"Severus, please?"

"Drop it, Hermione," he retorted, seemingly amused by her ploy. Hermione reddened slightly but kept her head high.

"Alright," she said, summoning her papers and going back to her dinner. She could not help but mutter "you stubborn man."

If he heard her, he pretended not to. He summoned a book and started reading. Hermione finished dinner and pretended to be deeply immersed in a book of vows before retiring at the same time as usual.

Once in her room, she isolated the walls, secured every door against intruders and pulled out the mirror that had been burning in her pocket all evening.

Ginny had been smarter than her and had knitted a bag around it to protect it. It looked like a big - if slightly extravagant - pendant. She briefly contacted the boys who, as she had suspected, seemed to be completely oblivious to her "treason". She kept the mirror open barely enough time to reassure them that she was okay and to promise to call them back the following day from a "safe place". Then she pocketed it safely inside her everyday clothes.

Later that night she risked sending her otter with a message within Hogwarts: "I've got it - mine broke. I'm sorry. Do not try again."

It was only afterwards that she realised that she had not heard the stairs move a second time after Ginny climbed them up. How had he gotten into the tower?

Chapter Text

The next day, the moment Snape left for the weekly staff meeting she opened her mirror connection.

The anxious faces of two of the people she loved the most in the world appeared intermittently in the mirror. Hermione smiled fondly, the surface of the mirror was not enough to hold them both but Harry, holding it at the moment, was trying his hardest to share the image.

"Hi," she said, still smiling.

"Hermione, thank Merlin. We were so scared," said Ron immediately.

"I'm sorry, my mirror broke while I was trying to escape from the Carrows..."

"What happened to Ginny? You didn't say,"

"She got caught sneaking into Snape's office - tell me you didn't send her here..?" Hermione saw Harry throw a guilty look at Ron, which was not in the image.

"But you said she was okay," he replied with alarm.

"She is. Snape sent her off to detention with Hagrid for a month."

Relief showed clearly in the boys' faces but it was Ron that asked the obvious question first.

"And that's all?? For what she told us, the Carrows were not pulling any punches."

"I know, she and Neville told me that they are complete beasts and dumber than tree stumps. Snape is still smart enough not to antagonise the students and teachers more than strictly necessary."

"So you are with Snape, then" cut Harry darkly.

Hermione braced herself, knowing that she would have to tread carefully there.

"Yes, as you saw, I screwed up on the way out but our plan B worked. He does not dare to turn me over to the Death Eaters so he's keeping me hidden in the Headmaster's tower."

"Are you okay? Is he treating you alright?" asked Ron in a somewhat stilted voice. Harry kept a black scowl.

"I'm fine," she answered, trying to sound nonchalant. "He mostly keeps to his office and ignores me as much as he can. I have my own room and three Hogwarts' meals a day. And direct access to all of Dumbledore's books - when Snape is away."

"Have you found anything?" asked Harry immediately.

"Not really, I have to keep my research away from Snape so I don't have that much time. I'm pretending to be interested in Hogwarts history and curse-breaking"

"What says Dumbledore?"

"Nothing at all," said Hermione with heat. "He makes himself scarce, I have not managed to catch him alone since that day."

"You have to speak with him, Hermione. We need to make him talk," said Harry gravely.

"I know, but he seems as intent in avoiding me as the current Headmaster," she gave them a hesitant look, she did not remember exactly what part of the conversation she had hidden from them. "You heard our conversation, there is still something going on, but he won't tell."

"Yeah, something to do with the snitch."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Probably. However, you heard, we need to keep focusing on the Horcruxes. Meaningful, valuable items. Symbolic places or places of power."

"Then we are exactly in the same point as before..." summarized Harry sounding hopeless.

"No, we are not," stated Ron. "We know that You-Know-Who is looking for the Hallows - you probably were right about the wand, mate."

"And we also know that, unless they cross our path, we should forget about them and focus on the Horcruxes," stated Hermione. As she saw Harry about to complain she hurried. "Listen, we are in a better position now. We know that chances are that one of them will be here, at Hogwarts, and I have added a couple of likely places to the list: Gringotts, the Wizengamot Headquarters, Merlin's Grotto, Durmstrang - although I would say that if he would choose a school, it would be this one..."

"Aunt Muriel says that Merlin's Grotto is little more than a tourist attraction nowadays and that nobody is really sure that it was there, to begin with..."

"I know," admitted Hermione, "but it seems to me that You-Know-Who tends to believe in every legend that crosses his path..."

" Why would a Horcrux be in Gringotts?" intervened Harry.

Hermione shrugged "It makes sense, it's supposed to be the safest place on Britain - other than Hogwarts - and it appears in Moste Magickal Dwellings in Auld and New Britannia as one of the most magical places in Great Britain. That place is not only protected by the cloaking enchantments of Diagon Alley but also with all the Goblin protective enchantments for each and every vault."

"I already know it's safe, but that is not what I mean," explained Harry. "How could You-Know-Who have a Gringotts vault? I mean, wouldn't it be the first place Aurors would look into when he rose to power the first time?"

"Aurors in Gringotts!? I would like to see them try," cut Ron. "Nobody messes with Goblins, mate. Not even the Ministry."

"Is there any way for us to check if he has a vault, then?"

"I doubt it but if anyone knows, it should be Bill..."

There was a tense silence, nobody wanting to propose to go visit Bil Weasley, although for different reasons. Hermione could almost hear their thoughts; Ron would not want to appear too eager to see any member of his family and Harry would give his right arm before putting any other Weasley in danger.

"In any case, I'd say first we should at least get a list of likely candidates other than You-Know-Who... Even if we discovered a way to enter, we couldn't possibly go checking each and every vault."

The boys agreed.

"And what about Hogwarts?" asked Ron. "I know you already checked his award and you say it isn't one, will you double-check? Do you have any other ideas? I mean, what would be more meaningful to him than that?"

Harry shook his head.

"If it isn't in the award it might not be there at all. Maybe he did not have the chance to hide it in his last visit. There is only so much time you can waste pretending to go from the gates to the Headmaster's office..."

"I've had an idea about this," continued Hermione. "I have started investigating the portraits and the ghosts - some of them have been here for centuries so they might know or have seen something." Her announcement was met with a shocked silence.

"But that's brilliant, Hermione."

"Wouldn't Dumbledore have thought of that already?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, then realised they could not see the movement. "I don't know - I don't think so. We didn't think of it ourselves and he is a pureblood-"

"Oy!"

"Wait, Ron, listen. Remember the tales of Beedle the Bard? Purebloods, no matter how open-minded, are raised surrounded by magic and sometimes you tend to take some magical beings for granted."

In slightly higher spirits, they tried to enumerate all the ghosts they knew until Hermione thought prudent to cut the connection.

"You need to make him talk, Hermione, we need Dumbledore's help" repeated Harry once more before disappearing.

---------------

The rest of the day she did not advance her research at all, torn between trying to catch Dumbledore's eyes and the urge to check on Snape every few seconds whenever he was in the room. His entrance to the tower and the efficiency with which he had dealt with the intruder had made Hermione more than a little uneasy. How did he know Ginny was there? How did he come this quickly? Would he be as ruthless with her if something was to happen?

However, the image in front of her could not be tamer. He was at this desk, squinting at the scrolls displayed in front of him and hunching slightly to scribble small notes in some columns. He had told her that every end of the month he had to balance budgets. Hermione thought with a strange pang of fondness that he probably needed glasses.

She noticed his left hand probing distractedly for the glass of water, which was empty and she refilled it without really thinking about it. He seemed to sense the magic, though, since he looked to his glass, then to her and gave her a nod with a slight curl at the end of his lips. Hermione had the sudden thought that the glasses would look good on him, and froze in shock. Then she propped her book on her desk and hid behind it, giving herself a shake. She should not forget with whom she was dealing with - and trying to hide things from - every day. It wouldn't do to get comfortable and let her guard low.

That night she slept poorly, thoughts on Horcruxes and Deathly Hallows, vows, curses and ghosts in a jumble inside her head. She woke up later than usual and when she entered the office Snape was already back from breakfast. Her eyes fell on Dumbledore's canvas and their eyes met for an instant. If only he would explain about it... She followed him go from the canvas with her eyes.

"What did you do to him?" asked Snape, curiosity evident in his tone. Clearly, the interaction had not gone unnoticed.

Hermione sighed and let herself fall on one of the armchairs by the coffee table that held her breakfast tray - had he brought it here himself?

"He didn't want me to stay here. He didn't even want me to contact you, " said Hermione biting on her toast dejectedly. "Said it was too dangerous."

"That he doesn't want me to know what you three are doing shouldn't be news to you," he said coldly.

She nodded, noncommittally, not wanting to anger him. But she wondered, not for the first time if it was worth keeping certain secrets from him. She knew for a fact that Snape had been keeping secrets for half of his life unscathed. So why not trust him with the Horcruxes? He was the one in the best position for looking for hints of their location. After all, Voldemort had entrusted Horcruxes to his followers before...

She finished her tea, thoughts swirling chaotically in her head. At the sight of the tea grounds, she had a sudden flashback to the Divination class in which a Grim had been supposedly discovered in Harry's teacup. All to end up doing research on equally unlikely nonsense, like the Hallows. She wondered why Dumbledore had not let Snape in that one either. Did he know about the Deathly Hallows at all? What would be the worst that could happen if he knew? The temptation to look for them, she guessed, who wouldn't want an all-powerful wand? But that would mean Dumbledore didn't really trust him that much...

She pushed back her cup.

What a pompous arse, she found herself thinking. It was true she had only come to know Snape - Severus - for a relatively short while, but she knew already that he might be tempted, and he would rant and rage and threaten, but in the end, he always did the right thing.

She took a sudden decision.

"Can I ask you something?"

He looked up at her inquiringly, his mouth still tight with contempt.

"What do you know about Nagini?"

He blinked at her, then, like that, the anger seemed to evaporate and his face sat completely blank. What had she hit on?

"It is a snake," he answered, carefully placing the quill on the table. "A Vipera Ammodytes crossed with a king cobra, most likely."

"Is it a real snake then?"

 "What else could it be?" he asked lightly, standing from his desk and stretching his back.

Hermione tried to shrug nonchalantly, pretending to consider having the second toast.

It was only when he was close enough to her that it was completely implausible that she hadn't noticed him approaching, that she looked up.

"You've met Nagini," he stated, holding her gaze until she looked away again. It seemed to be enough answer since he took a seat on the armchair by her side and summoned a cup.  "When?"

"A few weeks ago," answered Hermione, perfectly aware that there was no point in lying. Then she frowned. "You didn't know? He saw us."

An expression flashed through his face too fast for Hermione to decipher.

He poured himself a cup of tea from the teapot in Hermione's tray, sipped on it slowly, then placed it on the table.

"My masters seem to have the same the same penchant for secrecy," answered lightly, with only the faintest shadow of bitterness. "Will you - can you - tell me what happened?"

Hermione told him about Harry wanting to visit Godric's Hollow and their encounter with Nagini.

"That was stupid," he stated bluntly, once she was done.

"I can't say I completely disagree..." huffed Hermione, bringing a smirk to his face.

"Then what, in God's sake made you do it?"

Hermione sighed.

"You need to understand us. We were in a dead end at that point and we just managed to catch one of the copies of Rita Skeeter's book so Harry... he couldn't let it go."

He had closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Please tell me that you did not come back so you could ask Albus if he was a poof," he said bluntly.

Hermione reddened at his words, mortified. Then she broke into uncontrollable giggles and even dropped her book, which fell to the floor.

"I promise that wasn't it," she said once she put herself back together. "It didn't even cross my mind...and I can't imagine Harry would care about that either way."

She picked the book from the floor but hesitated before opening it. She looked back at him, impishly. "Was he?"

He chuckled.

"As a daisy in May."

She laughed, surprised.

"Tsk, tsk. It is not seemly to gossip about your predecessors..." piped Armando Dippet.

Some portrait snorted.

"You're only saying that so they don't dig any further back, you old goat," said a voice.

Armando Dippet did a commendable effort to pretend that he had not heard that and kept addressing Severus. "Wait until that Skittish woman gets to you."

Hermione chuckled, thinking how Skeeter had already 'got to her' and was unlikely to try again anytime soon. However, she had to admit that Skeeter was particularly effective in obtaining shady information. She sobered suddenly.

"And Ariana..?"

Severus shrugged.

"I never asked."

Hermione nodded, understandingly.

He went shortly back to his desk and his parchments and Hermione grabbed a book on the magical history of portrait making that happened to be voluminous enough so that she could hide behind it while she thought. She really had to make a certain Headmaster talk and, just maybe, she would add a couple of extra questions to her list.

Chapter Text

When the bell announcing lunchtime rang, Hermione had a plan ready. Since it was evident she could not convince the Headmaster to answer her questions, she would have to do something spectacular enough to make him want to speak to her.

She waited until the staircase stopped moving after Snape exited to attend lunch in the Great Hall and counted until 20. Then Hermione entered the office and cleared her throat.

"Heads of Hogwarts, if I may have your attention, please..." she enunciated to the room at large and observed the shuffle of the portraits' inhabitants, some of them pretending not to have heard her while others were attentively watching, curiosity evident. "Thank you. Could you please tell me which one of you is the eldest? I mean," she clarified, cutting the hubbub, "which one of you was first in the position?"

The murmur started again, with many exchanged glances. Hermione waited patiently, guessing that everyone was checking or looking for their predecessor.

"That would be me," answered finally a rusty voice. Hermione turned her head, looking for the owner.

"Hmm, excuse me, and that would be..?"

"Phyllida Spore," said the witch, clearer this time. Hermione finally located her, helped by the subtly-pointed finger of Dilys Derwent.

"I am Hermione Granger-Snape, nice to meet you."

Phyllida only inclined her head slightly. She was a young woman with dark hair constrained in an intricate coiffure. Her face was pale, her eyes sharp and her expression completely blank. Hermione felt strangely unnerved.

"May I ask you when did your tenure as Headmistress start and how long it lasted?"

"Certainly. From 1367 to 1413," the woman replied promptly.

"And she left not a minute too soon," answered a deep voice. Phyllida glanced briefly to her right, her eyes becoming two thin slits on her porcelain face. Hermione was suddenly struck by the realisation that the absence of wrinkles and the stillness of the face might be due to the limited ability of the artist rather than the features of the model. She reckoned the mastery of the technique and realism in magical painting was achieved at the same time as in the muggle world.

"Oh, but then, where is your predecessor?"

Phyllida cocked her head and quirked her lip slightly, seemingly amused.

"Dead, as I am," she replied. "However, if you are asking about his portrait, I am afraid you will be sorely disappointed. I was the first Headmistress to implement the living-portrait technique in Hogwarts," she declared, clearly proud of her feat.

"That's impressive," complimented Hermione, distractedly. She had expected this already, but she had hoped that the first portrait would be older. Three hundred years were just too many to try to trace the founder's relics back.

"Do you happen to know if any direct descendants of any of the Hogwarts' founders were alive?"

Phyllida quirked one of her thin eyebrows.

"I have never been one for gossip... However, I can tell you that, in my time, the Hobbes, the Smiths and the Woodstone all boasted to descend from Helga Hufflepuff. Gryffindor left no official heir but the wizards claiming to be his descendants could be counted in thousands back then. I daresay the same will have happened with Slytherin once old Merope died - she said to be the last of the line and nobody dared to cross her on it while she could still hex back."

Hermione recognised the name and looked down, trying not to react.

"And Ravenclaw?"

"It is well known that the line is long dead. She's said to have had a daughter but they both died very young... may I ask why are you asking these questions? Are you perhaps hoping to find your own family line?"

"No, not at all, I'm muggleborn. I was just curious, you are the eldest - eh - portrait I have ever spoken with..." she trailed off, not knowing if she had offended her. "What I actually wanted to ask you is if you remembered how many ghosts Hogwarts had back them."

The woman looked up, clearly thinking.

"I would need to think about it but, if I'm not mistaken the cypher would be close to two dozens."

Hermione sighed and grabbed a quill and a blank parchment. It was worth a try.

"Could you enumerate them?"

After an hour of speaking portrait by portrait, she had almost covered all ghosts until mid-XVII century. She had been careful to pepper the interviews with questions of famous wizards of the time or over the personal lives of the Heads so that her questions about the founders' lineage would pass mostly unnoticed. During these questions, she was careful not to write anything until after they started speaking of a different topic and to look only vaguely interested. By contrast, she put much more emphasis on the names, descriptions and history of each and every ghost and made a production of noting down every detail. When the staircase started moving, she thanked the portraits, gathered her parchments and quills and went to the half-moon room. She repeated the process during dinner, and the next day, covering until the late XIX century.

Afterwards, in her bed, Hermione reflected that it had been an interesting exercise, even if it was unlikely to be fruitful. The only potentially useful information was the list of the 22 ghosts that were already at Hogwarts in the times of the oldest portrait, Phyllida Spore. Other than that, the trees of the founders were already becoming fuzzy in 1360 and they only became more entangled as the centuries passed by so the chances of actually locating unknown heirs - not to mention relics - was slim.

Hermione sighed. In any case, there was only a handful of Headmasters' left before Dumbledore so she had high hopes to be able to address him already at breakfast the next day. She had noticed that, although he had skipped the first session, he had been present in the second one, with his frown deepening more and more with each of her questions.

 She smirked to herself and started thinking about how she would approach her questionnaire and wondering just how honest he would be. She fell asleep soon after, still with a satisfied smile

The next morning, however, when she stepped down to get breakfast, after giving Snape enough margin to leave, she found him still there and, apparently, waiting for her.

"Is something the matter?"

 "No. I figured that the carrows can fend McGonagall and her allies on their own for once."

Hermione frowned.

"Is that safe?"

Snape shrugged in a way that Hermione did not find reassuring in the slightest.

"Minerva is not a morning person. During breakfast she still should be too sluggish to aim to kill. Flitwick is not, but he never interferes. Same with Sinistra and Vector. Sprout is a crafty woman but too kind-hearted to do permanent damage. Hooch's first instinct would be throwing whatever she finds close by - which in this case would be a fork or a goblet... or cheer. There are some students reckless enough to join but if the Carrows own even one single neurone between the two of them, they would flee at the first sign of trouble - they are not known for their bravery. All in all, they should come alive out of it."

Hermione only gave him a half-hearted smile and took the seat in front of her tray in silence, not sure if he was being serious or not.

"Also... I've been informed you've been interrogating the portraits about ghosts. I admit I was curious."

"Oh, that," answered Hermione, trying not to look too relieved. "I wondered how long it would take for them to go babbling to you."

"Actually, they told me the moment I entered the office yesterday but they were tactful enough to wait until you retired for the night to give me the full account," he said humorously. "May I ask what did you find?"

 She pointed to a voluminous stack of parchments in front of her.

"Pending some cross-referencing and verbal confirmation from the ghosts themselves - the ones still present, that is -  I daresay you are looking at the first comprehensive ghost catalogue of Hogwarts."

He peered over her notes, reading a few lines but did not touch them.

"That was fast work," he commented, taking a seat beside her and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"It is not complete, you know. Some of the Heads did not remember and I only got to the late XIX century... should I go on - I mean - are you interested?"

"Continue, by all means," he answered, grabbing a scone and biting with gusto. Hermione had the sudden realisation that, while she could list the favourite dish of every Gryffindor and a few Hufflepuffs, she had no idea of what he liked to eat.

"Er, right. I have registered a total of 192 ghosts that have inhabited Hogwarts for an interval of time. The number of new ghosts generated seems to decrease linearly in time, which makes sense if you think that murders were more common the further you go back in time. There seems to be an upturn in the tendency during the XIX century, though. We'll see what happened in this one. Oh! And you were right, quite a few of them have disappeared at some point or another. Do you think they can be somewhere else?"

"They might," he answered, noncommittally.

"Where?"

"On the other side?" he proposed, unhelpfully.

Hermione huffed, which made him smirk.

"No, seriously. I am wondering about the visiting ghosts. Like the ones that came to Sir Nicholas' death anniversary. Or the Headless Riders. They are not Hogwarts' ghosts..."

"If your research requires you to catalogue all ghosts in Britain I fear The Dark Lord will have time to die of old age before you are done."

"It's not all ghosts I am interested in," replied Hermione in clipped tones.

"I see," he said, considering her as he had been doing more and more often. "When you say 'Hogwarts' ghosts', what do you mean?"

"The ghosts that live- well, that inhabited Hogwarts..."

"So you do not care if they have died here or not, just that they have been seen around."

"Oh, I had not thought about that..." said Hermione, blanching, but she recovered quickly. "No, no. Where they died should have no influence as long as they were here."

"As long as they were here when?" he asked intelligently.

"I... cannot say," answered Hermione, taken out of guard. She changed the subject."So, how come that we can have visiting ghosts?"

He sent her another long look.

"You know, this conversation would be easier if you told me what is it that you are looking for..."

Hermione sighed, partly in frustration... she should have foreseen the conversation going that way.

"I can't because I don't know who I am looking for. And I can't tell you what I expect him or her to know because of - of You-Know-Who!" said Hermione, waving angrily towards the portraits and sending a furibund glance to a particular one.

Snape looked towards the portraits himself, alarmed until his eyes met a couple of piercing blue ones. He starting guffawing.

Hermione quickly made the connection and reddened.

"I did not mean it that way..." said Hermione, glancing guiltily at Dumbledore's portrait and hoping against hope that she had not ruined her chances to speak with him during the course of this conversation. "Honestly..."

In the meantime, Snape had regained his composure and only a slight curl upwards of his lips gave away his mirth.

"Don't apologise, the resemblance is sometimes uncanny," he said eventually. "To answer your question, ghosts can 'visit' any place they knew in life and inhabit any place they had a certain degree of familiarity with, even if their perception of it may vary. I do not know who attends those death parties you spoke about but I do know that the Headless Hunt is a British association. Hence, it is likely that the members attended Hogwarts."

Hermione mulled over it.

"What did you mean when you said that their perceptions may vary?"

He leaned back on his chair and got comfortable.

"Many ghosts have problems registering changes and keep to the memories they had from a place while they were alive. Thus, they follow corridors that no longer exist, open doors that are not there or address living people as acquaintances that they had in their previous life. When these ghosts start perceiving the dissonances it generally means that they are starting to accept their circumstances and often disappear. Sometimes they rebel against it and haunt the place for decades or centuries - these are typically the ghosts the muggles tend to notice. Some others, as you know, adapt and are pretty much aware of what is going on around them. Those are the ones that stay."

"How come you know so much about ghosts?"

"As you might have gathered from my house, the one in Manchester, I was raised as a muggle. Discovering that ghosts were real was quite the surprise for me," he answered with a rare open expression.

Hermione hummed in agreement. It had been a shock for her too, although it had passed quickly enough after being exposed to one of Professor Binns' soporiferous lessons. She almost chuckled, he was, indeed the most anti-climatic ghost she could have ever imagined. Old, boring and completely predictable, he was the least inclined entity one could imagine would want to haunt anyone or anything. Why, he was completely incapable of learning his students' names...

The realisation dawned on her like a bucket of cold water: there was a ghost she could talk to while having a reasonable certainty that he would never tell anyone they had had a conversation... if only because she was sure he would never remember her name afterwards. And that ghost happened to be a historian to boot - how had she been so stupid?

She tried to school her face but she was too slow.

"Is something the matter?"

"Hum, no. Not really. It's just...sometimes I forget how extraordinary they are...  After the shock, as you say, I sort of took them for granted," improvised Hermione. He seemed to buy it, though.

"Most witches and wizards do."

Hermione looked for something to say.

"You didn't."

"I did, for a while..." he answered, his voice becoming slightly absent. "It is simply that I have spent more time here than most."

They both reflected in silence until a voice cut into their thoughts.

"Ahem, Headmaster," called Armando Dippet from his portrait. "There are disturbances in the Great Hall. Your presence has been - eh - requested."

Snape was on his feet instantly and stalked out cursing, wand out.

"Not even one bloody breakfast..."

The portraits started scattering around, probably to go snoop on whatever had happened and Hermione grabbed the chance.

"Excuse me, Headmaster Dippet. Could I ask you something? It will only be a minute."

He looked torn, clearly wanting to leave. She did not wait for him to decide.

"Did you know Professor Binns?"

"In life and in death, if one can refer to it as such."

A sudden thought struck her.

"Did he keep his quarters once he died?"

"Mhm, indeed he did, on the third floor, behind his office. If that is all..." he said, moving to the far right of his portrait.

"Wait! Do you remember the password he had back then?" she asked hurriedly.

 "As a matter of fact, I do, he never used to change it. Alexandria", threw Dippet distractedly before stepping out of his frame.

Hermione sat back, her heart thumping wildly in her chest, full of hope. Finally, she seemed to be advancing.

Chapter Text

Hermione sat back, her heart thumping wildly in her chest, full of hope. Finally, she seemed to be advancing.

It did not take her long to decide a plan of action: she would start working during the night. He would be suspicious at first but, at some point, he would end up not batting an eyelid and she would be able to sneak out unnoticed.

It was then that she felt an uncommon stillness in the room and realised that only a handful of portraits were present.

''What happened''

''There is a disturbance in the sixth-floor corridor,'' explained Phyllida, placidly.

Just then Dylis Derwent came back into her frame, short of breath.

''Hermione, dear, do you know any healing spells?''

''Uh, yes, some... why?''

''Do you know the flesh-cleaning and flesh-knitting spell?''

''Yes, but why?''

''Oh, good, he's here.''

The staircase started moving and Hermione quickly wiped all traces of her presence and disillusioned herself.

When the door opened, the shock made her forget to check for intruders.

His robes were torn and there was a trickle of blood running from somewhere on his scalp, down through his face and neck and into his collar. Before Hermione could react he took a couple of unsteady steps and let himself fall onto the carpet, laying on his side.

Her instincts kicked in and she knelt on the floor scanning him for injuries. Apart from the wound in his head, which was still bleeding and starting to swell, he seemed to have only a couple of soon-to-be bruises on his back and a long diagonal scratch on his side. His skin was clammy, though, it was clear that it had taken him a lot of effort to get back to the tower.

''Do not let him sleep, dear,'' urged Dilys from her frame.

''Oh, right. Severus, wake up!'' She put a hand in his face and his eyelids fluttered. "Aguamenti!" she said, spraying his face with water.

''What-?'' he asked clearly disoriented.

''Severus, focus, where is your medicine cabinet?'' She certainly hoped he had one.

He pointed towards one of the cabinets on the left, and Hermione rushed, finding a wooden box with all the potions she could have wished for and many more that she did not even recognise.

''I need you to sit up, Severus.''

He tried to comply but it was painfully evident that even sitting, he was having trouble keeping balance. It was a wonder he had made it back to the tower at all.

Hermione helped him drag himself through the carpet until his back was against the nearest wall. She knelt by his side, cleared his hair out of the wound and poured a wound-cleaning potion on his scalp. He hissed and tried to get away but Hermione secured his head in position until the potion finished bubbling. She consoled herself thinking that it would always be gentler than her blunt flesh-cleaning charm.

Ignoring the muffled cursing coming from below her arm, she cast the laborious flesh-knitting spell to close the gash. Then she applied a bit of anti-swelling salve and saw, with relief, that the ugly-looking bump seemed to slowly recede. Once his scalp was only sporting the scar outlining the wound she dropped back on her haunches, exhausted.

''How are you feeling?'' she asked.

''My head hurts,'' he said laconically.

Feeling like kicking herself, she quickly looked inside the crate for the strongest pain reliever and handed it over to him.

He brought it to his nose, eyes still not completely focused, and gave it back.

''A milder one.''

Hermione obeyed.

He drank it in one gulp and closed his eyes for a few minutes.

When he opened them again, his gaze was once again clear.

''Thank you,'' he said simply.

She shrugged, uncomfortable by his fixed stare. ''You still have a cut on the ribs...''

''If you would be so kind...'' he muttered, raising his arm and propping them against the top of the cabinet, clearly fatigued. She repeated the process on his ribs and helped him up. Only then she thought to ask, ''what happened?''

''McGonagall happened,'' he spat, his eyes flashing. ''Your dear Head of House decided to charm a set of armour to attack me - I assume the old gargoyle would not want to hurt me enough to risk any of the pupils...''

Now that he was fully back to himself she felt suddenly uncomfortable at his proximity.

''She wouldn't do that,'' she muttered, stepping away.

''Then it must be me launching myself against rusty scraps or iron just for the pleasure of defaming her,'' he retorted, gingerly walking towards his desk.

''How do you know it's her who charmed the set of armour?''

He turned.

''Well, apart from the dubious pleasure of having spent 20 years seeing her handiwork, could you please tell me who else in this castle is not only capable of that singular piece of magic but also reckless enough to actually do it?''

Hermione bit her lip, not wanting to openly agree with his reasoning. Although most Hogwarts professors were experts in their fields that particular bit of magic required quite a specific knowledge. She could only think of a handful of people with the magical ability to achieve it but they were even less the ones that would dare to attack Hogwarts' Headmaster, a notorious Death Eater, with Voldemort on the rise.

''You should tell her,'' she blurted. ''That you're with us, I mean.''

He looked at her as if she was a dangerous animal.

''I mean it, she can be trusted. Besides, it would be better to have her with you rather than against you. Evidently.''

She saw his face twist for a split second before he turned it away.

''Don't be foolish.''

She opened her mouth, annoyed both at being dismissed so rudely and at how reckless he was being, but something kept her from replicating. He took back his seat behind his desk and shuffled some papers. When he produced his quill Hermione realised he really meant to go back to work.

''Are you serious?''

He threw her a dirty look.

''Paperwork does not do itself.''

Hermione opened her mouth and, for the second time, stopped herself from pointing out how stupid he was being. If he wanted to keep making his life difficult, who was her to stop him?

She gathered a book and settled back with her notes on ghosts, the hostility defusing quickly during their meal. They kept working the remaining of the day in companionable silence.

Nevertheless, it still took all of her remaining willpower to keep herself from giving him a piece of her mind when he announced, hours later, that he would attend dinner at the Great Hall.

''It would not do to let them know that they got to me''

Hermione kept her stony silence.

However, when she saw him enter two full hours afterwards - he stayed the entire meal - pale and grim but composed, all her annoyance at his carelessness disappeared beneath a wave of respect.

''How was it?''

He dropped onto an armchair next to her with an 'oomph' and cursed, his hand going automatically to his back. Hermione left her parchments aside, remembering the rest of her initial diagnosis.

''You might want to put some anti-bruise cream on those bruises on your back,'' said Hermione.

''Are you volunteering for giving me a back rub, Mrs Snape?'' he taunted.

Hermione fought back the heat in her cheeks and tried to throw him a dismissive look.

It was then, looking up, when she had the sudden urge to pull him down for a kiss, of all things, to wipe away his smirk, that the realisation came crashing down.

She tried to mask her consternation but she was not fast enough.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, suddenly serious.

"No, it's just. You gave me a scare this morning," she said, a bit flustered, looking away, "and you are taking this far too lightly".

He looked puzzled.

''It was barely a scratch,'' he said, shrugging, then wincing. "And the headache will be gone in the morning."

''It was a concussion,'' she corrected, distractedly. "If your head still hurts it wouldn't kill you take a decent painkiller. The one you took this morning was ridiculously mild."

''No, thank you, Mediwitch Granger. If you must know, they make me drowsy.''

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

''So what? Were you planning on looking for more adventures today?''

The moment her words came out of her mouth an idea formed in her mind. He frowned.

''I do not think the role of nagging mediwitch becomes you, Miss Granger.''

''You do not have to,'' stated Hermione, firmly pushing down any thoughts hinting on the contrary. She grabbed the vial of a strong painkiller and put it in front of him. ''Just do yourself a favour and drink it.''

He threw her a dirty look but, to her surprise, gulped down the vial and left to his room without another word.

 ---------

A few hours later she was inside the classroom of History of Magic classroom, knocking at the discrete door completely camouflaged in between the wooden panes, covered in dust. She had the sudden thought that probably she was the first person to ever go look for Binns in his private quarters and wished fervently that he had not developed any embarrassing habits when in private. Could ghosts change clothes? Did they undress?

A cloud of dust flew off the juncture of the door panel when it opened, confirming her initial impression.

''Miss Green,'' said Binns, thankfully dressed in his usual classroom clothes, blinking owlishly. ''The class is over.''

So he had not even noticed that she was no longer in his class. She would definitely not correct him.

''I know. Mr Binns, could I ask you a quick question?'' he was looking so perplexed that she didn't wait for him to answer. ''You commented in class that through the ages many wizards have claimed to own an unbeatable wand.''

''Did I?'' asked Binns, clearly still disconcerted that anyone seemed to have paid attention to anything he had said.

''Yes. I was wondering if you could tell me a bit more about it. I mean, I know that is unlikely that there is one all-powerful wand but it is possible that there is a particularly powerful one that has been passed from wizard to wizard...''

The ghost waved away her explanation, apparently losing interest.

''Absolute nonsense, if you ask me,'' he stated. ''Most despotic wizards in a quest for power and transcendence have tried to spread stories to add to their mystique. Having an unbeatable wand is only one of many. Merlin traded his wand for a staff, Gryffindor never parted from his sword. I have to say that not all of them were Dark wizards... After all, our very late Headmaster had his own powerful symbol perched in his office. As does the latest Dark Lord, actually, carrying around his snake. Magical beasts seem to be the trend nowadays, now that I think of it. It is a much welcome change - definitely more elegant than falling back to the ever-present Death Stick. Perhaps that's why Grindelwald was the last one to use it...''

Hermione started.

''Wait, did you say Grindelwald?'' asked Hermione urgently. ''Did he own - did he claim to own the Death Stick?''

It couldn't be that obvious, could it? Grindelwald chose the Deathly Hallows as a symbol. Krum said as much at Bill's wedding.

''Yes, Miss Grant, he certainly encouraged the rumours during his rise to power, for all the good it did to him. As I was saying, he was defeated, like all his others, and ended up half of his life in jail...''

He continued droning on the futility of trying to determine the most powerful wizard in magical history since there was no reliable way of comparing the prowess of wizards from different ages, not to mention specialised in different fields, but Hermione had long stopped listening since she had immediately made the next connections and she was feeling her world collapsing around her.

She transformed leaving Professor Binns in the middle of a sentence - 'the new generations have no respect' - and ran back to the Headmaster's towers as in a daze, her head swirling. However, as she let the stairs lift her to the Headmaster's office, the course of action in her mind was crystal clear.

Chapter Text

She confronted Dumbledore's sleeping portrait more angry than she remembered ever being.

"I know about the wand. About your wand, to be precise, and how it changes owner," she hissed. "So stop faking sleep this instant and give me a single good reason why I shouldn't just go and tell the man sleeping upstairs that you signed his death sentence months ago."

Hermione was so agitated that she barely felt a twinge of triumph when the painted eyes snapped open and assessed her.

"I do not know what you are rambling about but it really seems to upset you so why don't we continue in a more private place? The Half-Moon study should suffice."

She felt as if she had been slapped but swallowed her ire and stomped into the room with the usually empty canvas in which Dumbledore was entering. She crossed her arms and prodded him.

"Well?"

"Would you care to explain what has unsettled you so?" he asked kindly. At his calm countenance, Hermione had a moment of doubt. What if she had jumped to conclusions? Indeed, why would he hide one of the Deathly Hallows and at the same time give her the key to discover its existence?

"You own one of the Deathly Hallows. The Elder Wand. The Death Stick."

"I own nothing, Miss Granger. If you remember, I am but a painting-"

"What are you playing at?" she snapped. "How could you keep this from him after asking him to kill you? The Dark Lord will trace the wand to Severus the same as I did. You signed his death sentence!! "

"I did - and continue doing - what is necessary to win this war. What are you trying to accomplish, Miss Granger?"

"Exactly the same thing you are, Headmaster but -"

"Are you willing to put your life at risk if that gave us a better chance to defeat Tom?"

"Of course I am. But there is a significant difference between deciding to risk my life and volunteering others!"

"Severus is a spy, Miss Granger. Do not insult his intelligence by assuming that he is not aware of the risks involved," he said dismissively. "He swore an oath to that purpose a long time ago."

"Oh, I know about you and your vows. But somehow I doubt this particular situation was foreseen then. Then again, if it was, there is no point in keeping it from him, don't you think?" she asked shrewdly.

His face seemed to freeze for an instant, mimicking a muggle portrait, but then, to Hermione's surprise, his expression softened.

"Your commendable intellect makes me forget how unbelievably young you are. There is still much for you to learn about human nature - and Severus' character in particular - if you think burdening him with this type of knowledge would help him in any way. Severus was perfectly aware from the start that there were high chances that his role as a spy would bring him to his demise. He knows for a fact that a stray thought can mean the difference between life and death, any given day. Do you really expect him to do better with yet another one Damocles' proverbial swords over his head?"

Hermione listened to the conciliatory tone with mounting incredulity. She didn't even have to think about the verdict.

"Not good enough." She said with finality and stalked towards the stairs leading to the bedroom.

"Miss Granger," he thundered. "Stop right now! You are making a terrible mistake..." At that, she turned.

"In any case, my mistake won't be as big as yours... I am Hermione Snape. And you were the one who gave me the clues to figure out that the plan was to get my husband killed."

Her fury lasted until the moment she laid her eyes upon said husband, so foreign to her. She sighed softly and approached the bed hesitantly, stopping at its feet. He was on his side, in a relaxed foetal position. He retained a small frown even while sleeping, although his jaw wasn't clenched with tension as usual.

She vacillated. She was sure that telling him was the right thing to do but it was true his situation was so unsustainable that him knowing it didn't ensure it was going to make a difference. Perhaps Dumbledore was right and it would only cause him more stress - she didn't contemplate the option of him turning sides - but she believed he deserved the chance to try to do something about it...

She realised with a start that at some point of her musings he had woken up and was blinking confusedly at her from the bed.

"I'm sorry for waking you up, Severus, but we need to talk. No, no need to hurry," she added quickly, seeing him already reaching for his wand sluggishly "I don't think it is that pressing but... it's important," said Hermione, and made to leave.

"Hermione," he rasped and paused to clear his throat. "Did anything happen with Potter? Are you alright?" he asked, frowning sharply even though he was clearly still fighting with somnolence.

"I'm fine," she said swallowing hard at his sleepy concern. It isn't fair, she thought angrily. "Just come downstairs when you are ready, please, I will be waiting for you in the living room."

---

"Please, take a seat," said Hermione primly once he appeared at the door fully dressed, motioning towards the armchair at her right.

He obeyed with a lifted eyebrow and an inquiring glance to the portrait.

"Now, Headmaster," said Hermione, "either you start with your tale or I will tell mine. And I doubt my version would be as adorned as yours."

"That won't be necessary, Mrs Snape." Said the late Headmaster with a hard edge to his words. Hermione reddened slightly but kept her posture firm and stared pointedly at him until he started speaking. However, she only truly listened to the first few sentences, then she became more concerned with the increasingly paling face of Severus Snape. He had been listening in complete silence and with more aplomb than she thought possible given the situation, to the Headmaster as he explained how he had considered setting him up for an almost certain death a reasonable course of action.

Once he clearly realised where the story was going, he stood up and started pacing. Hermione then followed his movements as she would have done to a caged panther walking through the room, and nearly with the same level of apprehension.

"Where is it?"

"Severus-"

"WHERE. IS. IT?" he bellowed.

"I gave instructions so it was buried with me. Inside the tomb."

Before the last syllable was out of the Headmaster's mouth Severus had stormed out through the door. There were a few seconds of stunned silence before a voice piped.

"I hope you are aware of the potential ramifications of whatever happens now."

Hermione didn't bother to answer, she bolted through the door, transforming mid-step, to go after him. She followed through the dark empty corridors, through the stairs, the main door and the grounds and watched him stalk to the foot of the white tomb, where he started pacing agitatedly. She stopped at a dozen metres, and watched, tense. After a few minutes, he stilled in front of the tomb.

She approached cautiously and positioned herself at his side, still in her otter form. Although it was dark and foggy and she thought there was little chance of anyone seeing her, and she didn't want to disturb him.

After some time passed, she didn't know how much exactly, he spoke.

"You can relax now, Hermione. I'm not going to do anything stupid," he said quietly.

Hermione transformed to reply.

"I'm not worried about that." she said, "I'm far more worried about you." She glanced at him and decided to say everything. "You carry an incredibly heavy burden - many would have cracked under it long before now - and you don't have to. Not all by yourself."

"I've been doing it for a long time now, girl, although it seems I won't have to "carry it" for much longer now." He said, with a tinge of bitter humour in his voice. "Besides, who would I share it with? With you, Mrs Snape?" He said with a faint tinge of humour.

Hermione blushed slightly but stood her ground stubbornly. "I seem to be the logical choice right now."

"What was that about, by the way? He has never called you that before."

This time she could feel herself blushing fiercely.

"I was very angry before, we argued, and perhaps I became a bit... 'protective' about you," she admitted, embarrassed.

At that, he cocked his head to look at her.

"You like me," he did not quite ask, after a few seconds of scrutiny.

Hermione shrugged, having arrived at a somewhat more troubling conclusion not long before.

"You sound surprised."

"I am," he admitted simply, then turned back to his contemplation of the tomb.

After another long silence, Hermione was starting to shiver. She hadn't noticed the chilling weather in her animagus form, but at that moment her clothes were already getting damp.

"Shall we go back?" She asked, cautiously.

"Yes. Just... give me a moment," he muttered with sudden determination. He knelt by the tomb and placed a hand on the white marble, pressing his fingers against the surface. His eyes closed.

Hermione watched him warily. She guessed what he was doing; trying to feel the wand. Curious as she was, she understood perfectly the urge to, at least once, feel the power within before giving it up. She couldn't imagine the terrible temptation it would be for him, who, in addition, was as good as sentenced to death.
It was only a couple of minutes until he opened his eyes and stood once more, brushing the grass off his knees.

"Did you..? You know..." She asked.

"No," he answered bitterly and all of a sudden he seemed defeated.

When he passed by her, she grabbed his hand on an impulse and squeezed it. He only stopped briefly then kept walking, adapting his pace to her. They only released their hands when the doors of the castle came into view and Hermione retook her animal form.

Back at the tower, he went directly to the living room and collapsed onto the sofa, unbuttoning his robes and toeing his boots off, under the watchful gaze of Albus Dumbledore.

"Severus..."

"Not now, Albus. Leave. It is an order," he said without even bothering to look.

Hermione, by the door, couldn't help but give the Headmaster a disdainful look, before taking a seat.

They stayed in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Hermione, I thank you for your concern and for making me aware of the situation," he eventually said, considering his words carefully. "That said, I reckon that part of this loyalty is triggered by the bonds we swore a long time ago, so I would ask you to be alert to the symptoms and, whenever you can, avoid being carried away by them. It might be dangerous," he said flatly.

"The vows have nothing to do with it. They will keep me from spilling your secrets, sure, but I wasn't compelled to tell you about this by the bonds- Believe me, I would know." He threw her a mildly inquiring look. "We - Ron, Harry and I - did some tests on them before my coming back here. Trust me, if the vow was acting I would know." He seemed unconvinced but didn't argue the point.

Hermione had thought he had been taking it in stride but at that moment he looked the image of defeat.

"I know it looks bad, but it is not hopeless. Now that we know, we can prepare. We will figure something out."

He shook his head.

"No one - no one - he has set his sights on has survived. Including Dumbledore. There's no way out."

She bristled.

"Of course there isn't if you don't look for it. I didn't tell you so you could give up, I told you to give you a fair chance!" She exclaimed, going to him and gripping his hands tightly. "We have to do some heavy thinking here, I grant you, and we need to decide what to do with the wand and how to protect you, but we will do it. Together. We'll figure something out," she said fiercely. "Promise me, Severus. Promise me you will try."

He gave her a long look. Hermione did not know what he saw when he looked at her, with her tired face, rumpled pyjamas and dishevelled hair but she tried to convey without words her hope that there was a way, her faith in his capabilities and her conviction that in the end, it would all have been worth it.

Whatever the reason, the dead look on his face disappeared. He clenched his jaw and sealed their pact with a nod.

Chapter Text

Hermione felt the dynamics shift somehow. She didn't know if because of Dumbledore's revelations or her own admittance, he walked around quiet and sombre where he was previously brisk and busy.

He had also recovered a strange formality that screamed to Hermione that she had overstepped the boundaries. It was subtle but, for her, after having spent so much time in close quarters, it was hard not to notice that he stood with his spine straighter, tended to keep his distance when before he used to gravitate towards her in his free moments and there was an inflexion in the way he pronounced her name that made her think he was refraining from going back to calling her 'Miss Granger'.

She should not have taken his hand.

When Hermione offered to brainstorm with him, he declared he needed some time to think so she went back to her research. Or tried to. The next step was going through all her notes, gather all the relevant comment and add any additional information she remembered. Maybe, in all the jumble of names and expired gossip, there was a hint of additional items that could have become Horcruxes or a hint of the location of the ones they knew about. However, the moment she thought about it she felt her energy waning. What was the point? It felt such a long shot, such an unlikely attempt compared to the very real, urgent situation she had close by. She had thought at first that he had taken the news quite well, however, she was starting to rethink her assessment. He no longer worked on school papers but mostly stared listlessly into the horizon. He clearly needed help, a kick, to have him start looking for solutions. But, on the other hand, if she didn't look for the Horcruxes, intervened the nagging voice in her head that used to push her out of bed early in the mornings, who would?

After being caught up in this loop for what felt like hours, she let her head drop onto the table despondently.

"Is anything the matter?"

She sighed heavily, knowing she should not have called his attention, and spoke without raising her head from the nest of her arms.

"Not really. It's just... at some point you get tired of grasping at loose threads."

"How bad it is, really?"

Hermione had the urge to lie but decided not to.

"Bad enough. I feel like I'm trying to find the Holy Grail."

He was silent for a few seconds. Suddenly she felt his hand on her shoulder and jumped slightly, she had not heard him approach. He retired it immediately. Hermione barely stopped herself from thumping her head back against the table again. She was about to speak when his voice stopped her.

"Sometimes, it is helpful to try not to look at the bigger picture..." he said in a soft, grave tone. She followed his movement around the desk. "Sometimes it has to be enough to know that you are still doing your best. You have to continue blindly and hope that if everyone else is doing the same at some point something will be achieved."

Hermione swallowed and nodded, absorbing his words, then she smiled at him ruefully.

"I would never have taken you for an optimist,"

"I am not, but I suspect you are," he said, letting himself fall onto his chair, almost in the same relaxed posture in which they'd shared many conversations in the previous weeks. "Most Gryffindors are. It explains why you keep doing such astoundingly stupid things time and time again."

"Such as?"

He shrugged.

"Most rational people would have given up on those two dunderheads you call friends as a lost cause a long time ago. Yet you somehow keep sticking with them instead of letting them solve their own problems."

Hermione chuckled weakly. "Thank you. Then why don't you?" He quirked an eyebrow in interrogation and she elaborated. "Give up, let Harry 'solve his own problems', etc. At least I like the guy," joked Hermione, trying to lighten the mood. However, something in his stance told her that she had said the wrong thing.

"You don't think it's worth it?"

"Of course I do."

He made a gesture as if saying 'there you have your answer'. Hermione was not really convinced but couldn't think of anything safe to add.

They were silent for a few seconds, each lost in their own thoughts. To Hermione's surprise, he was the one that broke it.

"Tell me something, if you can. Is there a strong reason why a direct attack against him is not likely to be successful?" he asked. Hermione looked at him, startled. " I've been lead to believe that there is an optimal timing to attack. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"So we are relatively certain that a direct attack on him would fail, no matter how...unexpected from his side."

Hermione looked at him, his stark face, the clench of his jaw and wondered if he was offering to do what she thought he was. It would be suicide.

"Yes, we are quite certain," she answered. "A direct attack right now would be a useless sacrifice. Wand or no wand," she added, for good measure. She wanted to be sure he got the message. "Even if you succeeded, he would come back."

"I see," was all he said before going back to his musings.

The next day he was willing to join a brainstorm session. However, it was soon evident that he meant to do very little participating. Tired of dragging little more than monosyllabic words out of him. Hermione started hypothesising out loud on how the Dark Lord would go about executing one of his followers, hoping to get a reaction.

"... it might be that he is so self-obsessed as to believe himself invincible but let's assume that he's not, for the sake of the argument. In this case, he would not take the chance that you would fight back and land a hex so it wouldn't be a fair fight, he would make it so. He would either make you helpless or lull you into a false sense of security..." She stared, frustrated. "Does that sound right to you?"

"Against popular opinion, I am not a sociopath," he answered.

Hermione huffed.

"And against popular opinion, I do not enjoy doing other people's homework. You know what I meant. Does it makes sense to you?"

"It would be the logical thing to do. He is often logical," he answered, noncommittally.

She threw her hands up in frustration. "Come on, help me here. You must have seen him do it before. How-" she had been expecting it but still her stomach twisted when he did not correct her. "- how does he do it normally?

He frowned darkly, the image of reticence, but finally spoke.

"He has a brilliant mind, no matter how twisted. Brilliant minds tend to get bored easily. He... likes variety."

Hermione must have looked as queasy as she felt because he felt finally compelled to explain.

"It's not the killing itself that he finds interesting but I suspect he chooses the scenery carefully. He... likes having an audience."

"That would make things difficult," Hermione commented, disheartened.

"He would not want an audience for this," said a voice from the wall at Hermione's left side. She stiffened.

"Thank you, Headmaster," she said, still a bit miffed that he had waited so long to collaborate, seeing her difficulties, then looked at Snape enquiringly.

"I agree," he said simply.

"Why?"

"As I seem to have heard you comment, he is not stupid. If he started killing followers for no good reason, they would eventually raise against him."

"He could claim you had betrayed him," offered Hermione.

"And admit that Severus had fooled him twice?" piped Dumbledore's portrait again.

"You have a point," she admitted, grudgingly. "So, what would he use then? What has he used before?"

"Avada Kedavra. Or Nagini,"

Hermione blanched and swallowed hard.

"Okay, let's start with Nagini. How does she... I mean, is she a constrictor or...wait, is she venomous?"

"She is, but before you ask: yes, I have found an antivenim. What kind of Potions Master would I be otherwise?"

Hermione ignored his affronted tone. "Do you have some ready?"

"In my medicine cabinet. It's the dark vial labelled 'AVN'," he answered stiffly.

"That's not close enough. You should carry some on you at all times."

He nodded once.

"It might be wise to add blood-replenishing and dittany," added Albus.

Hermione nodded. "And a painkiller."

"Shall I add a cauldron and a portable fire, just in case?" Snape added, snarkily. "Or should I lock myself in the potions storage room to wait for the Dark Lord?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Come on, you just need to expand your robes and cast a lightweight charm on your medicine box."

"You suggest I do that every time I get called away? Or in the middle of one of the Dark Lord meetings, if it happens to go for longer than a couple of hours?"

Hermione blinked.

"Hmm er no. You only have to renew them every few months."

Snape scoffed and mumbled something almost unintelligible but Hermione caught the words 'Know-It-All'. She felt as if he had slapped her.

"Excuse me-?"

"What Severus meant to say," interrupted the Dumbledore's voice, "is that that type of spellwork can be quite challenging for someone that has not practised that particular field of spellcasting regularly."

"Oh," she said, trying not to flush at the thrill of knowing she was more accomplished than him in this field. "Well. I've been practising, I will do it for you. I will need the cloaks you use the most."

"I will make them available to you," he answered formally.

"Okay, now that's settled," she said briskly, producing a parchment "let's try to go for other things we can do something about. Bindings. Would he bind you? With what? Does it have a counterspell? Can you do wandless magic? Could we make a word-coded portkey?"

They run over all the possible factors and devised a plan of action whenever possible. To her surprise, he was already capable of moderate wandless magic and he started that very afternoon to try to untie magical bindings while she started expanding his cloak pockets.

However, as the shadows grew in the office with the sunset, so did Hermione's doubts. Their previsions seemed unbearably optimistic. The most likely way he would be killed was through the killing curse, which they had no way to counteract and, even if he managed to wandlessly unbound himself, when was he supposed to take the antivenom in front of the Dark Lord?

She thought of the muggle spy films her dad liked to watch and the hidden vials they hid in their mouths with cyanide in case they were caught. Should they start thinking about something like that? Surely it could be replicated with magic but it sounded so ludicrous. Suddenly the solution appeared clear, and obvious in her mind. She dropped the cloak she was about to charm.

"Run."

"What did you say?" he asked distractedly without looking up from his tied wrists, that Hermione had secured a few minutes before.

"You must run, run away. Hide."

He looked up sharply.

"Have you gone crazy?"

"Of course not," said Hermione, starting to pace. "I'm serious. That's the safest way."

"You seem to have forgotten nobody that left him survived," he said, the tied hands resting on his desk.

She turned to him and approached his desk.

"Nobody that left was as smart. You can do it. You will be smarter."

"You are also forgetting the students," he said matter-of-factly, then he raised his bound hands, which Hermione untied absently with a wave of her wand.

"We will make them leave too. I'll talk to my friends."

"I will not shirk my duties," he stated.

But Hermione was not listening, her mind was working feverishly.

"Now, you should leave now that nobody expects it. Gather your things," she said, grabbing the bundle of cloaks she had been working on and going towards the door connecting to the stairs up.

He stopped her by grabbing her upper arm as she passed by, looking unnerved.

"You can not be serious. I have nowhere to go but, even if I did, I would never run away and leave the school to the Carrows. I'm no coward."

Hermione looked up at him, conflicted herself and readjusted the bundle against her hip. Of course he was right, something had to be done about the students in Hogwarts but it didn't have to be him. There had to be another option.

"We'll warn McGonagall, we'll call in the Order. Not everything can be your responsibility - you've done more than enough already!"

He let loose of her arm as if burned.

"You don't know what you are saying," he hissed "you don't have the slightest ide-".

"Enlighten me then, oh wise one. What in the blazes have you done to you deserve to be slaughtered like a pig?"

"So you can go gossip with your little friends and have a laugh? Is that why you made me waste all this time, why you put me through all this?" he spat, motioning to the bindings on his desk and approaching menacingly.

"How dare you!?" she screeched, dropping the cloaks to the floor and stepping up to him. "I'm sorry I don't know the answer to everything but by now it should be bloody obvious that I do bloody care!" she said, hand on her hips and raising her head up defiantly.

Then something strange happened. As her words rang into the room, instead of the fiery explosion she was expecting from him, he froze, becoming unnaturally still.

Before Hermione could realise how close they were and feel mortified at having invaded his personal space once more, she saw his eyes dart to her mouth and his throat swallowing thickly and a completely different message reached her brain, blinding her. At that moment Hermione knew, with the certainty of years and years of evolution, that he wanted her. And that he was scared.

"Forgive me," he mumbled and made to step back. At the mix of disappointment and urgency she felt, she didn't have to wonder if she wanted him too. So, before she could think twice about it, she grabbed his sleeve to stop his retreat and closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his.

Chapter Text

So before she could think twice about it, she closed the distance between them and their lips merged. Hermione felt him inhale sharply in the stark silence. Then his arms wrapped around her waist, pressing their bodies closer.

She barely had time to sample the sensations - his taste, his woodsy smell - before his hands clenched around her, pressing her even closer and changing the tempo. Their kiss became frantic, their movements brusque, unhinged, born from desperation. If she had had a cold mind, she would have probably be alarmed, but at that moment she matched his intensity point by point. She pulled at his cloak with trembling fingers as one of his roaming hands found her breast. They stumbled across the room and she vaguely heard him knock over his chair before her bum hit the back of the table. The hit unlatched their mouths and forced them to take a break. Their eyes locked, and they stared at each other, panting heavily, neither daring to do the first move. Without taking her eyes away, she extended her hand towards him and, very deliberately, popped out one button of his frockcoat. Then another, then another one. Then, biting her lip, she placed both her hands flat on his upper chest and slid them over his shoulders bringing the cloak and frockcoat with them and letting them fall on the floor.

That seemed to make him snap and he threw himself at her, his lips crushing hers, his body pinning her to the table, his hardness rubbing against her apex. Hermione felt heat creep up from her chest to her head, her body in flames. Then he hoisted her up against him, and she automatically wrapped her legs around his narrow waist. When something bumped against her clitoris just so, sending an almost electric shock to her navel, she stopped thinking altogether. She felt like a rush of air, and then somehow they were in his bedroom and she was dumped on the bed unceremoniously.

While he toed off his boots and unclasped his belt, she pulled out her trousers, and then he was on top of her. Suddenly, it struck her oddly the physicality of him, the stark reality of his weight pushing her down, and the fog of lust dissipated from her brain, leaving way to a cold curiosity. She started sampling the new sensations, as he slid a probing hand between her legs sending a frisson of pleasure to her navel. She vowed to commit to memory the growl he gave at finding her knickers, which made her flush mightily. He then pulled them to the side and explored clumsily, eventually inserting two long fingers inside and pumping them in and out. It stung a little, his fingers noticeably thicker than hers but her body adapted quickly and after only a few seconds she grew impatient and shifted her hips to provide a better angle, seeing that he was not finding the right spot. He probably misread her actions since he immediately removed his fingers and pushed the head of his - her mind skittered away from the word, for some reason - in. Hermione let out a surprised cry and, for an instant, she was terrified. It hurt, it burned - did something actually tear? She didn't think so, but she felt trapped and the odd feeling before materialised in words: he was bigger, heavier and stronger than her. She craned her head back, looking for his eyes for reassurance, but only saw his clenched jaw and the tendons of his neck, he seemed to be tense as a wire and completely oblivious. She tentatively tried to move her hips and realised she could not.

But he could, and he did, increasing the burning sensation. Smoothly, once twice, getting a bit deeper with each thrust. She shut her eyes tight and tried to relax. To her relief, after only a few shallow thrusts her body seemed to accommodate him and the burning turned back to the tingling she had felt when he was rubbing against him. When his pelvis bumped against her mound, she was back into it, all discomfort forgotten, gasping with every thrust. Oh yes, that was much more like it. Sooo much better.

He sped up, putting more and more power behind his thrusts. It was not enough, though. Hermione raised her legs, trying to find the right angle and that seemed to be his undoing. He moaned low close to her ear, sending a frisson of desire through her body and gave a handful of powerful thrusts before holding still, his breath ragged against her neck, a pulsing sensation inside of her. After a few seconds, he collapsed by her side.

Hermione kept still, blood pounding in her ears, feeling lightheaded herself. The pang of disappointment for not having reached orgasm was soon overridden by the exhilaration of what she had done. And with whom. She had shagged. A teacher. Not only that, she had shagged Severus Snape. She had shagged a Death Eater, a spy, a man twice her age and most definitely not Ronald Weasley. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to order her thoughts and failing. Just the fact that she had shagged at all seemed an enormity to her.

It was not what she had expected, but she was prepared to admit her expectations had been nurtured by the romantic classics and teenage romance novels, and at this moment both of them seemed sorely lacking in information. They did not say anything about the burning feeling at the start, nor the almost... primal feeling of having a man pumping in and out of her, nor the slapping sound, nor the icky sensation of the softened penis slipping out. And better not to start on the man that had done all that. His preliminaries had also left much to be desired...

Her heartbeat under control, she turned to look at him. He had let himself fall face-down at her side, one of his arms still laying over her belly. His face was streaked by his dark locks of hair and, to her surprise, he seemed to be asleep. She felt strangely bereft. The question popped to her mind immediately: did she regret it?

Her eyes followed the line of his jaw, his neck, the rumpled shirt that she had not managed to open completely and that bunched under his stomach, then the expanse of pale skin and the start of the swell of his bum, partially covered with the trousers that he had not completely discarded. She felt a twinge of desire and an unsettling rush of possessiveness and guessed she had found her answer.

And for the rest, she would deal with it later; she would for sure take those preliminaries in hand the next time because she would definitely give it another try. With a small secretive smile, she turned her head back up, closed her eyes and let sleep come.

------------------

Hermione woke up disoriented. She grabbed the closest piece of cloth - his, she recognised instantly and wrapped it around her before approaching the figure by the window. Hermione stood by his side, his only acknowledgement, a glance her way, and observed the scenery through the window. It was a crescent moon reflected on the lake, that made for an almost perfect mirror, the small ripples barely noticeable. The mist was wafting out from the trees, giving the forest an eerie look. There was no apparent movement anywhere and no lights were visible anywhere in sight. If Hermione hadn't known better, she would have thought they were the only inhabitants of the castle.

"Are you alright?" she eventually asked, still looking straight ahead.

He made a choked sound.

"Shouldn't it be me asking that question?"

Yes, she thought immediately but carrying a Horcrux for months had taught her something about controlling her more petty impulses. She shrugged instead.

"It was me who started it," she admitted. "I would say my motivation was clear." There was silence again.

"Still, I - I normally, I never..." he trailed off, swallowing thickly.

She thought she would probably regret asking later, but she needed to know. "Do you regret it?" she asked, bravely looking straight ahead.

Only the slightest catch at the end betrayed the importance of the question.

She saw him turn to look at her with the corner of her eyes. She swallowed.

"No. I find I can't," he answered quietly. She fought not to react, but the whisper of his fingers on hers on the windowsill made her exhale abruptly in relief. However, before she could react, he drew his hand back. "We shouldn't have done it," he declared, and Hermione was glad she hadn't had the time to do something humiliating.

"But you just said..."

He turned her towards him and scrutinised her puzzled face, his fingers tracing her cheek.

"I said I didn't regret it, and I don't. I still think it wasn't our greatest idea," he explained. His mouth twisted ruefully, "although God knows it wasn't my worst one."

Hermione chuckled wetly and realised a few tears of relief had escaped her eyes. "I didn't think I was that bad in bed..." she said, trying her chance at humour.

"Don't be ridiculous. I am no expert but..."

"Then maybe we could try again some other time..."

He pulled his hand back.

"Hermione-"

"Listen, we are both adults, we are both free - we are even married together, for God's sake!" That made him snort and his face soften, as it was meant to do.

"Many married couples could attest to that not being a valid argument..."

Hermione snorted inelegantly.

"You can do better than that."

His lip curled fleetingly in a smile but it fell quickly.

"You know as well as I do how hopeless this - my - situation is. We shouldn't be making it even more complicated."

Hermione, however, was not deterred this time and put a hand on his arm, stepping closer.

"I wouldn't say 'hopeless'. 'Difficult', maybe."

"If you want to play with words: unsustainable, then. Unlikely," he swallowed, as she started playing with the fastenings of his cloak at his neck. "Unthinkable."

"Any more 'un'-adjectives you want to floor me with..?"

"No, but many 'im'. Implausible."

"Just don't say 'impossible'," she whispered, seeking his eyes. He averted his, but remained quiet so Hermione continued. "Look, I don't have great expectations - on anything, really - God knows where we will be in a couple of months from now. But I don't see any good reason why we shouldn't enjoy our time together."

"I can think a few," he stated, meeting her eyes, but this time he did not pull back.

A hard glint came to her eyes.

"Have any of them not been raised by Dumbledore?" she asked scathingly.

"Of course not, but you have to give it to him that he tends to think of everything," he answered with a wry smile.

She huffed.

"We are not hurting anyone, nor putting either of us more at risk than before in any significant way."

At that, his expression shifted.

"Hermione, about that... I was quite brusque -before. I apologise, I do not know what came into me." He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't know what your preferences are but I -" he swallowed, "I just wanted to let you know that that is not my usual behaviour."

"Don't mention it," she stated, feeling all the reservations she had melt away. Then she bit her lip, eyeing him. His hair was tousled, his lips slightly swollen and his open cloak left a stripe of his bare chest uncovered, which her eyes traversed quickly. She felt her throat dry. "I wouldn't mind giving 'your usual' a try then," she muttered, feeling the heat creep up to her face.

He tilted her face up to him and before she could gauge his expression his lips were pressed against hers, Her eyes closed and she kissed him back sensually, her body responding instantly. One of his hands raised to cup her face, gently stroking her cheek, then her ear to finally slide to the back of her neck, while the other one pressed her flush against him by the small of her back, deepening the kiss. This time she was hyper-aware of each new point of contact between their bodies; the little touches, the roughness of his hand, the pressure of his chest against hers. The remaining items of clothing fell to the floor one after the other, as they made their slow path towards the bed. Hermione climbed onto the mattress, shivering as his unfathomable gaze traced his body from head to toe before following. He gave her a passionate kiss before trailing open-mouthed kisses down her neck, her breasts and her abdomen that made all her body tingle. Then he looked up at her, his eyes hooded, his lips close to her navel.

"Show me how you like it," he rasped, his hand creeping up her tight to rest at her opening.

Feeling incredibly self-conscious, but also thinking that moment more erotic than anything she could have imagined, she guided his hand with hers as his mouth found one of her breasts. In no time, the combined sensations had her panting, her hips rocking, aching for more.

"Do me," she said, the words escaping her lips. He only froze for a second before complying.

It stung when he entered her again, still tender from the previous less-than-gentle intercourse. However, the tingle of excitement was there and the feeling kept building up with every languid, thrilling stroke. He was also paying attention now, his mouth half-open, his eyes darting all over her face and body when he was not kissing her mouth, her nose, her neck. When he hit that spot again, she gasped and he lowered to his elbows to kiss her in earnest. This was it, this was what she had imagined, fantasized about. The erotic, languorous feeling of two bodies sliding against each other. The intimacy of the mixed breaths, the heated looks, the devouring kisses.

At some point, it was no longer enough, though, and pushed her hips up against him. "Faster", she whispered, and the power was back, the blood drumming in her ears, numbing her mind, his ragged breath on her neck.

Now she understood what was all about. Her entire body thrummed, the magic tingled at the tip of her fingers, in every point of contact with his skin. She felt powerful.

They laid tangled together afterwards, and Hermione basked in the warm feeling of his arm around her waist. Just when she felt her eyes begin to drop, she felt his heartbeat quicken against her shoulder blade just before he whispered. "You are a foolish, foolish girl. There are many things you don't know. About me. About him-" he stopped brusquely and Hermione was not sure if he was referring to Dumbledore or You-Know-Who. "I didn't switch sides for the reasons you think."

Hermione closed her eyes and realised she didn't want anything to spoil this - whatever it was - between them. At least not now it was so recent, so fragile.

"I don't care. I don't need to know," she said, and she was being truthful. For now, she added silently.

When he sighed deeply and burrowed his face in her neck, she knew she had chosen wisely

Chapter Text

When Hermione woke up the next morning she immediately noticed three things. One, she had a crick on her neck - probably bad posture. Two, something felt tender... down there - she really needed to get around saying these words. Three, she was alone in the room. All in all, she did not know if to feel relieved or disappointed.

The events of last night replayed on her head and she felt her face burn even as she could not help the smile from blooming. She finally knew what sex was about. She rubbed her legs together experimentally and was relieved as the soreness became more awareness than pain while she moved. She had heard some horror stories about it.

She stretched through the big bed luxuriously. His side was cold but she could still smell the cloying, musky scent of their bodies.

She was still amazed it had happened at all. She had been so convinced that he had been avoiding her... had he been keeping his distance precisely because he had felt something?

She felt a frisson of excitement. What exactly? What would he expect from her now? But more importantly, what did she expect? Did she want them to go steady? And if it did, would it give issues with her NEWTs? Wait, how was she ever going to tell Harry and Ron?

"Enough", she said out loud, giving herself a shake and throwing the covers away as she jumped out of bed. She mentally chastised herself as she walked toward the bathroom. She was in a less-than-ordinary situation and her future was too uncertain to start doing this type of long-term planning. She turned on the faucets and watched absently as the water level in the tube raised.

Besides, even if it turned out to be a fling it didn't necessarily have to be a bad thing; that would mean Harry and Ron didn't ever have to know.

She entered the warm water with a sigh.

Was he event the relationship type? she wondered, not completely able to let the topic go.

Even after realising her attraction towards him, she had strangely not given much thought to his previous experiences. She guessed that his position since the Dark Lord's return made any stable relationship quite unsustainable so that would mean he had been single at least for the last three years.

But he must have had some lovers in the past - although how this happened within Hogwarts without the student body knowing, she didn't know.

She was very aware that he was not classically handsome, and probably never had been, but he was more than attractive enough. The man was in good shape, lean with broad shoulders and long legs and exuded an indefinable quality that she had trouble defining... self-assurance? power? knowledge? - the thought that the latter would not have been considered attractive by most of her peers did not occur to her. Only thinking on the surety in his movements and his sharp tongue got her mind working. It did not escape her that the same characteristics that she found so compelling now were the ones that her 11-year-old self had found terrifying.

Recalling the time he had taught her about fundamental magic, she had to admit she had been more than a little awestruck by him even back then. It was a wonder she had not caught on her crush beforehand.

She tried to put some order in the muddle of impressions of him that she had in her head. She recalled his face and hands well enough, what she was avidly looking for where the new images: the line of black hair down the planes of his chest, the sharpness of his collarbone. She felt herself blush furiously at recalling the junction of his neck and shoulder, muscles straining as he laboured on top of her, and submerged herself into the water. She had to get a grip, she could not spend the day doing her best impression of Lavender around Firenze in their fifth year. She was above that, she thought firmly.

Suddenly another thought stopped her in her tracks. Contraception. All her excitement vanished. She had a good idea of what muggles used but only a vague knowledge of the options available for witches. Hogwarts, like many muggle schools, did not seem to consider sexual education a priority... and she had not seriously considered the possibility of needing anything before.

She sighed and climbed out of the bath. She did not have access to Mme Pompfrey nor her potions equipment and he was not stupid, he would realise it at some point himself so she might as well raise the issue with him directly.

She took a deep breath and went downstairs. The moment she entered the room, the smell of warm coffee assaulted her nose. Dumbledore surveyed her warily from the portrait, as you would a house cat that you only recently discovered could be poisonous. She ignored him and walked towards the tray.

"I hope you are aware that you are risking everything we fought for."

"After all the things he's been hiding from the Dark Lord, I sincerely doubt this makes any difference." Hermione countered, buttering a toast - she was ravenous.

" You misunderstand me. I have the utmost faith in Severus' ability in occlumency - although Merlin knows that last time he had such a - ah - inclination, he was everything but subtle."

"What is it then?" she answered, forcing herself to appear uninterested as she poured a cup of coffee. She had been expecting Dumbledore to disapprove, seeing he had tried to keep her away from him from the beginning. Still...

"Severus is prone to impulsive decisions, and it has happened in the past that he finds himself in commitments he cannot fulfil."

"How is it that he is still alive then? He's been doing your bidding for years."

"That is different. He never really cared about me."

"You are blinder than I ever thought possible if you believe that, professor," she answered absently, having just noticed a note under the coffee pot.

Upstairs.

She poured herself a cup and wondered if there was something wrong. As far as she knew, on the floor above the bedroom, there were only some books and his potion equipment.

She took some toast and coffee and walked towards the stairs.

"I just hope for all our sakes that this is only a distraction."

Hermione's stiffened, just about to exit the room.

"Excuse me?"

"Severus still has a role to play. When the time comes, he must not falter."

"He's not going to play the martyr for you" hissed Hermione, turning her face just enough time to see a flash of triumph pass his face before he stepped out of the frame.

She stomped her foot in frustration. Was he simply trying to play her or was there something still in motion that she did not know about? Dare she ask Severus?

Her other latest concern came back to the front of her mind and she could not hold back a self-deprecating snort. She really could not choose which of those questions she was less looking forward to asking him.

--------------------

He had set up a workbench with two cauldrons and was stirring something in the smallest one, which looked to be made of silver. He had his back towards her but the tension in his shoulder blades, noticeable even through his teacher regalia, told her that he was deeply focused. She decided not to interrupt him and leaned against the threshold instead, observing him at work.

Was it a bad sign that he seemed to have jumped back into his regular life as if nothing had happened or should she feel relieved that he took it in stride? Had he changed his mind?

He was observing the swirling liquid like a hawk until he seemed to see whatever he had been waiting for and poured in the vial he had been holding on his other hand.

"Is any of that coffee for me?" he asked without looking back, still stirring.

And just with that, her heart felt considerably lighter.

"Not really, but I might be convinced to share... if you tell me what you are brewing."

He gave a last stir and doused off the flames. He turned around and leaned against the counter, perusing her. She fought not to fidget, her heartbeat rate increasing.

"Nothing. I just finished," he smirked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Can I have a look?"

He raised a challenging eyebrow and looked pointedly at her coffee cup, still smoking.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and conjured a mug for him, then poured half of her coffee.

"It needs to rest for a couple of minutes, then you can prod it to your heart's content," he conceded, taking a sip. "Did you sleep well?"

"Quite." Hermione fought to keep down her blush but could not completely hold back a tentative smile. "How was breakfast?"

"As tedious as usual," he answered, shrugging.

Hermione nodded, relieved. They both sipped at their coffees in silence. Hermione considered how to bring up the other topic worrying her. He seemed to detect her unease, though.

"What is it?"

"I meant to ask you... Did we - you - use any contraceptives?" she could not help a wince while saying it. "I don't blame you if you didn't - I did not think of it myself - it is just, I am not on the potion and..."

He stopped her with a gesture and drowned down his cup before scourgifying it.

"I thought that might be the case," he said noncommittally. He went back to the cauldron and ladled some into his mug, then offered it to Hermione, who sent him a quizzical look.

"This would prevent any long-lasting effects, if taken within 72 hours of intercourse," he said formally.

"The entire mug?"

He nodded.

She finished the mug in silence, then peeked at him under her lashes.

"Thank you, that was thoughtful of you."

He was looking at the floor and seemed almost fidgety.

She slid the other mug, with the rest of the coffee over the table towards him but stopped his hand when he tried to take it to catch his attention.

"Severus... are you - we - okay?"

He looked up to her worried face for a second, then brought her hand to his lips gently before letting it go.

"Only as long as you are," he said, looking away. "It is, and will remain, your call."

Hermione nodded in understanding.

"Did you need me for anything? I came following your note."

He shrugged, the gesture strangely boyish.

"There was nothing in particular. I did not wish to alarm you. Or make you think I bolted."

"Come downstairs then, I barely ate anything before coming here. There's also more coffee where this came from."

As they went out, her eyes fell on the second cauldron, still bubbling softly.

"You never told me what was in that one."

"I never said I would," he said nonchalantly.

---------------

Hermione spent a remarkably anodyne day, in which he had been particularly absent, with a staff meeting and one of his surprise visits to the teachers.

She had finished the ghost catalogue, mostly to keep up appearances, and had spent the last hours going over her notes and adding all the details she recalled from the actual conversations. She glanced to Dumbledore's portrait, which was calmly observing her over her interlaced fingers, as he had been doing all day. He had been on his best behaviour, answering all questions related to her quest - but none related to his. Not for the first time she felt tempted to just tell Severus about them and be done wasting time - if she had not tried to cover her investigation line she could have had the information she needed within 15 minutes of arriving to the office. Althought she had to admit her research had brought up some very interesting tidbits among the centuries-old gossip, such as the quite extended rumour in the early XIV century that the real reason Gryffindor and Slytherin fought was because Slytherin shackled up with Cedrella, one of Gryffindor's daughters. Hermione had found it particularly funny because if Gryffindor was anything like Ron and Slytherin anything like Severus, she could perfectly picture how that would have played out.

Apart from the ghosts, she got a big bunch of family names to research - and a handful of possible objects. To her surprise, while the mentions to Slytherin's locket had been numerous, Helga Hufflepuff's cup had only come up three times. A couple of people had mentioned a staff from Slytherin and a cauldron from Helga Hufflepuff and many scattered mentions to rings from all four founders, although the descriptions of the rings varied from Headmaster to Headmaster. And, to her disappointment, no one had seemed to know anyone claiming to have seen Ravenclaw's diadem. She bit her lip, wondering if she should bring it up.

Just then, she heard the sound of the stairs - he would be coming back from lunch -, so she hid her notes on the objects and went back to the list of ghosts. Surprisingly - or unsurprisingly, depending on how she looked at it - three out of the four eldest ghosts still at Hogwarts were House Ghosts. It turned out that the Fat Friar, the Bloody Baron and The Grey Lady - three ghosts without a name, Hermione mused. were already present then Phyllida Spore made it to Headmistress. The fourth one, Dedalus Aerts, was a talkative young-looking ghost that was able to talk for hours over everything and anything medical - although Hermione suspected that most of his knowledge was inaccurate when not obsolete - and haunted primarily the Hospital Wing. Hermione wondered idly if he would be another good candidate to speak with, as she observed him focused on scribbling something in a paper with a hard set to his jaw.

When she caught herself thinking he really had nice hands, she decided that it was enough for the day and stood up.

"I am going upstairs to read," she announced.

He glanced up from his desk, his expression inscrutable, then nodded. "I will be upstairs myself shortly."

Hermione brushed her teeth, changed into her pyjamas - which pretty much consisted of the Jethro tool baggy t-shirt and long socks - and looked towards the bedroom consideringly. His words from that morning came back to her, 'it is, and will remain, your call'.

With a determined glint in her eye, she summoned one of her books from her cupboard and settled herself to read on his bed. She did not think she could be more clear than that.

She got so immersed in the book that she did not notice him there until he cleared his throat. She looked up to see him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. Her pulse sped up instantly.

"Is there where you are planning to sleep today?" he inquired, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I am considering my options. Would you sleep in the broom cupboard, if I asked you to?" she asked, motioning towards the entry of her bedroom.

"Do not push me," he growled but did not move from the door.

She let her eyes roam over him, his lank hair, pale skin and piercing eyes. His cloak was open, the top button of his shirt undone, and she could guess the plains of his chest. She could still point out all the traits she had come to identify as Professor Snape's, but somehow they amounted to something completely different. She felt a frisson of desire. Dare she?

"Do you normally sleep with your robe on?"

He raised his eyebrow at her, then started unbuttoning his shirt deliberately, walking towards the wardrobe.

She observed him, her heart thumping wildly, as he disposed of his clothes efficiently, her eyes lingering on the shifting of muscle on his shoulder blades as he folded his clothes. How far would he go? She did not have to wait long, as she clearly saw his hesitation when he was down to his boxers - black, no surprise there.

"Come join me," she said, closing the book but keeping the page marked.

He walked to the other side of the bed and lay on his back, his hands on his belly, then turned to look at her.

"What now, Hermione?"

Hermione left her book and scooted closer, biting her lip. He kept looking at her, his face neutral and she felt a stirring of annoyance that he was keeping his word. It would be so much easier if he showed interest...

As if reacting to her thought, she saw his adam's apple bob up and down, as he swallowed thickly. Hermione's lip curled up before lowering her head towards his and making their lips touch. The kiss started slow and languid but soon his arm snaked around her waist and she found herself straddling him. Their kiss deepened, his hands roaming up her thighs, over her bottom and under her t-shirt, making her warm all over.

Soon she was pressing down against him, instinctively looking for friction, and he snaked a hand inside her knickers, making her gasp. She tried to reciprocate but after several failed attempts to try to follow a regular rhythm, she pulled away, huffing and shrugged out of her knickers impatiently.

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down her spine and making her blush.

"Oh, shut it," she answered, kissing him hungrily. She felt vindicated when a calculated grind of her hips elicited a grunt from him.

She positioned his tip at her entrance, then lowered herself tentatively, then pulled up. She let herself sink fractionally more and more with each thrust until her bum sat against his legs. She breathed a sigh of relief; so far, so good.

Then she looked at him, watching her avidly, and tried not to feel too self-conscious as she started to move. It took her a few tries until, with the help of his hands on her hips, she found the right twist of hips that allowed her to keep a steady rhythm. After a couple of minutes, she pushed herself up, bracing herself against him and experimenting with different angles and moves, curiosity overcoming her.

He seemed to catch on what she was doing.

"Enjoying yourself, Granger?" he smirked, making her blush but she did not let her be deterred.

"Immensely," she answered, grinding down sharply, which made him inhale abruptly. She smirked, thinking that she had definitely found the way to shut down his teasing.

"Oh you..." he muttered before grabbing her hips and giving a few sharp thrusts of his own that left her breathless. After a few seconds, though, he let her hips go and let his hands creep up, exploring her breasts under her t-shirt and sending electric shocks to her core. She could not hold back a moan when one of his hand started playing with her nipple, pinching and pulling.

Hermione stopped playing and picked up the rhythm, biting her lip, now completely focused on the pleasure building, her movements becoming wider and stronger.

Suddenly he tightened his grip on her body and started thrusting up himself, making Hermione gasp with each snap of his hips, her orgasm building. One of his hands grabbed hers and brought it to her mound.

She opened her eyes and found his, dark and smouldering.

"I won't hold on much longer," he explained, his voice hoarse.

She nodded and started rubbing her nub, closing her eyes. It turned out she was not very far herself. Soon she felt the rising wave and she cried out, pleasure exploded behind her eyelids. A few thrusts afterwards, she felt his hands tightening on her hip, and her eyes snapped open to look at him. She saw a strangely raw expression flash through his face before he threw his head back with a grunt, head pressing against the pillow, his whole body tensing under hers, his hips furiously snapping once, twice more against hers before falling still. Hermione drank in the image, a primal thrill running through her body, before letting herself fall back to the bed at his side, still trying to catch her breath. She felt with no little satisfaction that he seemed to be struggling just as much. She curled against his side unable to contain her smile. Then a sudden thought crossed her mind.

"Severus..."

"Hmhmm?"

"Isn't it dangerous for me to stay out here this long? I mean, that's why I started sleeping in the cupboard."

"Not really. I feel when anyone approaches these quarters so I would have fair warning to hide you. The problem would be if I am called away and I cannot reach you in time."

"Is it okay if I stay then?"

"Certainly."

"Good," she sighed, closing her eyes contentedly. She was starting to feel the drowsiness of sleep when he spoke.

"Did you think I would throw you out after..? Well-"

"Well, I do not know what you expect. I did not want to presume," she answered reasonably.

"What do you normally do?" he asked, and Hermione could detect the genuine curiosity in his voice before the implications sank in. She raised her head to look at him.

"What do you mean what do I normally do?" she asked sharply. "How many dozens of people do you think I have slept with?"

He swallowed thickly and looked slightly pained.

"I did not want to presume."

Hermione snorted.

"Don't give me that. When was I supposed to find the time, or the candidates, in between all my subjects, my prefect duties and keeping Harry and Ron both alive and passing their lessons? Wait, did you think I was dating one of them?"

"Potter seems to be the popular opinion," he said, with a grimace.

For some strange reason she felt affronted on Ron's behalf. She did not want to even consider what 'popular' meant.

"And why not Ron? Let me tell you he is a perfectly hands-"

"Weasley, then?"

"No!" she huffed, letting her head fall back into the pillow. Not that she would have minded, at the time, she admitted to herself. She had fallen for him and thinking about him still gave her a strange ache in her chest. The weight of the what-ifs or could-have-been's. "Well, if you must know, I never had anything with neither of them. I hope it makes you feel better."

"Immensely," he said, neutrally. This time Hermione thought he meant it. Her eyes traced the patterns of the filigrees on the vaulted ceiling.

"I know you have a grudge with Harry, but he does not really deserve it. He is a good guy."

"Agree to disagree," he cut her.

"What about you..?"

"None that you know."

She pressed her lips together, considering if to press the point - fair was fair - but decided against it.

They spent a few moments in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, before she chuckled and shook her head.

"Sorry, I still can't wrap my mind around the idea that you thought I spent my last years sleeping around."

"Well, you are young and-," he seemed to catch himself. "I do not see why not."

"With the dunderheads of my classmates..?" she teased.

"You may have a point," he conceded, grudgingly.

"...or with my teachers?"

She was surprised at seeing him flinch.

 "Thanks for the reminder," he snapped, turning away and rolling out of bed.

She suddenly realised that he probably was as uncomfortable with it as she was. If not more.

"Oh, come on. I didn't mean - it does not feel weird - well, it does a bit when I think about it..." she rambled, but cut herself short when she saw him blanching further. "No, I mean. I don't think of you as my teacher now, I haven't for months, and particularly not when we are..."

"My relief knows no bounds," he said acerbically, pulling a shirt out of the wardrobe roughly, but she could see his shoulders relax. She got out of bed and approached him gingerly.

"Seriously. To my younger self, Professor Snape was snappy, exigent, cruel... and a bit scary. Now you are just... Severus," she finished, struggling to put her feelings into words. At seeing the play of emotions in his face, she pushed on. "You are short-tempered and scary sometimes," she admitted,  "but also smart, capable, supportive and you can definitely hold your end of the conversation which, let me tell you, it is a rare thing even within adult wizards - as far as I've seen - not that I've met that many. And Ron's family is not bad, even though..." she trailed off, realising his frown had gone and there was a curl to his lips. "What?"

"You look quite enchanting when flustered," he said, with a remarkable blank face.

She oompfed, feeling herself reddening and punched his shoulder before stomping away, not caring how childish she appeared.

"Maybe I should have aimed to keep the "scary" image a bit longer," he muttered.

She huffed, turning back, and raising her hands in exasperation.

"Honestly, do you think I would go anywhere near you if I still saw you as my teacher?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

He sighed and brought her against him, interlacing his fingers around her waist.

"I must confess your motives elude me," he answered eventually, studying her face.

"Motives? That sounds so...Slytherin."

He quirked an eyebrow.

"Am I supposed to find that offensive?"

She shook her head, smiling ruefully, and brought their lips together. He responded instantly by tightening his grip and pulling her flush against him, the force of the kiss startling her. When she felt her body heating up again, she untangled herself from her arms. She really did not want to test her body further that day.

"So, any theories?" she asked lightly, going back to bed and burrowing herself within the covers.

He observed her for a couple of seconds before moving to join her in bed, maybe trying to recall the question.

"Several, but I am heavily leaning towards thinking that your confinement here must have addled your brain."

Hermione barely pondered his statement before shrugging it off.

"It might very well be. That is my main theory on you too."

"I am not confined," he was quick to point out.

"So you say," she answered, trying to keep the tone light. However, neither of them felt like filling the silence afterwards.

Chapter Text

The next day, he was also gone for breakfast before she woke up. In the last two days, she had slept more deeply and fitfully than she could remember.

She took a leisure bath, and started organising her notes with a new impetus, she was feeling more optimistic than she had felt in a while.

She did not even notice him coming back until his shadow fell over her. She looked up to greet him, but when she saw the blackberries he was offering her, she could not help but beam at him.

"To what do I owe the honour?"

"I know you like them, and they were particularly savoury."

"Hmm, they are. Where do they get them? They are not in season."

"When we have some spare budget at the end of the month we normally spend it in the kitchens," he answered somewhat wistfully. "Didn't you ever notice that the last couple of days of each month the food becomes more elaborated or somewhat special?"

Hermione mulled over it, surprised.

"Now that you say it, I seem to remember some pretty extravagant desserts," she admitted.

"Albus was partial to sweets, and red meat - venison, in particular. One has to wonder how he kept in shape."

"And you are partial to fruits?"

He shrugged, "I change every month."

Remembering his initial words, Hermione had the sudden thought that he might have ordered fruits for her but the idea seemed too ludicrous even to consider.

"Are you staying today?"

He twisted his mouth and frowned.

"I'm afraid not, Alecto was particularly restless this morning and I would like to prevent her from having any ideas,"

Hermione wrinkled her nose, sympathetically.

"Good luck, then."

"Rather wish me patience," he muttered grumpily, making Hermione chuckle.

She felt almost... dare she say it... happy.

Her mirror grew violently warm as she was about to finish her cup of tea after dinner, while she waited for Severus to come back. The unexpectedness of it made her freeze for a couple of seconds before fumbling with her clothes to get to the mirror, the cup she was holding shattering against the floor. They kept speaking regularly, although the last few conversations had become a bit strained, them urging her to try to search for the Horcrux out of the office and if caught, scape.

"Hermione! Hermione! Please answer."

"Harry, I'm here. Your face! What happened?"

"We were caught. We are in the basement of Malfoy Manor. It is a blind room that you reach through a trapdoor outside their living room. We need help. Fast. Bellatrix, she's here and Ron..." he trailed off, and Hermione felt her insides twist.

"I'm on it. Basement of Malfoy Manor. Trapdoor outside a drawing room. Hold on, Harry, please do whatever you need to do but you two need to come out of there alive."

Her first thought was that she needed Severus. She flew down the stairs until the office and

"Headmasters, Headmistress. I need you to urgently go fetch Severus. Please tell him..." she trailed off, thinking frenetically "tell him that the cauldron on the fire is starting to boil. NOW!" she roared, just as the staircase started to turn. She blinked, not believing her luck "Is that him?" she muttered, her panic allowing her to be only faintly embarrassed.

"Yes, dear," answered Dyllis kindly, over Phineas Nigellus' offended muttering.

She accioed her beaded bag and stuffed all her research notes and the books she had been using. As an afterthought, she rummaged through his potions box and added one vial of antivenin and dittany. She closed her bag just as he entered the room.

"Severus!" she nearly screeched. " It's Harry and Ron. They got caught! Some snatchers... I have to get them out!"

"Hush... calm down." He said, grasping her elbows so she focused on his face. "How do you-? Nevermind. Where are they now?"

"Malfoy's. In a basement."

He dropped his arms and swore loudly. He turned around and started pacing.

"I can't just walk in there without a good reason. Bellatrix is there too."

Hermione nodded.

"Then I'll go. How do I get there?"

"Go and do what?" he snapped. "What do you think you can do against all of them? Both Lucius and Narcissa are more than decent duelers."

"I don't know, but certainly more than here arguing with you..." she said, and broke running towards the stairs, determined.

Snape grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her.

"Think, Hermione, think! You're a muggleborn, you won't even cross the outer fence," Hermione's face crumbled.

"Please. Please, Severus. We have to do something..." she pleaded, desperate.

"I know," he muttered, his anger drained. "Let me think."

Hermione watched him pace, adrenaline still surging through her, but now her panic was receding and her mind was working again.

"Dobby. Dobby can get me there."

"Dobby who?"

"Dobby! Dobby!!" she called, but no house-elf answered. Hermione thought frenetically. Maybe it was because he was a free elf, but that hadn't stopped him in the past to answer Harry's calls even while working at Hogwarts... "Severus, summon him!"

"Dobby?" he said, hesitantly, clearly not understanding what was happening. His puzzlement increased when a trembling, frightened house-elf appeared in front of him.

"Headmaster Snape, sir. How can-" then his huge eyes fell on Hermione and her eyes widened in fright. "Miss Hermione, Harry Potter's friend, you need to know. You need to leave. It is being not safe at Hogwarts," he whispered, getting away from Snape whom he was sending fearful glances.

"Don't tell anyone but the Headmaster will help us. Harry Potter is in danger," she blurted, not letting the horrified expression in Dobby's face affect her. "He was taken to Malfoy Manor. He is in a dungeon under a living room, do you know where they are?"

Dobby's face took a vacant expression for a few seconds, then his face became urgent again and he started nodding emphatically.

"I feel him, miss. Harry Potter is in the damp room."

"Can you get him out of there?"

"I can miss, but Wheezy is in a different room. He is with Old Master. He is not well."

"Take me to Harry," she asked immediately.

"No," commanded Snape.

"Yes," she retorted, looking up at him. "You know our chances are better that way. Let's go, Dobby."

Dobby took her hand, looking doubtfully towards Snape - he was a free elf, but he was disobeying a direct order from his employer. Hermione looked at him defiantly and held his stony gaze, not before noticing him clenching and unclenching his fists.

"You go in and out as fast and silent as possible," he ordered. "The priority is to get Potter out, is that clear?" Dobby nodded, but Hermione baulked.

"I am not leaving without Ron," she stated.

She thought she saw a flash of pain go through his face but his blank expression made her think she had imagined it. When he talked, his voice was oddly devoid of intonation or emotion.

"There is a permanent apparition point on the balcony at the dining room over the kitchen. The drawing room itself might also be open for apparition if they expect visitors - the Dark Lord generally enters the house that way," he explained, his gaze focused on the wand between his hands. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he gave a shake of his left arm, producing a second wand, which he gave to Hermione, without meeting her eyes. "Also, if we split apart, avoid the gallery of statues - and don't look back. I know my way around," he said, tapping his left hand with his wand and watching it slowly disappear, blending with the background. "Before the end, come back to me - or Dumbledore. There's something Potter should be made aware of," he said gravely, only then looking up.

Hermione met her eyes an instant before they disappeared from sight and felt her throat close at his expression. She opened her mouth to say something -anything, but colours were already swirling around them as Dobby whisked them away.

Chapter Text

She knew she was in a different space because of the clogging, damp smell since with her unaccustomed eyes the darkness was absolute.

"Lumos," she muttered with the wand Severus had just given her. Although it felt uncomfortable and cold in her hand, it seemed to respond easily but sharply to her commands.

"Hermione!" said Harry, relieved and grabbed her into a crushing hug. "Thank God. Dobby-"

"Harry, where is Ron-?" Just then an inhumane scream filtered through the floor and Hermione felt she could not breathe. "Please tell me that's not..."

A pained expression crossed Harry's face and Hermione's heart clenched. However, the young man did not falter.

"Dobby, please take Ollivander, Luna and Dean to Shell's cottage. Then, come back for us, discreetly, don't let yourself be seen. If you see the chance of taking all three of us out, take it, otherwise, keep out of sight. Clear?" At Dobby's nod, he turned to Hermione. "It's Bellatrix, Greyback, Wormtail and the Malfoys in there but-" his voice cracked. "We cannot leave Ron."

"We will not leave Ron," affirmed Hermione. "But we need to act fast, get to Ron -accio him, maybe - and hope that Dobby-"

The crack of Dobby disappearing reverberated in the now almost empty dungeon and the muffled voices from upstairs ceased completely. In the silence, they distinguished the command "Wormtail, go check on the prisoners." Hermione and Harry looked at each other, a grim but resolute expression in both faces, and readied their wands. They positioned themselves one at each side of the door and she ended her lumos. Over her pounding heart, Hermione heard the door opening and Wormtail's grumbling as he stomped down the stairs.

Hermione silenced him, as Harry disarmed him, keeping him at wand point. She also noticed a Muffliato being cast - Severus, she realised with a start and looked discreetly around - in the turmoil, she had forgotten he was with them.

Harry had grabbed Wormtail by the front of his robes and seemed to be whispering to him furiously.

"After I saved your sorry hide, are you going to have the gall of giving me away?"

"Everything alright, Wormtail?" came from upstairs. Harry looked at her and nodded.

Her eyes darted between Harry's determined face and Wormtail's hesitant one and decided to follow Harry's cue, ending both the silencing charm and the muffliato with a slash of her wand, all while imagining Severus' thunderous expression when he realised what she had done. She prayed to God Harry had got it right.

"Everything's fine," the man called away. She only had a few seconds of relief before she understood what she was seeing - Wormtail's eerie silver hand had started a trembling but inexorable path to his throat. Still shaking with horror, she pushed herself to try to help Harry pull the and away, not to avail. After a few agonizing minutes, that felt like hours, Wormtail stopped moving. Hermione disentangled her hand from where they had been pulling at Wormtail's arm and covered her mouth in shock. Another scream from Ron shook them both from their stupor and made them scramble to climb up the stairs as silently as they could.

Ron, her dear Ron. Please hold on.

They reached the door just in time to hear the Goblin say that the sword was fake. There was barely time for her to wonder at the statement before Bellatrix told Greyback that Ron was at his disposal and she started seeing red. There would be time later to worry about the goblin and the sword.

She stomped into the room throwing an expelliarmus, then immediately ducked to the side as chaos ensued. She would not have been able to explain what happened afterwards. She just remembered seeing Bellatrix rolling away from Ron, whom she had been straddling, narrowly avoiding her hex. Harry knocking over an armchair. She trying to get to Ron's pale and unmoving form. At some point, a chandelier fell, catching the Goblin's leg and she vaguely remembered trying to pull him out, without letting go of Ron's wrist. Then somehow Harry and Dobby were with them and they were somewhere else. Somewhere empty, cold and windy.

It took throwing all the diagnosis spells she knew at Ron and receiving Bill and Fleur's repeated reassurances that Ron was going to make a full recovery to make her let go of his wrist. She sank into the sand and watched them take his prone form inside feeling completely drained. Only then she realised Harry was holding Dobby's lifeless body and nervous tears started falling, as she felt panic gripping her again. And Severus? Oh God, Severus. She looked up at the cloudy, darkening sky and threw a prayer, something she did not remember doing since she had discovered magic, since before Hogwarts. Please let him be okay.

When she eventually calmed, she pulled herself up and, with shaking hands, started to dig out Dobby's grave with Harry. It was the least she could do.

She muddled through the night torn between exhaustion and her worry over Ron, Severus and, increasingly, Harry, which had not said a word since they left Malfoy Manor and barely mustered a couple for Dobby's memorial.

Then he surprised them all by stating he needed to speak with both Griphook and Ollivanders immediately.

Hermione followed him trying to keep her face blank before Bill and Fleur's inquiring faces, even though she was probably as puzzled as they were. She had been expecting Harry to want to speak with Ollivander... but the goblin?

Despite her interest, she found herself only listening with half an ear to the conversation, much more interested in drinking in Ron's pale but composed figure by her side. He had one arm bandaged and had walked in with some hesitation but seemed fine otherwise. She felt a rush of gratitude towards Fleur, who had brought him back from the livid form he had been only a few hours before.

A sharp inhalation from Ron brought her back to the conversation and this time she could not hide her alarm when she registered what Harry was saying - he wanted to break into the Black Family vault at Gringotts? 

Still trying to digest the new information but much too tired to fight Harry, she followed him meekly to Ollivanders' room, a strange feeling of dread settling in her stomach. What else had Harry deduced? What would Ollivander say about the wand?

Bracing herself for a confrontation about Snape, she stood this time behind Harry and Ron, to try to avoid the spotlight in case she had to cover her reactions.

After Ollivanders told them about Grindelwald's symbol and they went back to Ron's room, she let herself sink into the bed and started to apologise.

"I should have known, Krum told us about the Deathly Hallows and Grindelwald's mark. Oh, God, I am so stupid. And I was at Hogwarts, I could have taken the wand - hell, I could even have asked Dobby to get it for me..."

Harry's face twisted in a grimace but he said nothing as he plopped onto the chair by the door, as far as possible within the small room. Ron sat beside her and put a consoling hand on her back, which made her feel even worse.

"We can still get it, let's go..." Ron trailed off at seeing Harry shake his head.

"We can't, he's already there. I just saw him with Snape."

Hermione forced herself to frown to mask her relief - Severus had scaped. She tried to calm her heart rate before speaking. 

"He? As in You-Know-Who?"

Harry nodded, and she shared an alarmed look with Ron. However, this time she crossed the unspoken rule.

"What did you see?" she saw the surprise clear in Ron's countenance at seeing her encouraging Harry look into Voldemort's mind, but at that moment she could not make herself care.

"He just dismissed Snape and is going to the tomb."

Hermione swallowed thickly and took a seat beside Ron, where they waited for Harry to say more. Would Voldemort make the connection as fast as she did? Would he decide to kill Snape straightaway?

Clearly, Severus had decided to keep his cover and let him have it - she only hoped that the wand was sentient enough to refuse to harm its true master.

"He has it," said Harry simply. They remained silent, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Ron who eventually broke the silence.

"So... Gringotts it is?"

"Gringotts it is," confirmed Harry with a grimace.

They were interrupted by Fleur announcing they had prepared beds for all of them. To her surprise, she fell asleep the moment her head hit the bed.

Chapter Text

She observed the darkening sky through the window, lost in thought.

After only a couple of days around the boys, the feeling of safety of her time at the Headmaster's tower - the feeling of him - had but evaporated. The memories, no matter how recent, had taken a dream-like quality when confronted to the familiar uncertainty of her life with the boys. An experience that belonged to another person, another life.

Still, at least this time they had a clear objective: Gringotts, of all the dangerous places.

Yet, as absurd as she knew the idea sounded to everyone else, they had no doubt it was the way forward. It was not only one of the magical landmarks she had considered during her research but, above all, it was the first certainty that Harry had had since they started the hunt. While staying with Severus, she had gained a new appreciation for Harry's insights; she had come to realise that Harry had understood Voldemort in a way she was not completely able to. She guessed that the fact that they had both been orphans, neglected and raised without magic, had a lot to do. Or maybe it was this strange connection between them that, no matter how many years she had spent in the magical world, was still the most difficult pill to swallow. Prophecies. The Chosen One. How unlikely it all sounded!

Be it as it may, both her and Ron had assumed they were going to try and steal from Gringotts almost as a matter of fact.

And strangely enough - or not - it was not the dark tunnels of Gringotts that kept her awake at night nor the meticulous preparations they had started with Griphook that plagued most of her waking moments. Instead, she could not shake away the regrets over the events at Malfoy Manor. Sometimes the pure guilt of not having been there with them left her breathless.

Because she knew she should have been with them. If she had, they might not have gotten caught at all or, even if they had, she could have spared Ron. For there was no doubt in her mind that it would have been the mudblood that Bellatrix would have decided to torture. Instead, she had had to make do with the Blood traitor. She found her twisted logic so ridiculously easy to follow... Maybe the guys had a point insisting she should be the one portraying her and it was not only to avoid wearing the dress. With Fleur's help, they had transfigured one of her dresses to roughly match the one she had been wearing that night.

As it was wont to do, her mind went back to the horrific scene she had witnessed at Malfoy's drawing room: Greyback holding Ron down, Bellatrix straddling him as she carved on, Ron's broken shout as he struggled, Blood streaking his freckled skin, a dark stain on the floor.  "BLOODT" she had written, the evil bitch. Blood traitor, Hermione imagined. She knew the images would haunt her for the rest of her life.

It would definitely have been her with mudblood written on her arm in those horrible, oddly regular letters, and God knew what else. Like all young women, she had come to be aware at some point during her teenage years that when women (and particularly young women) were attacked, rape was relatively common practise. Hermione wondered morbidly if Bellatrix leaned that way or if she would have left the privilege to the Malfoys - or Greyback. She shuddered, feeling queasy and pressed the palms of her hands hard against her eyes to chase the images away. Enough is enough.

At least Ron seemed to have taken it into stride, and barely a couple of days afterwards was already leaving the arm uncovered, for all to see. Even if he kept rubbing it absently from time to time. Still, for her, every time she saw him enter a room and their eyes met, it felt like a miracle.

Hermione knew she should stop looking for excuses to touch him every time she got within close distance, even if she felt reassurance on his warm, healthy skin. She loved him to pieces, she readily admitted to herself, even though she could for some reason not bring herself to compare the feeling with whatever it was she had felt during the last days around Severus. Although it was in both cases intense, tinged with desperation, it was simply different. They were different.

She fingered absently, the wand Severus had given her. His second one, she imagined. She had been glad Harry had seemed more comfortable with Draco's and she was allowed to keep it. Not that she would use it regularly, her own wand being infinitely more comfortable. She had been actually surprised she could use it at all, she had imagined his magic so...dark, so different from hers...

She looked through the window and the lone figure slowly walking through the beach gave her pause.

She jumped out of bed and walked purposely out of the house and towards the lone figure at the beach.

"Good afternoon, child," he said with his suave voice before turning to look at her.

"Good afternoon, Mr Ollivander." she bit her lip but pushed ahead. "I hope you will forgive me but I wanted to ask you about a wand. Another wand," she clarified, imagining his line of thought. She produced the short light-coloured wand and presented it to him. She had not offered the wand to be shown to Ollivander's along with the ones recovered from Malfoy Manor, and Harry and Ron had either not noticed or, more likely, decided not to push her, imagining where it came from. She reckoned it was a clear sign of just how much they had all changed.

"Hawthorn and dragon heartstring," he declared after a couple of seconds. "A wand good for both healing and hurting, particularly adequate for conflicted individuals or turbulent minds," he looked at her, a guarded expression in his eyes. "Was this wand also at Malfoy Manor?"

"No," she answered truthfully. "Who did it belong to?"

"Eileen Prince."

The startlement must have been evident on her face.

"You know who she was then?" he guessed, astutely.

"I know who her son is," she admitted with caution.

"You got it from him, I assume. Willing or unwillingly?"

Hemione shrugged her shoulders, uncomfortable, not wanting to give him an answer to that question.

"But it is working for you, is it?" he insisted, to what she nodded.

"I see," he said and kept observing her in the disconcertingly fixed way that made everyone so uncomfortable. "You are all in quite a turbulent time indeed, it might not be a bad asset to have," he said choosing his words carefully, which gave Hermione the impression that he was not really talking about the wand anymore." But I hope your instincts will not deceive y-"

"Mione!" shouted a voice, startling them both, and they turned to see Ron jogging towards them.

"I wish you the bests of luck," stated the older man, his eyes still fixed on hers.

"Mr Ollivander, Luna and Dean are ready to go to the other safe house. Whenever you are ready..."

"Allow me a couple of minutes longer, I have a lot to think about."

Ron looked at him in quizzically for an instant before turning to her.

"Mione, Bill is back and Harry wants us to meet with him to go over... everything."

They nodded at Ollivander before starting the way back. Hermione noticed the strange energy exuding from her friend.

"This is it, then?"

He gave her a smile that came out more like a grimace but squeezed her hand reassuringly. Remembering her resolution, she let go swiftly. He frowned then and stopped her, throwing a look towards the lone figure, still gazing immobile towards the horizon.

"Hermione... are you OK? I know I already asked but there were other people around and..." he swallowed thickly. "Did something happen when you were with him? Did he..."

"No, Ron, stop. I have already told you and Harry. Our plan worked: he was afraid of the effects of the vows so he locked me in a room in the Headmaster's tower and tried to ignore my existence. After a while, he allowed me out while he was around. He was probably feeling lonely. All in all, he mostly let me be."

"Okay, okay," he said, raking his hand through his hair. "Sorry for asking"

Hermione looked decisively away. It pained her having to lie to Ron, not only because he was her friend but because of being - ashamed? guilty? - about Severus. Even if of course, telling them about Severus was not an option.

Hermione forced herself to give a tired sigh. She stole a look at his grumpy face and felt her heart melt at his grumpy expression.

"How are you?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said automatically, then backpedalled at her sharp look. "Look, I feel fine. The only thing left are these marks and they are not looking so angry anymore. And I could always add letters to change the message. It is true Blood doesn't give me many cheery options, but I am sure Fred and George will be able to come up with something." 

She chuckled and shook her head.

"If anyone can, it is those two," she said, as they retook the walk towards the house. "Or it could turn into a tattoo. You could give Charlie's bad boy looks a run for his money," she suggested innocently.

As they walked, joking around, their hands met and gripped each other reassuringly. For the last time, she vowed to herself.

Chapter Text

As she painstakingly dragged herself out of the lake, she thought that Harry would better kill Voldemort because nothing short of that would allow him to regain his inheritance. Not only had they broken into Gringotts, but they had also stolen a valuable item from one of the high-security vaults... and a dragon.

A blind, poor, scared dragon. Of all the stupid things to store in a subterranean bank... Suddenly the sensation of being airborne - furious wind slashing at her, her cramped, freezing hands - came back to her and she felt suddenly faint. She let herself fall on her side against the floor before the burning in her shoulder made her hiss and roll on her back, focusing on breathing. She did not remember ever feeling physically worse, she felt at the same time burning hot, cold, dizzy and queasy; all the cuts, burns and slashes sending sharp pulses of pain all over her body.

But she had flown on.. a.. dragon.

She hoped there was some reporter around with a camera because nobody that knew her - no one, ever - would believe her. The silly thought made her choke as her body simultaneously tried to laugh and cry. 

It was then that she heard Harry groan and turned her head just in time to see his scrunched face before he covered it with both hands and let himself fall back down against the floor.

She scrambled to go to him but Ron stopped her from touching him, observing their friend with a frown. Hermione understood he was seeing into him - again - and kept silence.
She cast drying and warming charms over the two of them, as they waited unnervingly for him to come back until eventually Harry opened his eyes, and looked directly at them.

"He knows. The last one is at Hogwarts."

She felt the piercing look Harry sent her way and nodded with a sinking feeling. She could have done more, she should have been able to find it.

"I don't know what it could be unless you believe Lovegood's theory on Ravenclaws' tiara. But I know who we need to ask; the Fat Friar and the Grey Lady are the oldest at Hogwarts, the Grey Lady is said to be one of the first Ravenclaws and-" she swallowed thickly, guilt and exhaustion leaving her drained tears prickling her eyes. "I am so sorry I did not find it - I tried - I-..."

Ron's arms came around her as she started sobbing, feeling as guilty as she had ever felt and, after a few seconds, she felt Harry's arms wrapped around them too.

"I know," he said softly, making her cry harder for a minute before she could contain her tears.

"Now, we do not have much time. He thinks the one at Hogwarts is safe, so he's going to start checking on the other ones but still, it will not be long before he gets to that one."

"Hogsmeade then?" proposed Ron. "It is late, so Honeydukes would already be closed and empty."

They both looked at her enquiringly and she nodded decisively. She was ready.

"Let's go," said Harry.

Chapter Text

So much for a discreet entry, she thought ten minutes later, while she tried to catch her breath back inside the Hog's Head.

She listened to the back and forth between Harry and Aberforth Dumbledore torn between wondering how she could have missed their obvious parentage and thinking they could not be more different. At hearing Harry's staunch defence of Dumbledore -their Dumbledore - she was surprised at how far he had come from the betrayal at reading Skeeter's book - the odious woman. She kept her silence, firmly pushing down her own wave of resentment, still very much fresh in her mind. She did not think it would help the situation. 

She would admit later that it took her a while to understand Neville was really coming through the painting, and it was not until she was pressed against his chest and smelled his soap that she actually believed it was him. He looked so thin and worn out... The bright smile he sent her way, which stretched a new scar he sported on the left side of his mouth, was bolder than any expression she had ever seen on him. 

"Oh, Neville, you look so changed," she could not help but blurt out and was strangely reassured at seeing the hint of shyness appear at the corner of his lips.

"It's been rough this year," he explained, as he motioned them to go into the tunnel. "The Carrows are horrible, absolutely rotten. They teach the Dark Arts - they even made us use unforgivables on each other - at some point, someone had to stand up. The younger students particularly needed it to keep going, not to lose hope."

Hermione swallowed thickly, not knowing what to say.

"But you're finally here - everyone will be so excited to see you - we've been waiting for so long..." She saw Harry and Ron exchange a brief look but before they could clarify the purpose of their visit they were engulfed in a flurry of hugs and claps from the members of the resistance. She was moved at seeing so many familiar faces but she could not quite muster more than half of her attention, being acutely aware of where they were and how close he was. What to do? Should she try to sneak out and go warn him the Dark Lord was coming? 

Her alarm only increased when she realised that Neville had initiated a call to arms against Voldemort. She realised with a sinking feeling this was really going to be it. She pushed her way back to Harry's side and subtly called his attention with a tug on his jumper.

"Harry, we need the help, you don't have to tell them what it is," she said in a hushed whisper. "And if we find it, it would be better to end it now, before he makes more."

His stiff back was the only thing betraying he had heard her until he gave a short nod. Hermione breathed in relief. She stood by his side as he fended off questions - but few answers - and felt like hugging Luna - again - when she stepped forward to speak about the statue at Ravenclaw's common room.

"Go, mate, it is you who needs to see it," prodded Ron, and Hermione found herself nodding. If Harry had any more flashes into You-Know-Who's mind, it was better for him to be able to recognise the object. "We'll try to locate the Grey Lady."

They observed Harry disappear under the cloak with Luna between nervous whispering. The door was barely closed after Luna and Harry's exit when Neville turned to them.

"Are you serious we are not fighting Voldemort?" he enquired, a hard edge on his tone.

"It was not the idea," admitted Hermione, " but it may very well come to that." She exchanged a look with Ron and he nodded.

"We know he will make a visit here soon so if we find what we were looking for..." he suddenly stopped himself, seeing that more people had approached and were following the conversation. "One thing everyone, if it comes to fight You-Know-Who, try to stay out of his way but-"

"So Harry is the Chosen One," said Dean, after a long whistle from one of the Weasley twins.

Ron reddened mightily but forged ahead.

"Nevermind that, you just worry about staying away. But try to take out the snake if you can... Watch out, though, it is smart and has a mean bite."

"What snake?" piped Colin.

"You-Know-Who has a pet snake that he somehow controls..." answered Hermione, uncertain of how much to say. "It is quite dangerous and it would be quite - very -important to get it out of the way before trying to get to him."

Eventually, Ron managed to pull her aside.

"Well, how do we find the Grey Lady," he asked suddenly serious, the smile he had been sporting since meeting Ginny all but gone.

Hermione bit her lip, having been thinking about it since they decided to go to Hogwarts.

"I would go ask Myrtle, I know she's annoying but I don't like the idea of wandering around too much and we know where to find her - what?" she asked at Ronald's dawning face.

"I'll tell you on the way there," he answered urgently, taking her hand and pulling her towards the door.

"Oi, where are you two going?" asked Ginny hand on her hips and looking suspiciously at their clasped hands.

"Bathroom, won't be a sec," threw Ron back before dragging Hermione out of the door. Hermione could only smile faintly at her before they were on a jog towards the first floor.

They hurried through the empty corridors without a hitch, not stopping to catch their breath until they were safely inside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and the door was locked and warded. They were both flushed and out of breath but Ron's eyes were glinting with a strange excitement.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"Wait until we get this out of the way," he whispered before calling out for the ghost" Myrtle! Myrtle?"

She floated out of one of the cubicles with her head cocked, as is surprised.

"Oh, it's you," she said with a hint of disappointment. "Is Harry also coming?"

"Maybe later," edged Hermione. "We wanted to ask you something?"

"Oh? Of course you want something," she mimicked childishly. "Nobody ever visits me just to say 'hi'."

"We came to you because we thought you were the best person to ask," intervened Ron, his face earnest. To Hermione's surprise and relief, that seemed to mollify the ghost. "What can you tell us about the Grey Lady? She never talks and we thought if anyone would be able to tell us about her it would be you."

Myrtle sniffed, although her expression seemed pleased.

"That stuck-up nun," she exclaimed. "She does talk, but only to Ravenclaws. The rest of us does not merit her attention."

"Not even other ghosts?"

"I've heard her speak with the Fat Friar occasionally but all new beings do not merit her attention. She barely speaks to Nearly-headless Nick, and he's ancient! Not so much as the Friar, maybe," she mused "but still ancient. Have you noticed his horrid clothes?" Myrtle looked at them briefly but did not wait for an answer before continuing, clearly enjoying the attention. "I was told it is because she has been here the longest but I think it is just her pretending to be more than she is, the pretentious witch. She mostly keeps to herself, sliding back and forth around the upper floors with her nose up in the air and looking mournfully towards the forest."

"The forest you say?" prodded Hermione, thinking that would noticeably decrease their search to the sixth and seventh floors' East wings.

"Yes, the forest. I remember because I once offered to go with her to the forest if she did not want to go by herself and she only sniffed at me all high-and-mighty and left. The twat."

Hermione and Ron shared a look of understanding; they had what they had been looking for. Before she opened her mouth to try to dismiss her, Ron cleared his throat.

"Thanks, Myrtle. And another question, how are your friends the mermaids doing?" he asked innocently.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, haven't had many flushes to the lake lately?"

Her attitude, as expected, gave a 180º turn and she started sputtering.

"You unthinking- unfeeling -" Hermione raised a silencing shield to try to prevent the screeches to get too far, but that did not give them any protection and both were soon covering their ears as she slammed several of the cubicle doors and toilet covers up and down, before disappearing through the floor.

"Very smooth, Ron," she muttered, looking at him in exasperation. "Now, spill."

His sheepish smile switched back to one of excitement.

"When you said to come to see Myrtle I immediately thought about the Chamber of Secrets, you know..." he said, gesturing towards the sinks Hermione was leaning against and she immediately took a couple of steps away. "...and it just came to me: that day Harry killed the diary, the Horcrux, with a Basilisc's fang - he simply took one and stabbed it. It should work with the other ones, you reckon?"

Hermione looked at him in amazement.

"That's - Ron, that's brilliant. I never thought..." she stuttered. Ron's smile became even wider. "But you needed Parseltongue to open it, no? I remember you telling me.."

However, Ron surprised her for the second time that night.

"Hang on, let me try something."

He knelt by the faucets and hissed and spat for a few seconds, apparently trying variations of the same sequence.

"Try again," she encouraged, not wanting to appear doubtful. 

Still, when the door was triggered after a few more tries, she could not help her amazement. 

"Ron, how? That was impressive. "

He rubbed his neck, flustered.

"I'm good faking accents, you know that. And I've seen harry open things in Parselmouth several times."

Hermione shook her head, completely floored, and joined him in looking down the musty tunnel.

"We need a broom," he stated. "Do you reckon Filch would have any in his office?"

"Maybe," she considered, then looked out of the window, seeing the moon shining on the lake and picturing where the quidditch pitch would be. "Otherwise we can try an accio from the quidditch lockers." She then looked down, "is Filch's office in the corridor just below? we can summon it from here also."

"Let's see, shall we? Accio confiscated broom," enunciated Ron, half of his body out of the window and his wand pointed directly downstairs. A crash of broken glass made them both jump back, as a window below but further to the right than they had been expected exploded and three brooms zoomed out.

Ron climbed onto one of the brooms after inspecting them summarily and motioned her to join him. "Jump on, we both know you are pants at this, it'll go faster if I fly both of us."

Hermione huffed, but climbed behind him and fastened her arms around him without arguing the point.

It was while cutting the four big fangs that the voice of Lord Voldemort sounded, resonating all over the chamber. They froze, looking at each other until the last of the words stopped echoing on the vaults then, as one, wrapped up the fangs and mounted on the broom to go back to Harry. The battle had clearly started without them.

They found Harry on the seventh floor, looking for them.

"Why would you go to the Chamber of..." asked Harry, trailing on as Ron showed him the bundle on his pocket.

"Basilisc fangs," announced Ron proudly.

"It was Ron's idea. He was brilliant," she gushed, smiling brightly at him and making him redden. "He even opened the chamber using Parseltongue."

Harry heartily agreed with her assessment before launching into an explanation of what he had found. As he advanced in his tale, she felt her mind floundering... The diadem not only looked like Lovegood's - which meant it was a real item - but he thought he knew where it was. The school had raised in arms. The order was here. Snape had scaped. And he could fly. With his cape. An image of Superman merged with Batman's cape in her mind, and she choked back a snort. Why hadn't he told her? What else did she not know?

Her attention was brought back to the present when she heard Ron asking Harry about the house-elves.

"I think we should ask them if they want to leave. It would not be fair..." she looked at him in amazement, a surge of emotion joining the adrenaline swirling through her limbs. Ron - brave, brilliant Ron - had remembered about the elves. She let the fangs drop noisily and threw her arms around him. Without any conscious thought their lips met for one, two seconds, then suddenly the pain in her chest was so unbearable she thought she would choke. It took her but a split second to realise one of her vows had been triggered before she pulled back and let her head fall on his shoulder. The words of the Vow of Loyalty rang through her head as she regained her breath and swallowed the bitter realisation. She had betrayed him.

Whether it was because he had noticed what happened or had some regrets of his own, Ron's smile was sheepish and shifty when they let go. A glance his way when she bent to pick up the fangs in silence confirmed he was flushed red. Harry was pointedly studying his own sneakers.

"Ahem-"

"Let's go find the diadem," she proposed, glancing back at Ron. As they followed Harry through the door, Ron gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She clamped down on the thought that she did not know whom she had betrayed the most, if Ronald or Severus. She clenched her teeth, giving herself a shake. It was not the time, she could worry about it once - or if, she thought darkly - they all made it out alive. She whispered a fervent prayer as the door of the Room of Requirements took shape again on the wall, hoping against hope that Severus had enough sense to stay well away from the Dark Lord until it was over - if he would seek to harness the power of the Elder Wand, it would be then. In the meantime, she could only look out for Ron - and Harry.

It would have to be enough.

Chapter Text

Harry jumped on the chance to break the awkwardness and turned to open the Room of Requirement, a frown on his face. He had mixed feelings about Ron and Hermione getting together but he barely had the chance to spare a thought to it while wracking his brain to retrace his steps when he hid the Prince's book, and none at all during the fight with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. When he saw Fred disappear under an exploding wall, he could not believe he had ever thought it relevant.

He was furious, with an all-consuming rage that made his limbs shake. He could feel it growing, roaring inside him, uncheckered. He was only distantly aware of Hermione struggling to hold back Ron and stop him from rushing back into the fight.

"Ron, stop. We will fight, we will! But first, we need to find Nagini. We need to finish this!" she pleaded, trying desperately to pull him back. Suddenly she turned to look at him. "Harry, you need to find him and the snake, now!"

He exhaled abruptly, knowing she was right and closed his eyes. After a few calming breaths, he could reach towards Tom Riddle's mind. Be it due to the restlessness he could detect in him or his own ire, it was surprisingly easy and soon he was in what he recognised as the Shrieking Shack, witnessing a strange exchange between Tom Riddle and Lucius Malfoy.

"The Shrieking Shack," he repeated out loud, coming back to the present. He was relieved to see Hermione had managed to reason with Ron and when they started arguing it was to decide who would go try to get Nagini.

"You two stay here," Harry intervened, trying to cut the discussion short. Besides, there was no way he was bringing them to Voldemort. Much less after what happened with... He swallowed heavily. "I will go and-"

The arrival of two Death Eaters and the quick thinking of Hermione, creating a slider, took the choice out their hands. The Battle was still raging on both inside and outside but they pushed on single-mindedly. Harry could not allow himself to reflect on anything he had seen. Not now. Once it was over...

With help of the cloak, they managed to sneak into the tunnel under the Whooping Willow. They rushed through the tunnel faster than it was probably sensible until they saw a slit of wand light shining in the distance.

After sharing a quick resolute look and a nod, they crept slowly forwards and soon they were able to hear two very identifiable voices. Ignoring Hermione's gasp, he crept closer until he was able to see and she could feel her follow shortly after. Harry heard Riddle talk about the Elder Wand and his heart started beating faster if that was possible, knowing the likely outcome and, to his surprise, not being quite looking forward to it. He got distracted by Hermione's increasingly agitated breath at his side, suddenly realising it was the first time she actually saw Tom Riddle. He could not really blame her for being so utterly scared, he was terrified himself. However, when he glanced at her, he saw that her eyes weren't fixed on Voldemort, but on Snape. What exactly went on between her and Snape?  

"...or maybe you knew that already?" said Voldemort, making Harry's attention go back to the other room. Riddle was clearly closing on Snape, and Hermione was squirming beside him, trying to shake away Ron's arm. He glanced back and forth considering his possibilities, he had not counted on anyone else being there nor with Hermione reacting that strongly to it - did she really think Snape would turn to their side now that he was threatened? Harry focused the most he had ever focused on his life to cast a wordless silencio as he felt Ron physically restraining her.

Harry turned back to Voldemort's actions. Come on, flee already, he thought with increased alarm, afraid Hermione would give them away. The snake attacked, and Voldemort disappeared through the tunnel, followed a moment after by Nagini.

The moment they stopped hearing his steps, Ron freed Hermione, who flung herself towards a still struggling Snape. He was on the floor, grabbing at his neck in a futile effort to try to staunch the blood spilling out of his neck. To Harry and Ron's shock, Hermione started rummaging through his pockets until she extracted two small vials, which she poured with trembling fingers on Snape's injuries. It seemed to stop the bleeding, but Harry doubted it would be enough because Snape already looked waxy, far more like a corpse than a living being.

Harry, still unsettled, found himself kneeling by her side, and was shocked still when Snape feebly pushed her aside and, seemingly with the last of his strength, held onto Harry's jumper before rasping:

"Take them."

Only then noticed Harry the silvery wisps of memories that were pouring from his eyes.

Hermione, still silenced and visibly distressed, handed him one of the vials she had emptied. Then she looked at Ron and motioned angrily.

"Oh, sure. Finite incantatem."

"Don't just stay there! Take the ruddy memories!" screeched Hermione, then started muttering a long litany of words he could not identify while tracing a series of complex symbols over Snape.

"But Hermione, it's Snape!" said Ron, also taken aback at her frenzy.

"Yes, what the hell is happening?" asked Harry mutinously, sealing the vial shut.

"Not now. When all this is over I'll explain everything, I promise. But I swear to God that once you've heard it you will regret not helping me right now for the rest of your lives."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other for several long seconds before he threw their invisibility cloak over the body of their old Professor.

Hermione breathed relieved.

"It better be a good explanation," grumbled Harry.

Just then, Voldemort's voice resonated within the walls of the shack, giving them another hour. It was Ron who broke the silence.

"Where do we take him?" 

"His office. Dumbledore's office," she amended. "You need to go there anyway, Harry, that's where the pensieve is." 

Harry nodded curtly.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

They carried him back to the castle as quickly as they could. 

Ron started as they approached the Great Hall. Harry looked up and felt his throat close at seeing a bunch of redheads through the door.

"Go with them," Harry prodded. "We'll join you in a bit."

Ron swallowed heavily and left without another word. Harry and Hermione looked at each other and by her stricken expression he suspected she had also momentarily forgotten what had happened. The rest of their way was done in the silence of mourning.

They lay him onto the bed and simply stared at him for a few seconds. He should hate the man so much and yet somehow, having him so close, he could not muster the hatred. He had to admit at present he did not look much like the teacher he knew. His features were lax, not pinched, his permanent frown eased. His lanky hair was ruffled, and the perfectly straight line of white shirt that always peeked through his robes was completely red. As was his neck, which made the rest of the skin look almost translucent.

"What did you do?" asked Harry.

"I put him in stasis. A hibernation of sorts," she answered absently, without taking her eyes from his face. "His body is nearly static, and time will seem to go slowly. I can't do anything else. I only hope this will held him until I can have a professional see him. He helped Harry, he really did."

Harry saw her glance his way, probably wary of his reaction, but although he did not understand what was going on he felt too drained to open that can of worms.

"Hermione, would you mind if I go alone?" said Harry, holding the vial with the memories.

"Oh, sure. I... Harry..." she said, nervously and then gave him a hug. "Ok, I'll go check on the others. I'll be back in no time," she said and hurried down the stairs.

-------------------------------------

The scenes played one after the other, the abrupt change always leaving him disoriented. As the tale evolved, however, the sinking feeling in his stomach increased until he felt queasy. 

Then there was a scene he was not expecting at all: he was following Hermione down a set of familiar-looking stairs and into a half-moon sitting room that he realised was the one they had crossed in the way to the Headmaster's bedroom. Hermione was fuming, in a stance that he recognised very well and that, he saw with satisfaction, made Snape clearly alarmed. However, as the conversation evolved and Dumbledore started speaking, the amusement evaporated. So he was not the only one meant to die in this play then...  How could anyone be so callous?

Then suddenly they were back at the Headmaster's office and, for an instant, he thought that he had been thrown out of the pensieve since the room was exactly the same one he had started in; the current Headmaster's office. He followed Snape until the door to the half-moon sitting room they had crossed before. However, he had stopped at the door. Harry peeked around him and saw Hermione in a situation in which he had seen her thousands of times: surrounded by books, parchments and quills and completely absorbed in the oldest and mouldiest of them. Snape did not seem to find it quite that ordinary, though, since he stopped in his tracks and simply watched. Harry looked back and forth between them, puzzled, a feeling of dread building up at the intensity of Snape's stare.

Eventually, Snape slid into the room silent as a shadow and produced something from his that he deposited in front of her. Harry circled around him to get a better view and saw Hermione register his presence, look up and give Snape one of her dazzling smiles that made her look really pretty, in Harry's opinion. He looked back at the table and frowned; between Hermione's quills was a bunch of blackberries. At that moment the scene dissolved brusquely and Harry was back at the Headmaster's office.

He reckoned that that last memory had slipped in but he immediately recognised that that was not the time to speculate about it. It did not really matter. Not after what he had learned.

However, the first shock had passed, leaving him feeling strangely empty and devoid of fear.

So that was it. That was what he had to do.

His eyes went to the bedroom door and he admitted Hermione had been right: he would never have forgiven himself if he had let him die at the shack.

The Gargoyle started moving - Hermione - and Harry took it as his cue. He flung the invisible cloak over his head and got close to the bookshelves to stay out of the way.

"Harry?" she called, her eyes sweeping the room before walking towards the bedroom.

Harry slipped through the door towards his destiny.

Chapter Text

Hermione observed from the armchair by the door as three healers huddled over a bed in St. Mungo's, discussing the treatment in hushed whispers. She wondered briefly if the covert looks they were throwing her way from time to time were because of her looks or because they were considering turning her in but she could not muster enough energy to care. The undesirable number 2, watching over Severus Snape and looking tired, grimy and full of dust - and probably blood too, she reckoned.  

She let her head fall against the back of the armchair and closed her eyes, exhaustion seeping through her. Scenes of the last few hours blurred in her head; a fallen Harry, the end of the Battle, watching Arthur put Fred's body on stasis, Ron's voice cracking at seeing his brother, her offering to sweep the castle along with Harry and Neville, bringing Severus to Mme Pomfrey, then St. Mungo's, his face - he was looking so pale...

She must have fallen asleep because the next time she blinked her eyes open there was only one of the healers, the youngest - she would not have guessed him to be much older than her - looking at her with an uncertain expression.

"Miss Granger?"

I also go by Mrs Snape sometimes, she thought idly as she cleared her throat. "How is he?"

At the sharpness of her tone, the healer straightened.

"Ahem, we are treating the venom and have initiated the re-growing of the internal tissue damaged by the bite. It will take 12-24 hours for the process to be finished and it is convenient to keep him unconscious while healing but..." he faltered, balancing his weight on his feet back a forth, "well, we feel we must warn you that the Draught of Living Death we administered had no effect whatsoever on his state. That is, he did not regain consciousness at any point in the process and has not shown any signs of waking up. At least not yet."

Hermione interpreted the information quickly; if the Draught of Living Death had had no effect on him, he had already been in a coma.

"I see," she said, feeling strangely calm. The healer appeared startled, clearly having expected more questions. She examined the still form on the bed - already cleaned and wearing a hospital gown, barely even noticing the healer scurrying away.

Not long after some people - first a nurse, then a doctor, then someone who had lost his way - started poking their heads through the door at irregular intervals, making it difficult for Hermione to relax enough to fall asleep again.

She breathed in relief at Harry's arrival, although it would for sure not help ease the flow of visitors.

"You look terrible," he said.

"You should find a mirror too," she retorted.

"...and I will keep my opinion to myself," said a deep voice behind him.

"Hi Kingsley," greeted Hermione. "I'm glad to see you in one piece."

"Likewise," he answered throwing her a brief smile before his eyes were pulled towards the bed. "He's going to make it then?"

Hermione shrugged.

"That remains to be seen, but yes, his body is healing."

Kingsley and Harry exchanged a look and he nodded gravely. Hermione looked at them both enquiringly.

" Harry - and Dumbledore - explained," offered Kingsley. "I'll go up to the Auror office straight away to see what the situation is at the Ministry and I will arrange protection if I can. Percy Weasley is already there spreading the news and trying to kick-off the creation of an interim government so he will need all the help he can get. In the meantime, I'll pay a visit to the direction to make sure the confidentiality is kept here."

Hermione let herself fall back against the armchair heavily and rubbed her face.

"Thanks, Kingsley, I did not even think..."

He waved her apology away.

"Hush, it is a wonder you are still standing at all. Get some rest," he ordered before giving them a wink and disappearing down the corridor.

"See? He also thought you looked ghastly," said Harry, dropping heavily on the arm of her armchair and she immediately extended the seat so he could also fit at her side. After a long look at the bed and a heavy sigh, he threw his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. They kept silent for what felt like ages.

"I am sorry, Harry," she whispered softly, not really sure if he was still awake.

"What for?" he mumbled without opening his eyes.

"For not finding it sooner," she answered, but avoided his eyes when he looked at her. "I feel so useless, all the weeks I spent there, at Hogwarts, with both the wand and the Horcrux under my nose and I discovered nothing. Nothing!"

Harry shook his head strongly.

"You did. You found out about Ravenclaw's diadem and the Grey Lady. It could have taken us days to sweep the castle. Also, Gringotts was in your top 5 locations. And you took us out of Malfoy Manor, I would have never thought of calling Dobby..."

"And see where it got him... He did not deserve that,"

"He didn't," said Harry forcefully. "But it wasn't your fault".

He gave her a reassuring squeeze, then he looked towards the bed again.

"It is getting late, I'm knackered, I don't know when it was the last time I slept. Let's go," he said.

"Where?"

"I thought Grimmauld's place - do you reckon it's safe?"

"I would say so," agreed Hermione, "He will be out for another 12 hours if he wakes up at all."

"And he was on our side the whole time."

"He was," she affirmed.

"Then let's go home."

----------------

After a long-overdue shower, they grabbed a pizza, of all things, which they ate in silence on the battered kitchen table at Grimmauld's Place. The sight of the empty cardboards struck Hermione as incongruous with the obviously magical surroundings and she thought Sirius would approve.

Afterwards, they dragged their feet towards the staircase, which was looking as gloomy and unwelcoming as ever. Hermione stopped in her tracks.

"Hmm, Harry, I do not feel like looking for my old room. Would you mind if I stayed here? Just for today..."

"I'll stay with you," he said immediately, and she thought he sounded relieved. "If that's okay."

"Of course, Harry. Anytime," she said, pulling out her wand and expanding the couch as she had done all those months back when they came back looking for Slytherin's locket. 

As they were settling down to sleep, the floo roared to life to admit Ginny and Ron. Two additional sweeps of the wand, the expanded cushions could accommodate all four of them.

They discussed in the dim light what had happened that day. They spoke in turns, quietly, almost in whispers. They dried their tears in silence and held each other, but soon the exhaustion was stronger than them and they were asleep. 

Hermione woke up suddenly with an unsettling feeling in her stomach and a cold sweat, but without being able to remember what she had been dreaming. She turned around careful not to bump into neither Ron nor Harry to look towards the window, where the dark sky was beginning to show an inkling of clarity. 

She extricated herself from the blankets and padded towards the kitchen, where she put water to boil.

"Hey," said a hesitant voice from the door, so familiar that Hermione did not have to turn around to check who it was.

"Hey, Ron, could you help me look for tea?" she said without turning, trying to sound normal. "This tin is empty and I remember Sirius keeping some spare on the upper cupboards."

He stood on his toes and reached for something out of her view.

"Here, looks like camomille...make one for me too?"

"Sure," she said, busying herself in gathering and washing some cups. "Sorry if I woke you, I think I had a bad dream."

"Can't blame you," he said tiredly. "I've been sleeping on and off myself."

She poured the two cups and laid back against the counter, looking at the cup in her hands. He leaned against the table, sipping his cup in silence.

"Look, there's something I wanted to talk to you about," he said, not quite looking at her, and Hermione felt a weight settle on her stomach. "It might seem silly to you, with everything that has happened but..."

The load in her stomach seemed to sink lower and lower with each word he said.

"...about before, before getting the Diadem..." he continued, but Hermione cut him off.

"Ron, you and I - I'm not sure we-" she started, but he stopped her with a firm shake of his head.

"I guessed so, me neither. You are married, after all," he said uncomfortably. "But what I am trying to say is, no matter what, I don't want to lose you."

"You won't, I'll always be there-" she said automatically but Ron stopped her.

"No, listen to me. I need us to be okay," he said forcefully. "Especially now."

Hermione grabbed his hand and waited until he met her eyes. 

"We are," she affirmed.

He swallowed thickly and nodded, clearly relieved, then went back to his tea.

"It is a pity, though..."

"Hmm?" enquired Hermione, already lost in her own thoughts.

"It wasn't half-bad, you know?"

"Ron!" she warned, reddening.

"Heat of the moment and all-"

"Stop it, you pillock," she complained, swatting his arm, but she could not quite muster the heat, seeing the tiny smug curl of his lips. She could not begrudge him even this small enjoyment after what he was going through. She looked through the window, where the sky was becoming lighter. "Let's go, it is still early. We could still catch a couple of hours of sleep."

They settled back on their makeshift bed.

"Everything OK?" came the mumbled question from the bundle of sheets that was Harry.

"All good, mate. Go back to sleep."

Chapter Text

It had been five days since the battle. Five days with the same gesture, the same posture, except for the slightly different tilt of his head every time the healers changed his bandages. And still, 'no signs of awakening, Mrs Snape'. She wondered who had told the staff about that.

After all the hours of vigil, she had almost gotten used to seeing him like this. His sickly pallor, looking thinner than ever behind the bandages that covered his neck and half of his torso.

Sometimes the image struck her as so foreign that she felt strangely detached, indifferent, some other times the idea of not seeing his sharp eyes focused on her ever again made her heart lurch. There were times she felt ridiculous guarding him, and times she felt ashamed. She did know she still cared. Far more than she was willing to admit and far more than she would have liked to, for sure.

The memories he had given Harry had felt like a blow, one she hoped she had been able to mask; the last thing she wanted was to have to explain whatever it was that had happened between her and Snape. God knew there were reasons enough to feel heartbroken for everyone to guess her main reason was him.

However, she knew Harry suspected. Every time she mentioned him there had been this tense silence, filled with things unsaid. Hermione didn't know if what troubled him was how unfair he had been to Snape or that she had known and had kept the secret. When she was feeling uncharitable, Hermione had the suspicion Harry would decide depending on whether Snape pulled through or not.

She pressed her palms against her eyes and gave herself a shake. She knew she was being unfair...

She had barely left his side to sleep and eat with Harry, and once to visit Ron. Oh God, Ron... and George. She blinked back tears. She still couldn't think of any Weasley - or even see a flash of red hair, it had happened with a fifth-year Hufflepuff the day before - without becoming tearful. The only time she had seen Ron after the Talk in the kitchen of Grimmauld's place, he had seemed surprisingly composed but George had been completely out of it. According to Ron, he had barely said a word - or done anything, really - since Fred died. Fred Weasley, gone.

And Remus and Tonks.

And Colin.

And Lavender.

All this death... and still, in between all her grief, she could clearly feel the sharp stab of Snape's very personal betrayal. He loved - not just loved, but devoted his entire life to - another woman. The staggeringly pretty Lily Potter. Harry's mum. She had, of course, looked at Harry's pictures with renewed interest after the revelation.

She felt so petty and selfish.

His eyelashes fluttered and opened.

Hermione stared at his eyes for a few seconds before realising what was happening. He blinked, and that seemed to unfreeze her.

"Se-Severus... Don't try to speak, it's not quite healed yet, it will hurt terribly."

He nodded fractionally, grimaced, and then paled alarmingly, closing his eyes.

"Try not to move much, either, your neck and shoulder muscles just finished regrowing..." said Hermione softly.

He eventually opened his eyes again and settled them on hers. She averted hers.

"I suppose you have quite a few questions..." she trailed off, seeing his right hand move hesitantly towards his left that, in his injured side, he couldn't move. His fingers traced his left forearm carefully, and Hermione understood. Of course...

"He's gone. Dead. For good."

He exhaled abruptly and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He swallowed heavily, grimacing again.

"Wait, let me fetch the Healer. Maybe he can give you something for the pain..."

His right arm moved towards her, to stop her maybe, but Hermione pretended she hadn't seen.

No matter how relieved she felt that he was pulling through, she had suddenly found out that a still, comatose Severus in love with Harry's mum was far more bearable than an animated one, the real Severus she had known and, maybe, started to love. The thought didn't make her feel any better about herself. And she had thought she had already touched bottom...

The young healer Healer - Lancelot, but everyone called him Lance, she had come to know - came with another colleague and both of them poked and prodded him, after offering him a glass of water.

Water, of course, thought Hermione, mortified she hadn't thought of that. She observed the proceedings, feeling his eyes on her during most of the process and studiously ignoring them.

"Be patient, it usually takes a couple of days until they get the hang of the tablet" explained Lance before leaving, not without giving her an encouraging smile.

Hermione could barely muster a wan smile. She settled back into the chair, not knowing what to say. Luckily, he was otherwise occupied; he had been given a tablet which was supposed to show the thoughts of the person holding it. He was holding it up to his face, frowning slightly.

She reckoned she should talk to him, update him of the situation. She could perfectly imagine the first handful of questions that would come to his head. But she did not feel like it and welcomed the extra reprieve the tablet would give her.

She stared back to the book in her hands and pretended to read a couple of pages. Just when she started considering if to leave for the day, he turned the table to her.

[Are] [I] [Is] [safe] [?], she could read on the tablet surface. Some of the words were appearing, shifting or disappearing, but all of them floated around the word "SAFE" in a mix between his calligraphy and a typewriter's font.

For the third time that day, she thought she should have been able to anticipate that. He was both an accomplished occlumens and legilimens. If there was anyone able to manage a simple transcript tablet, it would be him.

"Yes, it is safe. We are at St. Mungo's, and there is a Magical Law Enforcement Official guarding the corridor at all times, just in case." 

[My wand?]

"Here," she answered, producing the ebony stick she had grabbed from the Shrieking shack and leaving it by his side. "But the Healers advise you not to overdo it".

She watched him finger his wand reverently, then looked at her own hands, realising which wand she was using. She considered briefly to offer it to him also but decided against it. Only until she could get a new one.

When she looked back at him, he had another question ready.

[What happened?]

Hermione suppressed a sigh and proceeded to explain everything that had happened from the moment she left the Headmaster's tower. She told him about Shell's cottage, Gringotts and the way back to Hogwarts.
Her voice trembled slightly when telling him about finding him at the Shrieking Shack but she pushed on, knowing it would have been infinitely more difficult if he could actually talk back.

"Afterwards we mostly tried to tend to the injured. Most Death Eaters were fleeing by that point and the only thing we wanted was for it to stop. Harry had publicly proclaimed your loyalties and his support during the duel with the Dark Lord, so the Order members were willing to help. Neville and I took you first to Mme. Pomfrey and then here."

"It's been almost a week already, and the story has spread - Harry made sure of it. He gave an interview to both the Prophet and the Quibbler the day after the battle, to make sure nobody tried to twist the tale. Harry also provided your memories and Albus' portrait is willing to give testimony so, even though there might be a trial, we expect that the official pardon is only a matter of time."

It seemed to take him longer to phrase the next question but, when he showed it to her, it was steady on the tablet, written in unmistakeable spiky handwriting.

[Are you alright?]

Their eyes locked, then she lowered hers uncertain and realised that at the tablet, resting back on his legs, random words were still appearing and disappearing. [Tired] [Hair] [Worry] [Curse?]

"Yes. I came out with only a few bumps and scratches, of course, but...-"

[Bellatrix], she read. He seemed to realise what was distracting her and quickly covered it with his hand.

"I am fine."

He struggled a bit to make the text on the table steady.

[Potter?]

"He is fine too." He looked suddenly alarmed. "No, no, don't worry," she rushed to add. "I guess Dumbledore finally spilt the beans on what we were doing?"

She felt a strange rush of affection at seeing his nostrils flare as he fought to calm down.

[Yes,] his tablet finally showed.

"Well then, Harry died, the part that had to die to kill V-Voldemort, died, then he came back. He survived the killing curse. Again," she added, her lips twitching. "It is difficult to explain and it is not something we should talk about in public."

[Then who?]

Who? Oh... Hermione swallowed hard.

"Many... But maybe we should leave it for another day-"

[Please]

Hermione took a deep breath and enumerated all the deaths. She didn't even have to think about them, she had them very fresh and present in her mind. When she finished, her voice was wobbly, and he had closed his eyes, seemingly to reflect. However, he lifted the tablet again.

[Thank you]

"You should rest. Do not worry, I will come back tomorrow. If you want me to." 

He looked down intently for such a long time that Hermione feared he had fallen asleep. Finally, as she was standing up, he turned the tablet to her.

It showed a clear, 'yes'.

Chapter Text

"Wotcher, Mione," greeted Harry. "You're earl-"

"He's awake," she announced. A plate clattered on the table, as Harry's head snapped around.

"And is it a good thing or a bad thing?" he asked, carefully observing her.

"You tell me," she said, dropping on a chair with a rueful smile. He mirrored her expression, raking his hand through the back of his neck. His hand froze half-way and he frowned.

"Did you tell Kingsley?"

"No," she answered, feeling wrong-footed and pulled her wand but Harry waved it away. With only the sightless hesitation, he muttered the enchantment and produced his trademark silver stag.

Hermione gave herself a shake, she should have thought about that, what was wrong with her?

"It is important that it is registered as a patient in treatment. Otherwise, he might be taken to Azkaban, no matter his state - it is in one of the booklets of procedures Kingsley had me read before letting me help them at the Ministry," he explained at Hermione's perplexed look."

She nodded, a smile grazing her face.

"You will be a good Auror."

Harry snorted.

"I hope my value as an Auror is not determined as my capabilities for twisting the rules to my advantage."

"It's called using the tools at your disposal," she teased. He made a face.

"That's such a Slytherin thing to say..." he retorted, taking back the plate he had broken and pilling spaghetti on top of it. "What did our favourite Slytherin say?"

It was her time to grimace.

"He cannot talk," she answered. "Not forever, but it will take some time until he is completely recovered. He got one of these transcript tablets - I don't know if you've seen them..."

He shook his head, settling in front of her with the two smoking plates.

"They show the thoughts you project," she answered, reaching out across the table to grab the dish Harry was offering. "The nurse told me it would take a few days to get the hang of it but he had it figured it out in 10 minutes," she grumbled, sticking her fork in and starting to roll spaghettis around it.

"I guess the nurse did not know he was a legilimens - or occlumens - I guess both would help here."

"That was my guess too - gosh, Harry, these taste amazing," she gushed, swallowing a mouthful. "In any case, he only asked what you would expect: who won? who did not make it?"

They focus on their dishes for a while. In the few days they have stayed together at Grimmauld place, Harry had proven to be more than a decent cook, when there were enough ingredients available.

"Hey, Mione. I know he's only just awake, literally, but now that he is... have you thought when you would like us to go get your parents?"

Hermione played with her fork morosely.

"I am thinking of waiting a bit longer but to be honest I don't know if there will ever be a good time..." she trailed off. "I am tempted to go now, straightaway, but there are still Death Eaters at large that might want to retaliate... Besides, Severus is really alone."

Harry waved her concern away.

"The order would not let him go to Azkaban-"

"Some people in the order would not let him go to Azkaban, but that is not what I meant," she rebated, uncomfortable. "I would also be surprised if I am not required to declare at his trial."

Harry nodded, understandingly.

"Kingsley said this morning that he would try to move it fast. The longer we wait, the most hubbub it will create and depending on the coverage it gets and what gets filtered..."

"I know, it can get really messy," she said, thinking of her brief stints in Witch Weekly during her fourth year, "and if the public opinion goes the wrong way..." she had a sudden thought. "Harry, do you know if the wizard's system is like the muggle one?

"How do you mean?"

"That once you have been tried for something you cannot be tried again? He was already absolved for the first war, so they would only be able to charge him with whatever happened in the last few years."

Harry looked at her, alarmed. "You don't really think they would charge him with the first war again... OK, I'll ask Kingsley tomorrow. Just in case."

"Thanks. I hope I am just being paranoid," she said, sending the dishes back to the sink with a swish of her wand.

Harry produced his chess set and started setting it out, as they used to do when they were on the run. They took generally turns playing each other, when they did not team up to play against Ron - it was an unfair match anyway. Harry and Hermione were evenly matched, though.

"Did you hear from Ron today?"

"No, but I heard from Ginny that today he spent the day on the Burrow with Molly, seeing what they can recover," he said, making the first move. " This weekend Bill will stop by with a colleague from Gringotts to check the foundations so that they can start re-building next week."

"I will try to come back early tomorrow and tag along with you when you visit, in case I can be of help."

Harry looked up from the board and threw her an assessing glance.

"Up to you. Would you prefer I keep mum about Snape?"

"Yes - no - yes," she rubbed her head. "Let me ask him first."

They played the rest of the game in silence and listened to Maddie Maddhatter on the wireless. It had been a recommendation from Lee Jordan during Fred's funeral, he had blurted it out of the blue after they had been standing in a circle in pained silence for 2 minutes straight.

Hermione had forgotten about it, but Harry had dug out the radio set from Hermione's beaded bag the very same evening and looked for it. Hermione found the cheerful voice of the host and the absurdity of her jokes strangely reassuring.

It was also a bittersweet reminder of the other two cheerful voices they used to gather around to hear while in hiding, and that they would never hear again in tandem. She could perfectly imagine Lee making the same connection. She suspected it had also crossed Harry's mind. 

That night, a thought crossed her mind that made her choke back a sob; she had never discovered who had been Rascal and who Rapier.

-----------------

The next day she woke up, showered and dressed in her comfy jeans and sweater, as she did every morning.

If somehow she took longer than usual, finding Harry already well into his breakfast, no one commented on it.

Harry did not comment either when her cup of tea dragged for twice the amount of time as usual. When she finally gave the last sip and sent the mug to the sink, Harry's eyes followed the movement with a frown.

"Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No, no need," she said, shuffling her feet to the door. Then, as an afterthought, "would you like to come with me?"

"Not just yet," he admitted.

She nodded understandingly. "No worries."

Ten minutes afterwards, she braced herself in front of the door and took a deep breath. It would not do to look nervous - nor guilty, she had nothing to feel guilty of. She freely admitted she was unnerved. What would he expect of her now? If anything, it was him who owed her an explanation.

"Not the same now he's awake, aye?" said the Auror at the door. Hermione realised she had seen him already making guard some of the other days. He was not much older than her and his face struck her as vaguely familiar so she guessed he had been at Hogwarts at some point in her first years and must have known Snape. She blushed.

"Not exactly, no," she answered sending him a sheepish smile before knocking. She pushed the door open and entered without waiting for an answer.

"Good morning, Severus," she said. "How are you feeling?" the rest of her polite, rehearsed entrance died on her throat. "Those books were not meant for you," she blurted. "The doctors did not know when " if "you would wake up so I got myself something to read." She babbled as she conjured a seat and dropped her bag to her side. When she finally met his gaze, she realised he had not moved since she arrived. He seemed to assess her for a few seconds longer, which Hermione held his gaze trying not to fidget until he finally lowered his eyes to his tablet with a slight frown. He turned it towards her so she could read it.

[Alive. Been better.]

Hermione blinked at it a couple of times before realising it was the answer to her question. His tact tugged at her chest. She cleared her throat

"It was to be expected," she answered lamely."

He turned the tablet again to show the next message.

[I have questions]

"Of course"

[Who knows I am awake?]

"St. Mungo's staff, myself" he emitted a soft exhalation that Hermione was sure would have been a full-fledged scoff if he had been up to shape. "Harry and Kingsley. I imagine a good chunk of the department of law enforcement is aware, too."

[Anyone who does NOT know?]

"It is not public knowledge either..." not yet, she amended "but I imagine it is a matter of time. I would also like to tell Ron and Neville. Anything or anyone you are worried about specifically?"

[Nothing in particular. Many people will hold grudges.]

"We - they - have already thought of that," she said.

[They?] of course he would catch her correction.

"Kingsley made sure you would have one Auror on your door at all times. Harry is going to try to convince him to increase it to two now that you are awake since they are expecting the news of your awakening anytime."

[Are they to keep me in or to keep people out?]

"I suspect a bit of both," she admitted. "But Kingsley and Harry, and most order members with ties with the Ministry for that matter, are trying to push your case forward for a quick resolution, now that the public opinion is favourable."

[The public opinion?]

"Oh, I - well..." faltered Hermione. "I did tell you Harry announced your allegiance publicly... The press lapped up to that story and many people think you are..." she hesitated, "a hero of sorts."

Seeing the alarm grow in his face would have been comical to Hermione if it wasn't for the reason behind his newfound popularity, which she had very present in her mind. Unrequited love stories had always become bestsellers.

She swallowed her pride and cleared her throat.

"I would not worry too much, it will pass. Besides, nobody that had actually met you is about to forget how intimidating you can be."

It was meant to cheer him up but instead, he looked away. If Hermione had to guess, he had even been upset by it. For some reason, that annoyed her in turn. 

Wasn't he going to say anything about it? Was his intention to pretend nothing was amiss?

When he next asked if she could bring him a newspaper sometime, she jumped on the chance to take some air.

The healer was with him when she came back and continued explaining in front of Hermione - much to his apparent displeasure if the progressive curling of his upper lip was any indication - the extent of the damage to his vocal cords and immune system and how the rehabilitation would proceed.

He explained that they expected to monitor his physical and magical improvement for another couple of weeks at most but then he would probably be able to continue at home with periodic checkups.

"That's good news, no?" she prodded. However, he only looked at her with an intense frown without saying - or showing - anything.

To fill the silence, Hermione picked up the newspaper and started reading the news aloud - to prevent him from straining his neck, she adduced when he asked her what she thought she was doing. Soon, she was adding her remarks here and there, surprised anew at some of the rubbish they considered journalism.

"Where is Harry Potter? Rumours of Voldemort's last course acting up," read the headings. "Sources in the Ministry confirm that The Chosen One was suspiciously absent from the Ministry yesterday. The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice has been rendering an invaluable service to the Wizarding community by acting as an advisor to the Auror's office since the Battle of Hogwarts. More and more voices are raising claiming that Britain's Golden Boy might have finally succumbed to the curse set upon him by Voldemort almost 19 years ago - Ginny is going to be most surprised of being called "Voldermort's curse," she retorted "The saviour of- Honestly, nobody taught these people to use pronouns instead of inventing a stupid new nickname every other sentence?"

She huffed indignantly, slamming the newspaper down. However, when she caught through the corner of her eyes the slight twist of his lips, she cleared her throat and picked it up to continue reading, feeling warm inside.

-------

The next days they established a routine. Hermione would visit in the mornings and read the news to him, although the commentary - from both sides - soon started overweighting the actual reading. This was just as fortunate, as after the day for his trial was set in roughly a month, she had started consciously avoiding any news related to the Wizengamoth or any other ongoing processes.

Then she would leave him to his nurses and exercises and go help at the Burrow. She had been very impressed with the velocity at which the house was being rebuilt. It started to make a bit more sense when she realised Molly Weasley had been the one refreshing all the original enchantments of the house and adding a few additional ones herself. In addition, Bill had taken a leave from work and had been working on the foundational wards. he had a couple of very interesting discussions with Bill and his friend Saoirse from Gringotts, over the foundational wards. Charlie split his time between the Burrow and Weasley Wizarding Wheezes and Ron and Harry popped in and out constantly, although they spent most of the day at the Ministry, following Kingsley around, Hermione suspected. 

She was usually back in the afternoon and they read together, although more often than not, he was so tired after the exercises that he fell asleep after only a handful of pages. Those moments were both the most painful and most cherished for her. He had insisted on her bringing the armchair close to his bed, so he did not have to turn the tablet every time he wanted to say something. Their conversations had indeed become more and more fluid, and Hermione had to pull herself back at finding herself unconsciously shifting closer following his scent - it was different from the woodsy smell she had come to associate with him, but it was still there, under the aggressive freshness of St Mungo's linens. She still found it painfully reassuring. His head almost always tilted to her side when he fell asleep, she had remarked, and it was often that it was a puff of warm breath tickling over her face that pulled her out of whatever train of thought she had been lost to.

When they were reading side by side, he would touch her hand sometimes to call her attention and she had to fight every time not to react. From time to time she would forget for a moment about Lily and she felt content. Other times it felt like all her nerve endings were on high alert just by having him close. Some others the knot in her chest grew so big that it made it difficult to utter a word.

The turmoil of excitement, expectation and heartbreak had her feeling completely drained at the end of each day. In addition, every day brought his trial closer and closer, and its looming presence had started to weigh heavily on Hermione. If he noticed any of her mood changes, he never commented on them. But she could feel his eyes on her, as if he was waiting for her to snap, or as if he was about to say something of the utmost importance, something like-"

"Hermione..." 

The sound broke into her thoughts so unexpectedly that it took her a couple of seconds to realise she had not imagined it.

Hermione twisted her whole body to gape at him. He was looking strangely abashed.

"Was that you?" she asked unnecessarily, making him scowl.

[The healer said it will take some time]

"Of course but that- that is wonderful!" his scowl became fiercer. "Oh, don't give me that! I did not even know you were already able to speak... Try again, something else."

"I am not a trained monkey," he rasped in barely more than a whisper. Hermione chuckled.

"If you were, you would need more training," she retorted.

The glare he directed at her would have silenced a class of seventh years but it only made Hermione's smile grow wider. It was then that the door opened before none other than Minerva McGonagall.

The Scottish woman took a couple of steps into the room and took a moment to study them. Hermione fought not to react as if she had just been caught passing notes in class.

"Good afternoon Severus, Hermione," McGonagall said eventually with a hint of hesitation in her voice. 

"Good afternoon, Professor," replied Hermione politely. She looked between the imposing figure of her old Head of House and the man beside her, assessing each other with a stony expression.

She snapped her book shut and pushed herself out of her armchair.

"I was actually about to leave," she explained, ignoring Severus' expression, which was showing nothing short of betrayal, as she gathered her bag and walked towards the visitor. "I heard it will be possible to start the reconstruction works at Hogwarts shortly.

"Yes, probably already next week. Our alumni appear to remember their passage through Hogwarts fondly, for the most part, since the donations started arriving the moment the damage was known," answered McGonagall drily. "It seems we managed not to traumatize our students too much, overall."

Both women ignored the scoff coming from the bed.

"Neville said something about it," answered Hermione, feeling slightly self-conscious since she had not offered any money herself. "he told me Professor Sprout asked him if he would be willing to join the team to rebuild the greenhouses... if there is anything I can do..."

"I will be sure to tell you, but I think you have enough in your plate," the older woman said, flickering her eyes towards the bed, "You have already done more than enough."

Hermione nodded, a bit embarrassed.

"Take care, Professor," she said before leaving. She sneaked a glance before closing the door and she was oddly struck by the fact that they had been both her teachers.

"I wouldn't like to be locked in there with those two either," commented the auror by the door, startling there.

Hermione jumped back, startled and felt the blush creep up to her face. 

"Their rows in the staff room after Quidditch matches were legendary," he explained with a lopsided smile and Hermione was finally able to place him. He had been a Slytherin a few years ahead of her, she only knew him because he had been part of the Quidditch team. "Bletchley, is it?"

"Granger," he nodded. "Or should I say Snape?" 

"Hermione is fine," she answered neutrally.

He nodded once, then shuffled his feet and Hermione had the distinct feeling she would not like the question he was clearly bracing himself to pose.

"I know it is not my place-"

"Then you should probably stop there," she cut.

"I know, but - please - he was my Head of House and... I cannot quite take it out of my head... is it true?"

"What exactly?" she asked, raising her chin.

"Him being a spy?"

"Yes."

"And the marriage - arranged?"

"Essentially, yes," she answered, then felt compelled to clarify. "Dumbledore decided we both needed protection... Two birds, one stone."

He nodded, soberly.

"Thanks, the spying sort of fit the bill in a way, but after all the years having him as my Head of House it was hard to think of him as a-" he gestured towards her "-you know."

Hermione felt her stomach sink at the implications. Of course, people would immediately think he had been abusing his position as a teacher.

It suddenly made a lot of sense to Hermione that they had chosen a Slytherin alumni to guard his door. Severus was well known for his favouritism, so she could imagine the Slytherins remembering him with a certain fondness.

"It was never like that. At all," she stated, closing the discussion. "Make sure to spread the word if anyone asks".

She barely saw his nod before stomping away.

Chapter Text

Her annoyance carried her until just outside the muggle entrance of St Mungo's without her noticing. She had to admit to herself that she had probably been too cocooned within her circle of friends after the battle, only ever commuting between St Mungo's, Grimmauld's place and the Burrow. Bletchley's question had been a rough awakening of how the rest of the world could see them.

Hermione started working aimlessly through the London streets to cool off. She guessed that made her presence on his trial all the more vital. She had started to consider the possibility of going to Australia for a couple of weeks to locate her parents and see if they were doing fine. That would still give a week before the process started but she could not quite shake off the memory of Harry's hearing, rescheduled with barely any warning. Would a month make such a big difference?

On a hunch, she entered a big department store and approached the counter in the bookshop and magazine's section. 

"Would it be possible to order the White Pages of Australia?" she blurted to a short young woman whose bright blue coloured hair reminded her painfully to Tonks. The young woman needed to ask her supervisor.

She eyed the muggle newspapers while she waited, finding, again and again, references to the G8 summit and a Good Friday agreement that Hermione had never heard about. She grabbed one at random, feeling suddenly guilty of how disconnected she had become during the last year.

Twenty minutes and some odd looks later - no, no need to give me a call, I come here regularly - I'll just pass pick it up - Hermione walked out with a newspaper, a bunch of fashion magazines she thought Ginny might enjoy, and a spring in her step, feeling she was finally doing something. She ducked into an empty alley and checked her clock - the Weasleys would not expect her for another hour but Harry was probably out at the Ministry so maybe she would be able to catch Ginny. 

Ginny was out with Harry, as it turned out, which made Hermione glad she had not chosen to apparate to Grimmauld's place - she'd already seen things she'd rather unsee with the two of them and she was not feeling particularly charitable about it. 

"Ron's upstairs, brewing something in Fred and George's old room," said Molly, with the slightest hitch in her breath. Hermione gave her arm a squeeze, dropped the magazines with her and climbed up the stairs.

She hesitated at the threshold, not wanting to disturb him and took in the scene. One of the beds had disappeared or had been transfigured on a potions bench, still sporting the remains of mashed flobberworms, a laddle trickling a green gooey potion over the counter and an old-looking book, over which Ron was pouring over with a deep frown of concentration she had only seen on him when he was playing chess. Ron had decided to temporarily help with the shop and had told her he was catching up on, of all things, brewing techniques. 

"Bad timing?"

"Oh, hi Hermione," he said, straightening. His eyes caught on the mess on the workstation Hermione had just been eyeing and he immediately cleaned it with a sweep of his wand and a guilty look. "No, just in time, I think this just needs to rest... does it look to you more Basil green or Juniper green?"

She peered over the cauldron and scrunched her nose. "Juniper, I think."

He nodded in relief.

"Good, let's go get some fresh air."

After Harry and Ginny just seemed to fall in place together straight after the battle, Ron seemed to gravitate mostly towards her or George, even if the only thing they did is to sit together while she read. 

"It is never going to be the same," he stated once while they were seated by the big chestnut tree on the front of the Burrow. They were lazily observing as Bill took out the protection enchantments covering the opening prepared to hold the livingroom window. Most of the glasswork and furniture had been completely destroyed. The statement came out of the blue but Hermione understood instinctually.

"I know the feeling..." she sighed. "You think they'll need help?"

He shook his head.

"They'll shout out if they do," he answered, then brought his eyes back to her.

" You are here early."

"He had a visitor - McGonagall."

Ron let out a long whistle.

"Ouf, I don't know if I would have paid to be there or if I would not be caught dead in that place for the world..." Hermione chuckled in understanding.  "How is he doing?"

"He's recovering, the doctors claim to be impressed with his advances but he's not exactly patient..."

He scoffed.

"Don't you say..." he teased. "And you?"

"I'm fine. I will be fine," she corrected herself, looking away. "I just... I need to find my place."

"With him?" he asked. If she was not so conflicted herself, she would have smiled at his valiant effort of trying to sound neutral.

"I don't know. I don't think so, I don't think he-" she sighed heavily. "It's complicated. And I don't want to think about it now. I need to figure out how to bring my parents back - if  I can bring my parents back."

"Oh, damn, Hermione," he said, eyes wide, passing an arm around her and bringing her close. "I'm so, so, sorry. With everything that has happened, it had completely slipped my mind... Fuck, I'm an arsehole."

"Shush, I understand, I did not want to look into it too deeply myself... I just hope their fine," she said, burrowing her face against his shoulder, welcoming his familiar, comforting smell. "And don't swear."

He snorted.

"If there's anything I can do- anything, really, you know that-"

"I'll ask you," she finished for him. She turned her head to look at his profile. "Have you thought about what you are going to do?"

"Right now I'm fine with helping out George. He- he's destroyed - we all are - but he..."

Hermione could feel him swallowing heavily and tightened her arms around his chest and holding on for a few seconds. They had become more demonstrative during their camping, all three of them, and they still seemed to fall back to the familiar comfort it brought.

"I still cannot believe it sometimes," she whispered, extricating herself from his arms. He was nodding, his eyes dull.

"That's the worst, you know. Most of the time I feel the absence like a weight. But sometimes I forget for a minute - just a minute, mind you - and expect them both to be seating at the table and suddenly I see the empty spot and-"

Hermione hugged him again, and they stayed fastened together for a while, while each of them sorted their thoughts and their grief. Bill had finished installing the window and was closing it in front of Molly Weasley, who was surveying the work from the inside of the house. It was Ron who eventually broke the silence.

"We should stop hugging like this. If your husband ever sees us..." he joked.

Hermione hmpfed, but pulled away.

"The day I can no longer hug you, is the day I turn to Sybill Trelawney for career advice."

"I have half a mind, you know? I had always thought I would join auror training with Harry but George needs help at the shop and it is interesting - you cannot imagine the things they developed, you should pass by one day and I'll show you. Also, my mum almost has a heart attack every time one of us leaves her sight. Actually, I'm certain that's the only reason she's installing the old curtains now," he said, pointing towards the house "she has been talking for ages about going tomorrow with Ginny to pick some new ones. I will probably get a talk about pawing a married woman. I cannot imagine what would happen if I tell her I'm enrolling in auror training."

"I'm sure your mum is stronger than any heart attack you can possibly give her. You all are," she said. "We should go back, ask her if she needs help," she said, standing up and swatting off the grass off her jeans.

She heard him sigh before standing up himself.

"Mione, about Snape... I've never asked but- what is going on?"

His tentative, serious voice stopped her in her tracks, but she did not turn to look at him.

"Well, we are married, officially."

"Don't give me that," he said, coming to stand in front of her.

She sighed and looked up. The idea of telling him and Harry had terrified her once - with Harry, it still did. But somehow things were different with the serious, tall young man in front of her. She guessed they all had grown up. Fast.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "When I went back things were different - I did know about Dumbledore's hand being cursed, sorry about keeping that quiet," she muttered, looking away. "Believe it or not, we got on well. Really well. We are a pair of bookworms, if you can imagine," she gave him a rueful smile. "But then..." She made a vague gesture, hoping he would not make her say it.

"Then Harry got those memories..."

"And he almost died and is pending trial and half of the world think he's a child molester while the other half thinks he's a freaking hero..." she ranted, letting out steam she was not aware had been building.

"...and he's... Snape?" added Ron.

"... and he's Snape," she admitted, "although I do not think it means the same to me as it does you, now. But you got the gist," she finished. She tried to walk around him towards the Burrow but he stopped her with a hand on her upper arm.

"Did he - you know - treat you right when you were with him? I mean..." he bit out forcefully, his face flushing.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, feeling her own face heat up in embarrassment. "He did - of course he did - he was a perfect gentleman - I swear it" she looked at his clenched jaw and frowned. "Why are you asking me all these questions now?"

"Percy popped in last night. Apparently, they are voting to repeal the Law tomorrow. You will be allowed to file in for an annulment."

"Oh," she said, unnecessarily. She had imagined they would have to talk about it, eventually, but she had not thought the topic would come up before the trial. 

"What do you -" he cleared his throat. "What do you want to do?" 

She looked up at him, at his dear, concerned face. His bright blue eyes contrasted sharply against her blond lashes and his sunkissed freckled skin. His fiery hair, ruffled by the summer breeze, framed a face that had sharpened in the last year, stubble now visible in his sharp jaw. They had all changed so much. She could still clearly see why she had been so infatuated with him but she also saw what was missing; the focused intensity, the decisive mind. She had the ridiculous thought that her life would have been much easier if she had not grown up.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "If things were different - normal - I think I would like to see where things would go. With him," she clarified. "But they are not. Let's get through his trial first." Her answer did not really solve anything but somehow, after saying it out loud, she felt as if a weight had been lifted.

Ron nodded, dropping his arm and rubbing the back of his neck.

"You know, I hope you were right," he commented letting her pass and fell to step beside her.

"About what?"

"You said that we would regret not saving the git's life"

"Ron!"

"I mean, I'm quite relieved at the moment - the man being a hero and such - but if he gives you so much of a filthy look..."

It was a lame joke but Hermione felt warmer inside.

"Don't be silly."

"Mione... I know we talked, and we're fine. But don't you ever even wonder..."

Hermione bit her lip, glancing swiftly at him. He was flushed in mortification and looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Of course I do," she said softly. "But I do not think we are the right people for each other - not like that."

"I know," he answered, then frowned. "It is still bugging me a bit, though."

"Me too," she admitted.

He gave her a lopsided smile and offered his arm to walk the last few meters to the Burrow's new front door, which was perfectly fitting to the old frame but was still looking completely different from the newly installed window.

She found it somehow fitting.

Chapter Text

The following day he refused to discuss in any detail what had transpired between him and McGonagall.

It was only when the Prophet opened with the announcement of her appointment as Headmistress, a few days afterwards, that he admitted the woman had informed him during her visit.
 
 "It was about time the Board of Governors made a good call - their appalling track record was defying all probability lately," he remarked, curtailing Hermione's questions. "She will be a brilliant Headmistress, even if she will fail catastrophically at remaining neutral during Quidditch matches," he said with finality, picking back his book and starting to read.

Hermione thought his apparent disinterest would have fooled her if it wasn't because that had been the longest sentence he had said in almost three weeks. Although he had been interspersing more and more spoken sentences in between his tablet responses, his voice was still raspy and he tended to keep it barely above a whisper. 
 
 "And what about you?" asked Hermione, folding the newspaper.

He lifted his eyebrow enquiringly.

"Were you not planning on coming back?" she insisted.

He scoffed and picked a book.

"As impressed as The Dark Lord was with my ability to balance the budget, I do not think it would make for such a sterling reference. Do you think I should have asked him for a recommendation..?" Definitely not indiferent.

"Don't be facetious. We both know you were in an untenable position - you did not get a fair chance."

"As if that has ever mattered," he answered, his voice roughening painfully at the end of his sentence.

"You did not answer my question."
 
He did not outwardly react to that, but Hermione could see his eyes were not moving. She bit her lip and looked for her own book. They had been cordial to each other, friendly even, but he had seemed to build back his defences day by day. She reckoned he might have picked up on her reluctance to bring up their last days together, or on how she had not intentionally touched him once since he woke up.
 
Sometimes she almost wished he would confront her about it, and felt like a coward for not bringing up the topic herself. He dropped his book with a heavy sigh, startling her, and exchanged it for the tablet. She swallowed heavily before scooting closer to the bed; she had not been expecting the conversation to continue.

 [I will go to court. That is all I can say for certain.]

The sentences appeared clear and nitid in his spiky scrawl almost as if he was writing them on the surface. Full sentences, without hesitation, no half-formed thoughts or stray words. The doctors had been quite impressed.

[I do not think it wise to hypothesise nor plan any further. It is pointless.]

She opened her mouth to protest but his voice stopped her. She snapped her eyes back to his.

"There are... too many factors outside of my control," he said, holding her gaze, then set his jaw and Hermione knew he would not say anything further. She looked down, trying to mask her disappointment, and her eyes found his tablet again laying on his lap.

[particularly you - Hermione...]

Her eyes snapped back up to his. The intensity in his gaze made her breath caught.

"Hermione," he said, in little more than a whisper. "What do you-?"

Harry's stag bounded into the room, startling them and charging the atmosphere with a completely different type of tension. The Patronus nuzzled Hermione before levelling with the and talking.

"We've received notification from St. Mungo's that he is being released. Kingsley is in an interdepartmental meeting but I don't think it will run for much longer - I imagine you have around an hour. Sorry for the little warning."

Hermione did not wait for the Patronus to disappear before standing to better face the man beside her.

"When were you planning to tell me you were being released?" she fired at him, incensed, her hands on her hips. 

[They told me this morning that might be the case]," he admitted, his face closed.

"And you did not see fit to inform me?" she asked, hating how her voice was becoming shriller.

"Would that have made any difference?" he hissed.

Hermione felt it as a slap. She picked her book and bag with a stiff back and turned towards the door only to find him in her path. Her eyes swept over his white robe, falling on his bony knees that connected with surprisingly defined calves. She looked away, realising he had made a point of being sitting and covered when she was around. 

"I am not looking forward to the change," he offered before she could step around him. Hermione pursed her lips, her eyes valiantly raised back up to his chest, deciding whether she would accept his not-quite-apology. Then the thought that he might never get out of Azkaban left her cold.

"You will need some clothes," she said, curtly. When he informed her he had already requested them - the House-Elves still seemed to answer to him - it was only his apologetic tone that stopped her from leaving. Even cloistered in St. Mungo's there were secrets. What else had he been keeping from her?

He seemed to have sensed her urge to flee - or wanted to punish her, she thought darkly - because once the clothes were there, he added. 

"You don't need to leave the room - I'm sure you will reign in your urge to ogle me."

Hermione did not dare dignify that with an answer and walked purposely towards the only window, her back stiff, arms crossed. There were three healers shepherding a group of interns around the inner courtyard. After what felt like a small eternity, she started hearing shuffling noises at her back. 

She started counting the windows on the opposite facade, across the rectangular courtyard. 15.

A thump of cloth hitting the floor.

She inhaled sharply and started with the windows on the row below - 14. 

The slide of cotton against skin. Boxers.

She clenched her jaw and went back to count the initial one - 15.

A belt clanking.

She counted the row below once more - 14 again. Nevermind. Anything to distract her from the shuffle of cloth at her back. She picked another row at random and counted doggedly. 16. She tried to care that the number did not match any of the previous two even though the windows seemed to be evenly distributed. She couldn't really bring herself to it and started again, from the top.

Her ear tuned to the soft intermittent noises of hands sliding over fabric. He was buttoning himself up - his shirt. 

Count lost, she cleared her throat.

"The dementors are no longer in Azkaban and they are making sure the conditions are decent - newspapers, books, proper food..." she trailed off, hating how depressing it sounded anyway. "It should be nothing worse than boring."

"You can turn around," it was the only response he gave. He was buttoning the last top buttons on his shirt, hands on his neck. She averted her eyes as he picked his familiar black billowing outer robes. Only black and white for him. The thought that she might not see him like this again, weighed heavily on her mind.

"Severus, I am going to go check on my parents."

He searched her eyes briefly, then looked away.

Hermione saw his struggle in silence not knowing what to say. She didn't need his words to help her follow his thoughts. It would be better if he undid the enchantments since he was the one to do them in the first place. But the trial did not start for another two weeks, and what if he was found guilty?

"You know what to do?" he asked eventually.

"If necessary."

He nodded, looking down. He clenched his jaw as if restraining himself from saying something. He had been doing this more and more often lately and every time Hermione's heart missed a bit, dreading it was going to be then that he brought up the pink elephant in the room. Except for an angry red shape that was hinted at his collar when he craned his neck to the left, he appeared the same Professor Snape - Headmaster Snape - that had terrorised Hogwarts' students. 

"Do I pass muster?" he asked sardonically, apparently having noticed her scrutiny. Hermione set her jaw, unwilling to let him phase here and approached until she was barely a couple of steps away. She surveyed him.

"Don't you think it might be better to change the type of robes - the colour, maybe - to try and put some distance?" she asked, a worried frown settling on her face.

"Don't you think everyone will think that I am doing exactly that?" he answered, his voice a low rumble.

She was not sure but nodded, all fight leaving her at the dawning realisation this might be the last time she would see him like this.

She reached out with her hand and adjusted the cloak so that it fell straight on his shoulders. From this distance, this angle, he did no longer looked like Headmaster Snape, only Severus. Her Severus.

She swallowed hard and looked away.

"You should eat more if you can, you look too thin," she observed.

He exhaled in what Hermione thought was amusement and turned to pick the tablet from the bed.

"Same could be said of you," he retorted, sending a pointed glance at her before starting pacing, twirling the tablet in his hands.

"I’m working on it," she answered absently. "It turns out Harry is a fairly decent cook when not under pressure and we go to the Burrow every other day now to see Ron - you know Molly Weasley's meals, they-" she stopped herself. He had become so unnaturally still that she checked the door behind him in case the Aurors had arrived earlier than expected.

"You moved in with Potter?" he asked, his piercing eyes dead set on hers.

"Yes..." she answered, frowning and feeling her hackles raise in preparation for a fight. "Straight after the Battle. I must have told you about it..." 

However, there were no scathing remarks coming her way. In fact, he looked so shell-shocked for an instant that Hermione forgot the distance she had tried to keep and immediately approached with her hand outstretched, concern etched in her features. He turned away from her, his back stiff. 

"Severus... what is it?" she asked softly, placing a hand on his shoulder as she peered around his back to have a look at the tablet. He dropped the tablet on the bed as if it burned and stepped once again away from her.

"Go away," he enunciated slowly, his voice rough.

Hermione looked between him and the table, uncomprehending.

“What - what is your problem now?”

“You - and bleeding Potter - have done more than enough. Get out”

“Is this because I'm living with Harry?" she asked incredulously. "I cannot believe you are still holding that grudge! For your information, it is because of his efforts that you have been in the hospital this long - with protection, I might add - instead of rotting in a cell in Azkaban without any medical care!"

That seemed to make something snap in him. He was at her in two strides, his enraged face so very close to hers.

“Until today, you mean. I don’t know what sick game you and your dear Potter are playing, but it ends here," he said, his voice ragged and hoarse.

"Game?" she sputtered, as he turned away again, his hands burying in his hair. "It's you who's currently acting like a child! What the hell is wrong with you?" she threw at his back her voice raising over his mutterings.

“-have been waiting until this moment to twist the knife? I do not know how I did not see - I cannot do this anymore -"

"You are not making any sense, Severus. What-?"

He swirled back to her and grabbed her elbows, his grip frighteningly hard, his face twisted.

"Get out. I will not say it again. My life is no longer any concern of yours, Miss Granger."

"How- how can you say that?" she asked, dumbfounded, eyes wide. She saw his back stiffen, his wand arm trembling, his knuckles white. His voice came out jagged and uneven.

"I do not need your - you. If I don’t have to set eyes on your face ever again, I shall die a content man. Even in Azkaban.".

The words hit Hermione as a hammer. After a moment of stillness, she choked back a sob and rushed through the door and past Bletchley, tears blurring her vision. Before the auror could do so much as acknowledge her - he had been unfailingly friendly since their first uncomfortable conversation - a crash was heard at the other side of the door and he rushed inside the room.

She did not stop running until the door of Grimmauld place thudded close on her back.

Of all the stupid, silly grudges to hold, how dare he put it on her? How dare he?

She pushed herself away and went to the kitchen. She put water to boil, her hands trembling. She needed a distraction - and Harry would welcome a reprieve.

It is over, she repeated to herself over and over again. He could rot in Azkaban for all she cared, the spiteful, ungrateful bastard.

When she placed a steaming plate of spaghetti in front of Harry a couple of hours later, he immediately asked what was wrong.

"We argued. It is over,” she sentenced.

Harry, bless him, did not press further. However, once the plates were cleared, he gave her a fierce hug and proposed to skip the cinema and stay home watching something.

Afterwards, she could not have recalled a single thing that happened during the three episodes of Friends they ended up watching.  

--------------------

The Wizengamot had appointed Kingsley Shacklebolt as interim Minister and he had wasted no time in trying to cleanse the institutions. Hermione could barely believe what he had been able to accomplish in a fortnight.

The day after the battle, he had gathered a team and visited one by one all known properties from known Death-Eaters. The Muggle-born Registration Committee was abolished and investigations about the activities of every member of law enforcement were opened the day after that. Within a week the dementors were out of Azkaban and a new criminal indictment procedure was being voted in the Wizengamot and passed after an additional week of discussions and amendments. And not a minute too soon, thought Hermione.

As part of that new procedure, the veritaserum had been restricted to very serious offences, and with a limited number of questions, related exclusively to the crimes under discussion whose wording would be proposed by the accusation and approved by the defence and the court and answered in a private audience.

However, in this particular case the court had decided to not use veritaserum since he was a Potions Master and had apparently published some articles theorizing over the possibility of developing immunity.  Hermione was ambivalent over this decision - it would be good to have his testimony unchallenged but, on the other hand, the answer to the question "did you murder Albus Dumbledore?" would have been met with a resounding "yes".

In this trial, they had only asked Harry Potter, as a key witness, to answer two questions under veritaserum. She, as his wife, was also a suspect of having been able to obtain an antidote. Hermione did not bother to point out that if such a thing existed, the first person she would have given it to would have been Harry Potter.

Hermione reckoned one could theoretically counter-act or build immunity to some of the ingredients, but veritaserum was such a complex potion... There was not a single recorded case, that she was aware of, of any wizard managing to counteract it. In the best case, you could soften the effects, as a subpar brew would. Then you could, theoretically again, have some control over your answers and their formulation, although it would require a level of discipline and willpower equivalent to shaking off an Imperio or some forms of legilimency.

As dumb as she thought the decision, she was not about to complain, seeing that it would allow her to speak under a Verity Aura Charm instead. This charm created a halo around the head that would change colour depending on whether you knew what you were saying to be the truth (white), a lie (red) or if you were uncertain (yellow). Hermione found the workings of the charm fascinating, she guessed the charm read somehow which part of the brain was working and signalled accordingly.

In that way, it was as effective as the truth serum, but unlike with this one, it did not compel the subject to answer or to tell what the subject considered to be all the truth. This meant that if she played it smart and was able to think on her feet - something she hated at the bests of times - she would be able to sidestep any compromising question. Hermione did not spend much time considering if she should even try to sidestep anything. What happened, happened.

On the other hand, the interrogators were equally aware of this loophole so they would probably be more aggressive and place far more intruding questions towards her than they did with the rest

Some of her nervousness must have come out somehow since Harry grasped her hand to keep it still.

"Do not fret," Harry whispered, leaning towards her so they could not be overheard. Just then the doors opened and two Aurors escorted Severus Snape to the chair in the centre of the room. His eyes swept the room and barely stopped on her for an instant before looking away. "You see, he looks just fine - a damn sight better than anyone I saw in the previous trials, I tell you."

Hermione nodded, feeling ever so slightly reassured but the feeling did not last long. Only five minutes into the trial, the first verity aura was cast and his declaration started.

"Let's not dawdle unnecessarily," said the prosecutor. "Did you plot to murder Albus Dumbledore?"

"Once every couple of weeks, like every sane member of his staff," he said, and to Hermione's consternation, the light only puttered red but remained mostly white.

Ron, at her side, inhaled sharply.

"Holy shit, does he want to go down for it or what?" he muttered and she could not help but agree.

"The big, spiteful oaf..." she hissed. "If he does not end up in Azkaban, I will put him down myself."

She could not take a proper breath until he finally, prodded by his own lawyer, declared that he would never have seriously entertained the idea of killing the Headmaster before he demanded it of him and the light shone bright pure white during his entire statement.

"I was under an unbreakable vow from Narcissa Malfoy to protect his son and finish his task if he proved unable to do so but I would have never taken that vow if Dumbledore had not asked it of me already. And I would never have killed him if he had not insisted on it, repeatedly," he paused as if considering, then continued in a sickly sweet voice. "As discussed before he could be maddeningly infuriating sometimes."

He continued answering question after question with detachment as if he only had a cursory interest in the result. He was sarcastic, sharp and even snorted a couple of times at the prosecutor when they made, admittedly, a stupid or redundant question.

The light remained mostly between white and yellow. He still was able to startle her once more when he was asked about her.

"I shall not comment on my relationship with Madam Snape. I have been informed that she will also declare in front of this court, so I will leave to her to share whatever details she deems convenient."

"Mister Snape, please be aware that refusing to declare will prevent you from refuting any statements afterwards."

"Duly noted"

At the end of the day, Hermione reckoned that his eyes had not looked for her once.

---------------

"Having ascertained that Hermione Granger is capable of throwing off the Imperius Curse in no longer than 30 minutes of exposure, and having been in isolation since 10 a.m. this morning, I declare her a capable witness," said the short, balding auror in a monotone voice. The imperious test had been quite unnerving, with a total of 5 people present between the two aurors, the healers and the independent witness (Harry), but the isolation itself had actually been somewhat entertaining. Harry had to be isolated also - his testimony was straight after hers - so they spent it together in a room in the auror's Headquarters that Hermione had the strong suspicion was normally used as a storage room. Another auror, this one younger, had been given guard duty and after a few tentative overtures had agreed to bring a set of exploding snap. After that, Hermione had been amused at Harry drilling him with questions over his work and training.

A clearing of a throat brought her back to the present.

"You are legally married to Severus Snape. Could you explain how this came to be?" asked the Wizengamot spokesperson.

"Ours was a marriage of convenience, like many after the Act was enacted," she answered. "We complied with the law, as was required of us: we performed the ceremony and shared living quarters for the duration while both our situations allowed it."

"You mean until Severus Snape murdered Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione stiffened slightly but tried not to react.

"Until Albus Dumbledore's death," she corrected.

The spokesperson continued drilling her without barely taking a breath.

"Were you aware of this plan of ending Albus Dumbledore's life?"

"Before the event, no. I was told afterwards," answered Hermione, trying to match the tone and keep her answers clear.

"By whom?"

"By Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore's portrait."

"Do you believe them?" he asked sardonically.

What type of question was that?

"Yes, I do, their stories match each other. But I do not see how is that relevant; you can listen to both testimonies first hand."

"Please keep strictly to the questions asked."

"Yes, sir," she answered neutrally. However, he seemed to change the line of questioning.

"You were bonded to Severus Snape on Hogwarts' grounds, with both Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall as witnesses and Harry Potter as a bonder."

"Correct."

"What happened then? What happened after the wedding?"

Hermione blinked.

"We continued our daily activities. Except for the sleeping arrangements - I had to leave Gryffindor Tower - my student life continued unadulterated."

"Ah," he said, his voice becoming softer. Hermione felt dread creeping at the back of her neck. "Could you describe the new sleeping arrangements?"

So that's the way they wanted to go.

"I moved into his quarters in the dungeons, where he set up a separate bedroom for me, which was hidden for appearance's sake. If I am not mistaken, this has been documented, since this area did not suffer any damage during the battle."

"...and did he ever visited?"

"On one or two occasions, to let me know when he was leaving the castle."

"...never during the night?"

"I don't recall if the sun was down yet-"

"Did he ever stay..?"

Hermione was losing her patience.

"No. For clarification, I was never forced, coerced or pressured in any way to have sexual intercourse with Severus Snape. Never." She forced herself to meet the eyes of the barrister, until he looked away, her words resonating on the quiet chamber. She raised her eyes to the Wizengamot members.

"Furthermore, while I was a student under his care, even after we were married and sharing living quarters, we kept the relationship strictly platonic and mostly professional."

As she finished her tirade, silence reigned in the Wizengamot for a few seconds, as she met their eyes one by one. As the barrister started shuffling papers, she looked towards her friends and Harry's determined face and Ron's somewhat relieved smiled gave her all the answers she needed. She looked down pretending to check her hands to avoid broadcasting her relief. She was sure her halo had not shifted colour.

"Why is it that you have not requested an annulment?"

"When exactly would you suggest we did that?" she asked, with a huff.

"The law has been repealed for a month."

"Out of that month, Severus Snape spent two weeks in the poisoning recovery ward at St. Mungo's and another three weeks under auror custody at Azkaban so I repeat, when exactly were we supposed to get an annulment?"

"You will ask for an annulment, then?" he insisted

"As you may understand, that is something that will have to be discussed between him and me. I was not expecting this tribunal would indulge in gossip..."

"This tribunal does not accept disresp-"

"And I generally don't accept invasive questions that have nothing to do with the matter at hand."

"That will be enough, Miss Granger. Back to the topic," intervened an elderly member on the front bench.

"Forgive me, sir, I just don't understand how us complying with an act seconded by this same chamber is in any way relevant to the crimes he is accused of."

At this Matilda Marchbanks stood to address her.

"You were a student and barely an adult, we are trying to ascertain if there might have been anything untoward..."

"I appreciate the intent then, although I might point out this potentially problematic situation could have been avoided if the Wizengamot had voted last year against that absurd law."

She could see some of the members squirming as well as some raised not-so-polite mutterings from the bank. At Harry's grimace, she realised what she had been doing and swallowed her ire. She was not helping. She should gather herself and give the declaration that she had prepared. Buckle up, girl.

"I do appreciate the intent, Madam Marchbanks. I do," she said - and she did, in a way. "But then let me clarify this: Severus Snape has, in no way, mistreated me, hexed me or abused me in the frame of the bonds. I hope this covers all concerns about my - relationship - with him."

The woman nodded, seriously and sat back in her seat.

When the prosecutor started asking about his actions during the war, Hermione focused intently to keep the answers clear and precise, as if it was a test. After a gruelling recounting of the last year, she was asked if she had anything to had. Hermione took a deep breath, now it was her chance to get her position clear and deliver the message she wanted to deliver.

"As much as I have not always seen eye to eye with Severus Snape, I have come to respect his role in the war. This tribunal may or may not consider his actions during the war worthy of punishment but I can assure you I saw him put everything on the line to follow Albus Dumbledore's instructions and give Harry a chance... and I can categorically say that we would not have made it without him."

The prosecutor cleared his throat, clearly disgruntled.

"That will be all, Miss Granger. You may go."

-----------

Hermione walked back to the witness stand and took her seat back between Harry and Ron.

"You did well," Ron murmured at her side, and she looked up to give him a faint smile. Only then she dared set her eyes on him. For the first time in the trial, their eyes met, for an instant, before he looked away.

As she swallowed thickly, she felt Ron bump her arm in support, as Harry gripped her hand. She squeezed it gratefully, feeling that, no matter what, she would have them by her side.

Chapter Text

"Necessary Evil", read The Prophet in bold letters over a photo of Severus Snape being guided outside the court. "The Wizengamot releases ex-Hogwarts Headmaster and infamous Death Eater Severus Snape, pending compensation to the students hurt during his previous term."

"Well," commented Harry lamely, "that's that."

Hermione nodded, frowning, eyes fastened to the article. The voting had been tight, almost too tight, only saving himself by two votes. If only he had not acted like a sulky teenager... she huffed, irritably. She looked back at the header and felt her anger start boiling, first at the caption, then at him. He was looking into the distance as dark and contemptuous as ever, as if he was not aware it was only the perimeter set by the aurors keeping him from being swarmed by journalists and, most probably, indignant citizens.

Or admirers.

He had been lucky his attorney had a flair for the dramatic and had spun a convincing tale of a tortured man driven by a lost love - despite Snape's own efforts to dismiss it. Her own testimony had almost brought the narrative down. Not that they had done anything wrong.

"The stupid, arrogant..." selfless, brave, reckless "...idiot," she muttered.

"What?" asked Harry.

What had he been thinking? Why? She simply could not get it. He could have been given the kiss, killed, or sent to Azkaban for life. It was driving her crazy, and suddenly she realised she did not really have to wonder about it.

"Hermione?" 

"He's not getting away with it anymore," she declared fiercely, and accioed her purse.'

"Wait - Hermione," called Harry, jumping up from the sofa and following her to the foyer. "Hold on, now you are worrying me,"

"I'll be back in no time," she assured him, a determined glint on her eye that Harry knew better than to cross.

She apparated to the creek she remembered then stomped towards his house. She did not bother to knock, just barged her way in and felt her irritation rise an inch higher at seeing him just there, sitting, reading, his eyebrow raised as if expecting an explanation. She wanted to punch him, shake him, kiss him.

"What in Hades were you thinking? What is wrong with you!?" she blurted.

"Excuse me, madam, but I do not recall giving you permission to-"

"Oh no, you don't!" she exclaimed, her tone rising. "You do not get to be an arse to me." Not today. "I was worried sick! Don't you realise you were this close to getting locked forever?"

"I fail to see why would you care at all," he said, tone irritatingly even, closing his book and leaving it over an auxiliary table as if there was nothing amiss.

"You f-fail to see?" Hermione sputtered in indignation. "I would have said I made it quite obvious I cared."

His eyes flashed dangerously.

"So I am to believe that the reason you lied through your teeth to the Wizengamoth about us is that you cared?" he retorted, in a deceptively soft voice, rising to his feet and approaching her. "Because it looked to me as if you were ashamed, ashamed of anyone knowing that you used to warm the bed of the big bad Deatheater."

"That I don't want to shout it from the roofs does not mean that I am ashamed," she hissed. "But that's beside the point, it would have looked worse on you than me. You know well enough they were angling for the student-teacher taboo..."

His face contorted in a disgusted expression.

"Because, of course, it is so unbelievable that the Golden Girl Hermione Granger might actually be interested in sullying herself with-"

"Stop it!" she screamed. "Just stop - How can you say that? Of all the times to let your pride get the better of you..." She threw her hands up in frustration. "If anyone has the right to be angry it is me! Do you realise how humiliated I felt - how naive -when I realised I was just a convenient shag? That you did not even care enough to try to get cleared!"

His face darkened and he stepped closer.

"When did I ever give you the impression of-?"

"Lily Potter," she snapped. "You should have told me."

He froze in his tracks, appearing completely wrong-footed.

"Is that what this is about?" he asked incredulously, dropping his supercilious act. "There wasn't exactly a right moment for it, you know?"

"I don't know, but I know that hearing it announced in the Great Hall by Harry Potter in the middle of a battle, was definitely not the right way."

"He was not meant to get all those memories... I was not exactly in control at that point," he replied, stiffly.

"And you think that makes any difference?" He only looked at her in askance, clearly thinking her off her rocker. It was simply too much.

She turned and stalked towards the door. Before she could get the handle, he had caught up to her and grabbed her upper arm turning her towards him. She felt an ugly sort of satisfaction of finally seeing him rattled.

"You cannot pretend- you couldn't possibly expect me to-" he cleared his throat, which had been getting rough. "You have no right to expect-" she could see his frustration mounting at the same pace as her anger. He had no right.

"You deceived me, Severus Snape, like you deceived everybody else," she enunciated clearly, looking straight to his eyes, and she felt her anger falter. "You never cared for anyone's feelings but yours."

He looked apoplectic. His face reddened dangerously until he seemed about to explode. In the same sleek motion, he suddenly turned away from her and slashed his wand against the armchair he had been sitting on. It cracked open in two, then crumbled and disintegrated as if made of sand. Hermione stood still, her heart in her mouth.

When he faced her again, his wand was hidden away and his expression composed but he was still breathing heavily.

"Of all the wizards and witches in Britain, I would have expected that accusation from any of them except you," he said, in a quiet voice, full of hurt. "Get out."

"I- I will send you the citation once I request the annulment," she said with all the poise she could muster, although she feared it did not amount to much, and fled before the tears that had been pooling in her eyes could fall.

The last thing she heard before disapparating was the crash of some pottery breaking inside the house.

Chapter Text

Severus Snape was a man of little faith. Except for some honourable exceptions, he thought people to be essentially selfish. Blood ties were only as strong as the people holding them, friendships generally lasted only as long as they were convenient and love had turned out to be another weakness, a noose in which to hook another chain or in which directly go hang. He only barely trusted his own word and capabilities. He had never believed in a higher power either and, for most of his existence, he had felt he had little reason to think otherwise.  However, back at Spinners' End, wand in hand, surveying the mess that was his living room after he had trashed it the day before, he was seriously reconsidering his beliefs.

It was simply not possible that the chain of miseries and setbacks that had characterised his life had been a product of chance. It was only too bad that Fate, or whatever sentient entity there was, seemed to have something against him.

Lily, he understood had been never meant for him, but it wasn't until he had risked everything to protect her that she had truly been taken away. He had only gained the power and recognition that made him join the Death Eaters in the first place when he was the closest to bring them down and could not care less about it. It wasn't until he was at peace with his lonely existence and almost certain death that Hermione had broken into his quarters and filled them with hope. It wasn't until he had given in that she had to leave. It took him to decide that Azkaban was the best place for him for the Wizengamot to decide to release him. It had been only to be expected that once they both were free of duty and threats that she would walk away for good. And with a Potter.

It was just his luck - or his fate.

What was he supposed to do now? He had truly come to terms with it and was even so slightly looking forward to the calm, empty peace that Azkaban would bring him, without responsibilities nor expectations. Yet, as inconceivable as he had thought it to be, he had been released. Guilty of homicide but with extenuating circumstances. Sentence commuted due to services rendered. He would still have to make reparations to the students he had failed to protect, but it was to be determined in the near future.

Snape thought they had all better prepare for a disappointment. His situation was not dire but he was by no means wealthy. The house at Spinner's end was in his name but he doubted it would bring any substantial money. Maybe the cottage Dumbledore gave him before dying - a nice thought, considering he would probably need a place to hide after murdering him. Looking at the flaking, old-fashioned wallpaper he decided the cottage would definitely fetch a better price. He ruthlessly suppressed the ridiculous thought that if he had bothered to take better care of the place Hermione might have considered staying. She had already moved on, as was to be expected.

The next few days after she walked in and out passed as in a fog. After trashing his living room for hours, he had stilled and thought long and hard. About him, and her, and how utterly unlikely it had been in the first place. He had tried to stay angry at her for hiding their relationship in court, at her accusations of not caring or at the childish excuse she brought up as a reason to walk away (not telling her about Lily); but it had only taken him the first utterly miserable (and sleepless) night to come to some depressing conclusions: (1) she was right to think that airing their entanglement was probably a bad idea, (2) he had been an arsehole first and he could hardly expect her not to retaliate, (3) after all the effort she had made, she probably did care in some way, as she had claimed; and (4), taken into account the previous two points, it was only normal for her to feel trapped and instinctually lash out. All in all, he could not truly blame her for looking for a way out. He wondered when he had stopped being a spiteful bastard.

He had decided to focus on practicalities then; get groceries, fix everything that could be salvageable, make an inventory of his possessions, gather all his clothes, empty his childhood bedroom... With dogged determination, he kept his mind occupied and one Hermione Granger (Snape) firmly out of it. It was only in the twilight state between wakefulness and sleep that he allowed himself to recall the hint of jasmine on her skin, her warm body against him, her radiant smile... Sometimes he even let her voice and her laugh play in his mind.

After a week of relentless work, he finally brought himself to visit Diagon Alley. He needed to check with Gringotts and some new books from Flourish&Blotts would help keep his mind busy. Some thrillers, maybe.

However, as yet another person turned to ogle at him as he walked through the shelves of the bookshop, he considered if it wouldn't be worth it to go completely muggle. His current precise diction was something he had cultivated during his school years but he was pretty sure he could still bring back the Mancunian accent to a fault. He started making a mental list: jeans, t-shirts, trainers - or shirts and shoes, he figured he was getting to a certain age... He wondered how hard it would be to drive a car. He could maybe take a job at a bookshop - or the public library? Maybe part-time, he only needed money to eat, really, and get some books. And maybe some potion ingredients. It would be so bleeding satisfying to actually manage to brew a veritaserum antidote...

His ears prickled as he felt someone approach and he unsheathed his wand inconspicuously before turning slowly.

A blond woman stood by his side, giving him a tentative smile.

"Severus Snape?"

"May I help you?"

"Well, I'm Evelyn, Evelyn Bishop. I wanted to congratulate you - you know, for getting released. Nobody expected it, in the beginning - I mean, there were many stories and-"

"Thank you," he cut her, not really wanting to know which stories she referred to.

"Not at all. I'm just glad the truth came out but- I just wondered if it was all really true... since the papers tend to blow things out of proportion..."

"The papers have been known to exaggerate, yes," he said cautiously, putting the book back. For some reason this made the woman's smile widen. He decided it was time for a tactical retreat. He definitely did not want to antagonise anyone, much less create a scene, in his first incursion in Diagon Alley since his trial. With his luck, there would be a Daily Prophet reporter waiting with the camera at the ready.

"So then - ahem - I am meeting with two friends later at The Gilded Horn - would you maybe like to join us?"

He looked at her again. Blonde, around thirty, round face, average body, pretty. With her age, he would have met her if she had attended Hogwarts, either as her teacher or as a fellow student, but he could not recall her so she had to be either homeschooled or a squib. That would explain that she had dared approach him so casually; she had likely never actually encountered him before.

"I am trying to avoid crowds," he eventually answered, still unsure about her motivations.

"Oh, well, it could also be just you and me, if you'd rather - we could go somewhere else then?" she proposed, still smiling. It took for him to see the faint blush on her face for the message to sink in.

He looked at her again, completely baffled. Too pretty. Far too pretty to want to approach him by his looks only. What was wrong with her?

"I am flattered, but I am not interested in... making new acquaintances at this time," he said formally, torn between feeling suspicious, flattered and affronted, the latter on Hermione's behalf. As he opened his mouth to remind the woman that he was a married man, as far as she knew, her hand on his upper arm stopped him in his tracks. 

"Oh, I see, of course, I understand," she said, her face softening ever so slightly. "I'm sorry for your loss. I can't imagine how much you miss her..."

"What!?" he snapped sharply, startling her, as the terrifying thought that Hermione was dead flashed to his head. His body went on fight mode, muscles tense, occlumency walls up. It could not be, he would know if it happened. He saw her barely a week ago and she was fine... plus it would have made the front page in the newspapers. And when was the last time you bothered to read one?

"Excuse me, madam," he said, before striding to the newspaper stack by the cash register and grabbing the closest daily prophet. He frantically leafed through it, feeling his pulse gradually settle. Nothing, she was not on any pictures that he could see. Her name caught his eye under a picture of the Weasley's brood and, squinting, he found her between Potter and the youngest Weasley boy, who had an arm around her shoulders and turned to smile at her. His heart lurched. He scanned the article learning they had finished the renovations of the burrow. If that was the news, she had to be fine, hadn't she?

As he went towards the desk to ask the clerk for the previous Prophet's, his eyes fell on her face giving him the troubled frown he knew so well from the front of a lurid pink magazine. He picked up with a swirling mix of distaste and trepidation unsettling his stomach further.

Bright canary yellow letters circled around her photo mimicking the movement of a Ferris wheel. They read 'Granger, the eternal third wheel?'.

He grabbed the offending magazine and skimmed through the article. Although the article turned out to be flattering for the most part and portrayed her as a heroine, naming her "the Gryffindor lioness" and "the female third of the Golden Trio" - actually the most offensive thing was the title - they clearly revelled in bringing up all Granger's supposedly failed relationships, making even a chart to make one on one comparisons with the other women. He did not know if he felt more horrified at seeing her smiling picture next to Lily's, - and Ginevra Weasley's, Lavender Brown's or one of the Patil Twins - or by having their supposed characteristics listed side by side as if they were cattle.

He did not know how long he stood there stunned until a clerk approached and cleared his throat, snapping his attention back to the present. 

"Excuse me, sir, the policy is to- oh..." 

He looked at the young man beside him. Calloway, a Ravenclaw, his mind supplied. He felt equally aggravated and reassured at seeing him pale and visibly shrink away under his gaze.

"I'll take them," he said, handing them over to him. "Do you keep the previous numbers? I'll want The Daily Prophet's also."

With his hoard of newspapers and magazines stacked by his newly repaired tea table, he scoured through the last couple of Prophets. Then, once he was reasonably sure nothing had happened to "The Golden Girl", started pouring over the offensive magazines in horrified fascination.

He learned that you could essentially glamour out any little real or perceived imperfection with the right amount of time and practise and discovered some very imaginative uses for cushioning charms. He had already had an inkling that anti-pimple potions were all the rage between teenagers, for obvious reasons - Poppy had regularly begged him to refill them since they were tricky to make and tended to be expensive. However, he could still not imagine why anyone would bother to get 'the perfect iridescent lipstick sheen' - not to confuse with the pearlescent sheen - or to charm their eyelashes in a gradient colour to make their eyes look bigger. 

But other than the fascinating insight into the worries of - admittedly, only some - of his teenage pupils, he had been drinking into any tidbit of information that included her. 

He did not give much credibility to the lurid magazines but seeing one after another linking Potter with the youngest Weasley had made his heart start pumping frenetically. Had he truly read everything wrong? It wasn't until he found a seemingly innocent foto that he allowed himself to believe it. In the picture, Potter wrapped an arm around Ginevra Weasley and pulled her closer to drop a kiss on her cheek. Hermione was in front of them talking to the youngest Weasley boy and, far from being upset, smiled fondly at the two of them. 

It was clear she was not interested in Potter, thank the Gods. Had it been Weasley then, all this time?

He dug back up the picture from the latest Prophet and saw her leaning against Ronald Weasley, who indeed had an arm wrapped around her.

He let go of the newspaper as if burned and pinched the bridge of his nose, clenching his jaw. It didn't matter, she had lashed out and walked away. She was requesting the annulment if she hadn't already. 

His eyes felt on the magazine he had first seen at Flourish & Blotts, the one with the comparative charts and, as he went over them he found himself grabbing his wand, itching to hex something - preferably the authors.

How dare they write such outrageous things? Had they no shame? He did not actually know if Hermione had indeed been...involved... with all the people mentioned - he had to remind himself that it wasn't any of his business, not really - but he was struck with the thought that if she wasn't with any of them, it was quite possibly because she did not want to.

He sank his head on his hands and allowed himself to recall her presence in the Headmaster's tower, her lively face, her impish smirk when she teased him, her huffing and puffing when he needled her, her fierce determination, her flaring temper and her caring touches.

They were all so clueless... he thought, glancing at the offensive comparison chart again. Some of the girls were pretty enough, he reckoned. Lily had been certainly beautiful, he easily agreed, looking at her picture with the pang of regret that always came with her memory - but how could anyone confine to a chart the irrepressible force of nature that was Hermione Granger?

Some of their words from their last spat flitted through his mind and a sudden thought froze him in his tracks.

She had to have been lashing out, surely. She could not possibly think that he...

That he did not feel anything for her.

That he had only eyes for Lily still.

But as he replayed their last conversation once more, or raked his memory for any event in which he had told her how much she meant to him, he realised with dismay that he could not find it.

He looked back at the magazine on his hands, seeing both of them side by side, looking at him - Lily, smiling, young and radiant; Hermione, pale and drawn, dark circles under her eyes, a worried frown on her face. The thought with a pang of remorse the picture might have been taken during the trials - it seemed recent and she was still looking far too thin.

It could make sense if it wasn't so utterly ludicrous. Not even in his wildest dreams he would have thought that, from the two of them, she would be the insecure one. What did she have to be insecure about? She was bright, young, pretty and half of the wizarding world worshipped the very floor she stepped on.

Could she really think that she had been for him - how did she put it - only a convenient shag?  Could he have messed things up so badly? 

He dropped the magazine on his knees and laid back on his new armchair.

Of course he could.

He closed his eyes as it dawned on him, for the first time, just how young she was.

It had been a neat split in his mind: Hermione Granger, the student, the utterly uninteresting teenager, asexual as far as he was concerned; and then there was his Hermione, the young woman who had kind, weary eyes and a dazzling smile. The first one was child, snotty, annoying and only tolerable when alone and in small doses, the latter had a sharp tongue and a temper but was fiercely caring and made his pulse race with only a look.

What if she did care?

Before he could talk himself out of it, he summoned quill and parchment.

----------------

Dear Hermione,

I gave some thought to our latest conversation and it has come to my attention that there might have been a misunderstanding between us.
I do appreciate your concern and I regret I was not able to convey that to you.
I beseech you to give me a chance to correct the situation.

Yours sincerely,

SS

"Stuck-up arse," she huffed, viciously tearing the paper apart. After a week of silence, it had been the second letter he sent this week. 

She had felt a bit remorseful after her outburst and readily admitted she had been out of line, but she did not feel like adding salt to the wound by meeting him again unless absolutely necessary.

What was there to misunderstand? She had been infatuated and he hasn't, he had simply taken comfort when offered. He should have said something, but it wasn't like she had made any heartfelt declarations either. It was just her pride, and her heart, who were a bit bruised. She just wished the pang pain in her chest would stop every time she so much as glimpsed his profile in the newspaper.

It pissed her royally that after all the pains she had taken to keep their relationship from coming out, at the moment all a tiny petty part of her wanted to do was shout it from the rooftops. She couldn't completely begrudge him the well-deserved attention - if not outright praise - the media was giving him. It was just so infuriating how everyone that had ever dismissed him or sent him hateful looks were now fascinated by his deeds. Women that would not have looked at him twice before were fanning themselves at his bravery and devotion. She consoled herself with imagining the scathing remark he would most likely send their way.

Or not, maybe he would find their attention convenient too.

She dropped her head on the desk with a pained groan and ordered herself to stop. He loved another person and therefore he was out of bounds. She would not let herself entertain false hope. 

She looked up to a rolled memo with a purple seal that had been lying on her desk for two days. She knew it held the confirmation of the appointment with the annulment office, in two weeks' time. She snatched it from the desk and attached it to the owl's waiting leg.

"That is the reply," she told the bird.

--------

Severus Snape knocked on the door and waited trying not to shuffle his feet. He was surprised when, after a few seconds a stomping down the stairs was heard without a sound coming from Mrs Black. The door opened and he was face to face with who he had long considered the bane of his existence, in faded jeans, a loose maroon t-shirt and dishevelled hair. He had to give him to him he was looking healthier than the last time he had seen him. He was also ever so slightly miffed to note that he had grown taller and was closer to his height.

"Professor Snape."

"Potter," he greeted.

"How can I help you, sir?" the young man asked politely and Severus had the irrepressible urge to curl his lip in derision. Now that he did not have to deal with him in his class every other day and did not give a rat's fart about him he decided to show respect. The irony.

"I was hoping you could help me contact Hermione Granger," he replied, carefully keeping his tone neutral. He had to bite out a sharp retort again at seeing the conflict reflected in his face. It was clear that he knew exactly where she was - she might even be in the house at present - but that he was not sure she wanted to be found by him. He decided to put him out of his misery. "Could you tell her that I would like to speak to her? I remain at my old parents' house - she knows where it is - I can be found there most of the time."

"I will do, sir," the younger man answered, relieved.

"I would like her to know that I... will not stop her from pursuing her course of action. However, we did not end up in the best of terms and I would like to correct that, if nothing else."

"I understand, sir."

Severus only nodded and turned away.

"Professor Snape, sir," called Harry before he could disapparate. "I would also like to speak with you sometime... If that is okay with you."

He turned his head warily. "What about?"

"You knew my parents - my mother, quite closely at some point." The incredulity must have shown in his face because he quickly added, "I won't presume to ask about your - er- personal life. But I would like to know how she was like, someday, if you are up to it. There are not that many people left that actually knew her."

He observed him in askance, preparing a scathing remark - he had actually had one on the tip of his tongue from the very beginning of the conversation. However, his straight posture and the set of his jaw made him pause. He was clearly expecting a rebuff but he was still asking him, politely.

"I will think about it," he answered, surprising himself.

"Thank you, sir."

Feeling slightly bereft, as if he had been cheated out of something somehow, he nodded again and left.

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger-Snape did not want to cross the street. She had not wanted to get out of bed that morning in the first place but an ungodly cheery Harry Potter had promised her pancakes with cranberry cream if she did. The same Harry Potter that had spend the previous two days nagging and nudging until she had promised to pay a visit to the newly acclaimed misunderstood hero by the newspapers and soon-to-be ex-husband.

"Come on, he seemed genuine, " Harry had told her. "Plus, whatever he wants to say, it would be better not to have it aired while at the Ministry."

It seemed that, without a threat hanging over his head and no exams nor quidditch matches in the foreseeable future, Harry Potter became a bit of a nosy mother hen. As far as Hermione was concerned, auror training could not start soon enough.

She took a deep breath and made sure to schedule her expression before crossing the street, feeling the tingle of the wards sweeping over her. She had barely lowered her hand after knocking on the door when it opened.

Severus Snape, dressed in his ever-present black surveyed her for a moment before stepping back.

"Please come in," he said. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you," she answered in a measured tone, taking a couple of steps into the room and looking around. The wallpaper of the two walls not covered by shelves had been torn out, the brick bared to the sight. The armchair was also new and she spotted some plastic containers that could hold paint stacked in a corner along with some cardboard boxes. She refrained from asking about it, it was none of her business.

He looked back at him then, still hanging by the door. She took in his dark trousers and loose shirt and realised with a pang that he was wearing muggle clothes. She thought it unfair that they suited him, showing off his trim hips and long legs and emphasizing the width of his shoulders. Enough of that.

"What did you threaten Harry with?" 

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, blinking at her.

"He was quite adamant that I should come to visit you."

That seemed to jog him into movement.

"Oh, damn it," he muttered, tucking some of his hair behind his ear as he walked towards the armchair at the other side of the coffee table. "I will have to have that conversation."

"What conversation?" inquired Hermione, feeling a bit reassured at his unease. At least she was not the only one with misgivings about this meeting.

"It is not as if I actually promised anything..." he explained grudgingly. "...but he asked me to meet with him to talk about his parents - his mother, in particular."

"Really?" asked Hermione, trying to keep her face neutral and voice even. It was hard to keep back both her curiosity and the hurt. When he only looked at her for a couple of seconds, she started fidgeting.

"Would you take a seat..?" he offered, placing his hand over the back of a new armchair. Hermione realised it was in the same place as the one he had annihilated during their previous encounter.

"Harry said you had something to tell me, I would rather you go to the point," she answered, clasping her hands in front of her and staying upright.

He scanned her face again.

"May I ask you a few questions first?" 

Hermione gave a curt nod.

"Do you hate me?" he asked evenly.

"No."

"Despise me?"

She was so tempted...

"No."

"Do you regret the time we spent together?"

She exhaled sharply at his daring, feeling acutely uncomfortable. 

"Severus, that is no-"

"Hermione," he cut her. His voice still had a rougher edge than before his injury but it still commanded attention. "I swear to you that I will go to the appointment with the Ministry and sign the annulment without a fuss, no matter what you say to me today. I'll take a wizard's oath, if that's what it takes. The only thing I am asking in return is for you to be honest with me. Please allow me this."

Hermione looked away. She knew his willingness to submit to her decision without putting up a fight should have made her feel better, but somehow it didn't. It hurt like hell.

She nodded her acquiescence. His next question wasn't any less painful.

"Are you ashamed?"

"No, not anymore" she admitted. "Perhaps I was, in the beginning... but can you blame me? Everybody else thought you were a traitor and a murderer. I could not even bring up your name without risking my best friends going up in a murderous rant or walking away. And we were so alone, and scared. It was... not easy." She dared a glance up and saw his conflicted expression. "It's hardly the most immature reaction either of us has had."

"So you... do not regret it," he ventured, his voice uncertain.

"No, I don't," she said, swallowing thickly and meeting his eyes squarely. She might have been angry and hurt but she knew he did not deserve to be lied to on this. 

It took him a few seconds to go to the next question and she could feel her impatience flaring.

"Are you-? Is Mr Weasley the reason you want to put distance between us?"

"Ronald? No. Neither is Harry, before you ask," she snapped, a bit of her anger coming back, "but it would be within my rights if it was. Will you please say whatever it is you wanted to say?

He nodded as if conceding her point. Then Hermione saw him swallow thickly and shuffle his feet, a completely foreign gesture on him.

"Lily Evans - later called Potter - was my world," he enunciated in an even, measured tone. "She was the only highlight in my otherwise miserable childhood."

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. The rush of hurt and anger was so strong she could feel her hands start to shake. He was a cruel, miserable, insensitive-

"You unfeeling bas-"

"Hermione, wait, please listen to me," he said, his tone urgent, stepping closer. "Growing up, and in my youth, she was my world. Was being the operative word."

Hermione stopped her unconscious retreat towards the door. She turned his words over in her head, over and over. She knew how that sounded but she could not deal with more misunderstandings and shattered hopes with him. She would not. 

"Not anymore?" she asked, hating the hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"That's what I am trying to explain. Merlin, how could I be so obtuse..." he muttered, raking his hand through his hair before looking back at her. "You changed... everything. You made me wish to-" He held her eyes for a moment, the words not quite coming out before exhaling in frustration. "Please bear with me. Allow me to explain."

Hermione could only nod, baffled at his strange behaviour and still not convinced that she was reading him correctly. She had never seen him so inarticulate ever before.

In the meantime, he had stepped back and retaken his place behind the armchair, curling his hands over the top of the back seat. He started talking, his eyes averted.

"My adult life, while a considerable improvement from my teenage years, has been, for the most part, dull and hopeless," he explained plainly. "I've been either waiting for the Dark Lord to rise again or fearing the next summon would be the last. During all this time it was her -her memory that kept me going, that reminded me there were things worth fighting for. She has been an intrinsic part of my life for so long..." he risked a glance at her. "You need to understand that I will always love her, in some way. As I will always carry the regret of having caused her death - that is my cross to bear. But, until the moment you looked at me and told me my life mattered to you, that I mattered to you, I was simply going through the motions, doing what I ought to fulfil my oath until the Dark Lord wised up and killed me. There was fucking nothing else for me."

There was silence for a couple of seconds while he found his words.

"And then you broke into my quarters and in no time all I could think about was that I needed to make it through, somehow, if only to be able to ensure you'd be safe if he won. Whatever it took," he added quietly, approaching. "You were the only reason that made me want to keep going beyond my duty." He reached out and took hold of her hand, turning the palm up and gently sweeping his thumb over it in a caress. Hermione stayed stone-still, as if mesmerised. "So, at the trial, with him dead and gone, when I thought you no longer cared, I... did not see the point in fighting."

He let go with a sigh and took a step back, giving her some space before meeting her eyes squarely.

 "I am at a loss of what to do with myself now - I had made no plans beyond the Dark Lord falling - but I will make do. The only thing I know for certain is that I want you in my life. If you will have me." 

Hermione looked at him dumbfounded, trying to process his words. He was holding himself stiff, as if bracing himself. His jaw was clenched tight, fine lips pressed together, as he observed her carefully. 

She allowed the realisation that he did care - for her - finally sink in and she felt her heart swell, emotions clogging her throat. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, shake him, hex him and everything in between. Of all the ways she had imagined this going... She would have never have expected the tight-lipped, taciturn man in front of her to say so much... nor to be such a colossal idiot. 

"Damn it, Hermione, say something."

She opened her mouth, then closed it, at a loss for words.

"I don't know what to say!" she blurted, throwing her arms out in frustration as her words kept failing her before stomping towards him and hugging him around the waist. "You stubborn man," she muttered, burrowing her head in his chest.

She felt his arms going around her back tentatively until, after a few seconds, he seemed to sink into her, finally tightening his grip. She breathed him in, recognising the hint of sandalwood and something else indefinable his.

When they pulled back, one of his hands settled against her face, caressing her cheekbone. As his thumb traced her lower lip his eyes flashed and his lips parted.

Her heart started pounding at a totally different rhythm, and she brought her hands to rest on his chest before bunching the fabric and pulling him down to her. Their lips blended seamlessly and suddenly air did not seem a necessity anymore.

She relished every touch, every nudge of his lips, every sweep of his hand over the small of her back, her hip, the curve of her bottom. She could not pull him close enough and decided to change tactics. She pushed him back until he hit his knees against the armchair and fell back on it, then climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. He exhaled sharply, his hands automatically taking hold of her hips, as she found his mouth again and started working on the buttons of his shirt. She finally found his skin, splaying her hands over his chest and pulling his shirt over his shoulders. She had missed this so much.

He raised his torso up, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her flush against him as he brought them face to face, her arms braced on his shoulders. He tightened his arms, stopping her from pulling the shirt off.

"Are you sure?" he breathed.

She scanned his face for any signs of doubt. He was flushed, panting, eyes liquid. She swallowed heavily, nodding.

"You?"

"Merlin, yes," he said fervently, letting go of his shirt and pulling at her dress. His hands slid through bare skin, making her shiver. One of his hands slid up her leg, seeking her centre, exploring until he found the spot that made her gasp against his mouth. He teased and caressed, his mouth exploring her neck and collarbone as she raked her hands through his hair and back.

A particularly precise press of his fingers brought a moan to her lips and suddenly, as he grunted, she felt the pinch of stretching fabric against her hips before a tearing sound stilled them both.

"I'll get you new ones," he murmured, somewhat repentant, and Hermione let out a bark of a laugh. He sent her a sheepish smile, that turned smug when his fingers found the same spot again and that made her breath catch.

She freed him from his trousers and shuffled until she found the right position. She slowly sank into him, feeling a heady mix of self-consciousness and power as she found him observing her with something akin to veneration. He slid one of his hands over her leg in a soft caress as his other hand traced her face gently, her cheekbone, her jaw, her lips. Then he brought their faces together and she found herself gasping for breath at the change in angle.

His hand found her centre again and Hermione started rolling her hips hesitantly, making his mouth slack. Soon it was instinct driving her hips, and she was grinding and rotating against him, lost in the feeling. His breath became more laboured and his hand tightened on her hips as he added his strength to the movement. Hermione lost track of time, lost to sensation, just seeking this elusive feeling just out of reach until his voice rumbled against her neck, thick and rough "Hermione, let go- I can't..."

His voice triggered something within her and she heard him curse, his arm tightening to stop from falling as she threw her head back and came undone. His hips jerked and he clutched her tighter, his mouth latching onto the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

She felt boneless against him and he managed to clean up and manoeuvre them so they somehow fit on the armchair, in a tangle of limbs, as they recovered their breaths.

"Does this mean I am forgiven?" he said eventually, lightly caressing her arm with the tip of his fingers.

"For the knickers?" she asked, feeling lighter than she remembered.

He chuckled, then cleared his throat, sobering.

"You know what I mean..."

She twisted her body and pulled herself up so that she was able to scowl down at him.

"It is going to take far more than this to make me forget your stunt at court, Severus Snape."

"I feared as much," he muttered. 

"How could you be so reckless-? Do you even realise how stupid it was..?"

"I do," he answered mildly, his lack of opposition cutting her tirade short. "To think we could have been doing this for weeks now..."

She huffed and slapped his shoulder, earning a boyish smirk in return.

"Oh, shut it, you git, I have not yet cancelled the appointment..." she retorted. However, she could feel him tense. "Hum, it was a joke..."

He scanned her face and opened his mouth, catching himself a couple of times, until he finally clenched his jaw, visibly bracing himself to speak.

"I have been thinking about it and I believe it might be in your best's interest to proceed with the annulment."

"What? What are you talking about?" she asked, feeling cold all of a sudden. She leaned back from him to better face him.

"The vows are still active. I do not feel they have been that problematic, and hopefully, we should be less and less likely to trigger them in the future, but..." he sighed, tugging at one of her curls. "I feel I should remind you they are still in place."

He trailed off but Hermione did not really need him to continue to understand he was offering a way out and that she should take it. She had thought about dissolving them more than once, particularly since Ron showed so much distrust towards them. But that was before getting to know him, before caring... and, if she was being honest with herself, before considering the possibility that he would be the one to want to get rid of them. She knew it was completely illogical but it felt like a rejection.

"I see your point. And what do you reckon would happen if we were ever to... you know," she asked, shrugging, and suddenly uncomfortably aware of their closeness.

"If you are ever so foolish as to agree to marry me twice, then we could have a standard muggle ceremony, no magical bonds or compulsions."

She swallowed heavily but could not help but feel a bit more reassured about the decision.

"Is this what you'd like to do then, to keep the appointment?"

"It is what I think you should do," he hedged. "I do see the appeal of thinking that if we ever decide to do this - it would be on our own terms."

She considered his words. Her logical side could not help but agree, they had the perfect opportunity to get a clean slate and have a go at a normal relationship. Still, some part of her felt like she was losing something.

"Okay," she said softly.

He gave her a soft kiss on her lips and pulled back to look at her, his mouth twisting. 

"What is it?"

"The next time you feel tempted to call on my selfishness or bring up my Slytherin self-serving nature, I'd ask you to remember this moment. I'm clearly getting soft."

"You are also getting something out of the deal, Severus Snape," she said, curling against his side, legs over him and sighing contentedly.

"In this case, it is not something I'd miss," he said, wrapping his arms around her and giving a long-suffering sigh of his own. "I do not think I will feel any less prone to protect you, vow or no vow. If anything, I will be more worried now that there is no chance of a magical compulsion warning me you are in danger." 

"I'll try to keep out of it... What is it?" she asked, affronted at his snort.

"You are one-third of the Golden Trio and live with another third. You can hardly have a bigger target on your back."

"Look who's talking..."

"Plus you are so disgustingly well-liked. You are all but a celebrity, dear."

"So are you!"

He snorted. "My star will pass, they can only hold such a ludicrous false image for so long. You are actually nice," he retorted as if the word left a disgusting taste in his mouth.

"Why, thank you."

"It was not a compliment," he muttered. "Merlin, this is going to work on my nerves so badly."

"Severus... being together, it's about trust. And communication," she added as an afterthought.

"I know, and I trust you. It's everyone else I don't-"

"Severus!"

"I'm just needling you. For the most part," he admitted.

They basked in the moment and each other's presence for a while.

"I will need to go," she said with some remorse, standing and setting her dress straight. She glanced at him, thinking it would be a good test of his newfound tolerance. "Harry will worry if I don't send word soon."

His contented expression predictably disappeared at hearing that name and he groaned loudly. 

"I'd almost managed to forget about him for a moment," he sent her a wary look. "Just how often do you expect me to interact with him..?"

She tsked at him, barely able to hold back her grin.

"He's really not that bad but don't fret, I'll settle for tolerance for now."

"You did not answer," he pointed out.

"I'll have to think about it, but I imagine at least once or twice a month... Plus every time you visit me, of course."

"Of course. How you could ever possibly think I would sleep with you because you were convenient, I will never understand..."

------------

"So, let me get this straight..." said Harry nonchalantly, considering the risotto on his plate, his last experiment. "You two made up."

"Yes," answered Hermione, glancing towards Ron Weasley. He was sitting between them, at the head of the table, already digging into his dish and seemed to be happily ignoring them.

"So that means that you are sort of together now?" asked Harry.

"Yes"

"...because he says he no longer loves my mum-" the three friends sitting around the table squirmed almost in unison at the thought. "...does he love you?"

"You don't need to sound so sceptical. He cares for your mum - he probably always will, in some way," she explained, parroting his explanation. "And he cares for me."

"He said so," insisted Harry.

"Yes."

"So all the stunt with the Wizengamot..?"

"He got the wrong idea about you and me living together and... did not take it very well.

"You are telling me that because he thought you and me were together, he decided he would be better off in Azkaban?"

"Not only but..." she gestured vaguely.

"That's a lot of caring. A lot more than caring, if you ask me."

She shrugged her shoulders noncommittally, but her expression softened and her mouth hinted a smile.

"and yet you two are getting a divorce."

"Yes,"

"...so that your husband becomes... your boyfriend?"

She scrunched her face.

"We will simply be dating."

"Aham... You do realise how weird all this sounds, do you?" her friend asked, circling his fork in her direction. She dropped hers on the plate with a clank, tired of the interrogatory.

"Next time you come to me saying you hear voices or talk to snakes, see if I do something other than pointing out just how weird it sounds."

"She has you there, mate," added Ron, who had not shown any signs of having been following the conversation until then.

"I know, I know - sorry."

"Well?" she prodded

"Well, what?"

"Will you do it? Go with us to the Ministry to break the bonding?" she insisted.

"Of course I will do it," he said, almost offended. "When did I say I wouldn't?"

"You are so annoying!"

"Wait until you spend some more time with that ex-husband-new-boyfriend of yours..."

"Keep it up and I'll invite him here for dinner."

Harry wisely focused on his dish. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Ron was, unsurprisingly, the first one to finish.

"You know, it still surprises me sometimes just how good Dumbledore really was in the long-term game. A brilliant strategist, really."

Harry frowned, still not completely reconciled with his role in all this.

"How do you mean?" he asked.

"You know how I thought that all this marriage and vows thing was mostly oriented to protect him? Snape, I mean, because he was the only spy the Order had..." Both Hermione and Harry nodded. "Well, by making you the binder and not me or anyone else he was making sure that if everything went well, she had a way out of the vows and if everything went south she would still be protected." They reflected on it for a moment. "It is comforting, in a way."

-------------------------

The day of their appointment to annul the vows dawned sunny and clear. Hermione rose early to have time to evaluate and discard three different outfits for being too girly, too fancy and too serious, respectively. 

Harry and Ron flanked her when crossing the main atrium as if protecting her and she could not get a word out, overwhelmed by their show of support. Severus was already waiting when they arrived, looking as unflappable as he always did when uncertain. Hermione barely managed a nervous smile.

"It sort of feels familiar, no?" joked Harry, a few minutes after, once they were inside of the office and ready to start. "You both look almost as scared as you did back then."

"Thanks, Harry," snapped Hermione.

"Very funny, Potter," Snaped drawled.

"Ok, ok, geez, only trying to lighten the mood," he said. He looked at each of them in turn. "You guys ready?"

They looked up at each other.

"Yes," answered Hermione. Snape only nodded, a pinched look on his face.

"Alright, piped the Ministry official, just repeat the following formulae after me and focus your will on rejecting the vow. You should feel a pulling and a fizzle or a snap of magic. Then it should be done. "Mr Potter, you should only hold your wand steady and let the magic flow freely."

It was over and done in under two minutes.

Hermione wondered if it had worked, she did not really feel any different. He looked up to see him frowning at their clasped hands.

"Severus..." she said, uncertain. He met her gaze and his face softened into a rueful smile. He brought one of her hands to his lips before letting go of both of them and taking a step back. 
 
She felt a knot in her throat and before she could think it twice, she closed the distance between them and pulled him down for a kiss. After a moment of hesitation, she felt his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer.

They stepped away at the sound of one of her friends clearing his throat.

"Shameless," muttered Severus, a rare affection in his voice. He had a pale blush on his cheeks but the corners of his lips curled in a genuine smile.

 Hermione scoffed and ducked her head. She turned to face a gobsmacked Ministry officer, looking in askance from one to the other.
 
 "Is there anything else you need from us?" asked Severus Snape.
 
 "Hm? Ahem, let me see..." the officer said, gathering her wits and clearing her throat. "Not really. I see you have filled out everything so you will receive a notification from Gringotts and the Ministry once the changes are in place. This can take up to 5 days." She gave them an uncertain look. "I take the liberty to remind you that any wards connected to your family lineage will no longer recognise the other party as part of the family."
 
 "Oh," said Hermione but Severus was nodding as if he was already aware of it.
 
 "If you don't have any more questions... Then you are free to go." 

They did not dawdle.
 
"Anyone up for a drink - the Hog's He...?" Ron trailed off at seeing a group of journalists rapidly approaching from the other side of the atrium."Oh crap."

Hermione pulled from Snape's hand slightly to whisper back at them "Make that the Elephant's Head in Candem and it is a deal. See you in 10?"

"You got it," confirmed Harry, wincing as the first flash blinded them.
 
 "Oh, this is ridiculous," huffed Snape. "Hold on tight," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and locking her tightly against him.
 
 "What-?" her question ended in a squeak as he, for lack of a better word, took off. They raised a few feet in the air and followed a parabolic trajectory over the journalists and the fountain - still under works - to the apparition point on the opposite side of the atrium.
 
They landed hard on their feet and did not tumble to the floor because they were stopped by the wall.

"Ouf!"
 
 "Apologies, I had never carried anyone with me-" he said, steadying her and flashing a boyish grin.
 
 "Side-along, now" she bit out, jaw clenched.
 
 Once safely inside of Spinner's End, she barely took the time to gather a couple of deep breaths before she turned on him.
 
 "You do that again and you'll think Bellatrix Lestrange was a gentle soul," she hissed, still feeling as if her heart was going to come out of her chest.
 
 "Careful, dear, if something were to happen to me now you would not get to keep my collection anymore," he taunted, pointing towards the bookshelves around them.
 
 She huffed. "Very funny. I just hope that will not give you troubles with the Ministry..." she said, assessing him.
 
 He waved her concern aside.
 
 "It is not Dark magic, just very advanced," he said, smugly.
 
 She shook her head. "I am meeting Harry and Ron in a pub in Candem in 7min. Want to join us for a drink?"
 
 "Wouldn't you rather celebrate your newly found freedom without me?"
 
 "It's not like that," she answered, rolling her eyes. "Come on, lose your robes and let's go. Actually, it's Camdem, you might even get away with wearing them..."

He sighed heavily.

"Maybe next time", he said. Hermione considered him and decided not to push. Not today. He had already willingly sat with her two best friends once and had tentatively scheduled a chat with Harry the following week.

"I'll stop by later," she promised. Then scrunched her nose. "I might be somewhat drunk, though. Leave the flu open."

She walked back towards the exit but his voice stopped her at the door.

"Will you consider having a drink with me sometime?" he asked, sounding strangely formal.

"Pick a date," she said, beaming at him.
 
 
---------
 
 
 Harry got the pinched look he always carried when surrounded by flashes while Ron strode relaxed behind him, even waving at a couple of familiar faces.
 
 "I still don't get how you enjoy this so much..."
 
 "It is not that I enjoy it, per se," explained Ron, "but they are just doing their job. Some of them are downright nice."
 
 Harry gave a non-committal grunt, swiftly sidestepping another journalist to reach the apparition point.

A few seconds afterwards Ron popped in the dingy alley they had used once before to visit Candem with Hermione the previous week. He continued chatting as if it was a normal occurrence.
 
"Come on, you can't tell me this is not going to be fun... Merlin knows what they will come up with to explain those two right now."

Harry had to concede the point, he was not sure he could explain it himself.

"Me neither," answered Ron. "But then, she always was a strange one."

----------------------------

Severus Snape saw her leave with the familiar feeling of insecurity firmly lodged in his stomach but he tried to shake it away. He also tried to let go of the voice that told him he had made a mistake; now that she was free of the vows there was nothing stopping her from leaving anymore. 

He sighed and sank back on his sofa, picking up his book. He reckoned he had learned something from all this mess. 

He wanted her bright and shiny and free and everything he had not been. And if that meant that it would be away from him, he would make do. The alternative was infinitely worse.

And in the meantime, he would do his damnedest best to have her stay. Have her choose him. From his side, she was a choice he would easily make every day.