Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I had the idea for this when I started the other story, but I didn't think this would be as interesting, so I went with the other. Part of me still wants to explore this story and see where it goes. If there isn't any interest, it will only be a few chapters, but if readers decide they want more I'll go for it. Also, this story will be significantly more AU than my other, which I've not really done before…hopefully it'll be just as good :)

Oh, and these chapters will probably be shorter than those I typically write so that I can update more frequently.

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

~

Ch 1: Promises

Ginny's face was buried in her arms, her slim shoulders shaking visibly when Hermione entered the room. One of the remaining fifth years had come to get her upon seeing the state their roommate was in after the funeral, and it only took Hermione a second to comprehend what was happening now.

Only one person had the power to affect the youngest Weasley so strongly. Only one person was capable of reducing the resilient witch to tears.

Harry.

"He did it, didn't he?" she asked, feeling the weight of resignation settle over her heavily.

Ginny's head turned allowing Hermione to take in her damp, blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes. Already the younger girl's eyelids were swollen to the point that her brown eyes were partially concealed. Hermione's heart went out to her closest female friend.

Hermione had been dreading the moment when Harry would decide he needed to be "noble" and self-sacrificing. Harry was so unbelievably predictable. Of course he'd get it into his head that the only way to protect Ginny was to end things between them.

"We both knew it was only a matter of time," Ginny said glumly, voice thick and gravelly from sobbing.

Ginny was, of course, correct. Hermione sighed, moving to perch on the bed beside the distraught witch, and began softly running her fingers through Ginny's cinnamon locks, offering what comfort and sympathy she could.

"It's not as though no one knows what you mean to Harry," she said practically, wishing Harry understood that, "even if you're no longer officially together."

"Hermione, that's not helping," Ginny said flatly, pinning Hermione with a quelling look.

"Sorry," she said, wincing internally. Sometimes she forgot to consider or take into account others' feelings when she was analysing a situation. Not everyone was able to view things as logically as she was – at least when Ron wasn't involved. Then she was as irrational as everyone else.

"Am I ever going to see him again?" Ginny asked timidly, her voice unusually small.

There were times Hermione forgot that Ginny was only in her fifth year. Ordinarily, she was so confident and capable that she seemed older and more experienced. But that wasn't the case right then. Now, she was just a teen who'd had her heart broken, and didn't know what the future held for those she loved most in the world.

"Oh, Gin, you can't think like that," Hermione tried, unwilling to offer false platitudes. Because that was a promise she couldn't make. Not when Harry was quite literally being hunted by a monster.

"Promise me," Ginny beeseached, rolling to swiftly grab Hermione's hand. The hold was uncomfortably tight, and it alarmed her. "Promise me you'll do whatever it takes to help him. This has to end, and I know he feels like he has to do this…and I really do get it…but you have to look out for him. Promise me. Please, Hermione. You're the only one who can – the only one he'll allow to take those risks with him. The only one actually smart enough to help."

Hermione winced, knowing Ginny didn't believe Ron was able to offer what Harry would need, but knowing equally well that Ginny was too loyal to her family to actually state as much. This was as close as she'd get, and Hermione didn't necessarily disagree. She loved Ron, truly, but there was no denying his faults or weaknesses.

This was a big ask, but it was also something she'd already decided to do. Her parents had raised her to always stand up for her beliefs, and never in her time at Hogwarts had she shied away from doing so. She wasn't about to start now.

"I will," she vowed.

With those words hanging between them, fresh tears began making their way down Ginny's cheeks, leaving thin streaks of wetness as the witch mourned. Hermione returned to stroking her friend's hair, sitting with her as she cried.

How was she going to help? She didn't know the first thing about Horcruxes. No one at the school did, not now that Dumbledore was gone. That knowledge had died with him, and Harry didn't seem to know half of what he should, considering all of the private lessons he'd had this year.

She could smack her friend for choosing to fixate on Malfoy's activities and mysterious behaviour rather than focusing on the more pressing matter at hand.

If only there was a way to speak with Dumbledore and ask everything Harry hadn't. But you couldn't converse with the dead. Not unless they were ghosts, with Dumbledore wasn't, or –

His portrait!

All of the headmasters and headmistresses had portraits in the head's office. She could speak with him there, and find out more.

Hermione waited until Ginny had cried herself to sleep before she snuck into the boy's dorm and nicked Harry's invisibility cloak, her heart racing as she did. Oh, if the boys could see her voluntarily breaking rules. They'd never let her live it down.

It was utterly silent as she moved about the corridors. The castle had started emptying out after the funeral ended, and most of those remaining were either guests in the Order or Muggleborn students whose parents didn't understand the gravity of everything happening, so had not already demanded their child return home immediately.

Still, Hermione had no wish to run into anyone or be questioned on what she was up to. Harry had been quite clear in expressing Dumbledore's wishes that all knowledge of the Horcruxes remain between the trio.

The gargoyles parted when she transparently approached without a password, as though they'd been expecting her arrival, and were ordered to grant her passage regardless. Guess invisibility cloaks didn't work on them.

"Professor Dumbledore? Sir, are you awake?" she asked awkwardly when she reached her destination. Even after six years of living in the wizarding world, she had yet to get used to speaking to portraits and expecting them to respond.

She glanced around the office as she waited, taking in the stuffed bookshelves and the table of delicate, silvery trinkets. Another time, she'd have been tempted to investigate both closer. But not today. She was there for one purpose only. There were Dark Detectors as well, foggy Foe-Glasses and silent Sneakascopes by the headmaster's desk. Stacks of parchment and piles of rolled scrolls covered every available inch of the desk's surface, evidence of all the chaos taking place at the school.

Hermione ideally wondered how many were letters from angry parents demanding to know how the school had "let" this all happen in the first place. As though they weren't aware of the perils befalling all of the wizarding world. Besides, there was always a component of danger involved with magic. Anything could go wrong. How many times had Neville nearly taken out his entire class with a botched potion?

"Sir, please, if you're awake this is very important," she said again, her distressed thoughts making the matter seem even more pressing.

"Miss Granger, what brings you to my former office? Not in trouble with the new head already, surely?" he said, sounding bemused by the prospect.

"No, well, yes, I suppose you could say I'm in trouble," Hermione answered, wringing her hands and glancing about. Many of the other portrait occupants were watching her avidly. Didn't Harry mention something about them usually feigning sleep? Why couldn't she be so lucky? It'd make this significantly easier. "I need your help."

"I shall, of course, provide whatever help is within my power, but given my current state I will warn you that I am significantly more limited than I once was," Dumbledore warned.

His words made her frown. How could he reference his death so blasely? Particularly when the rest of the world was so torn up about it. His loss had rocked them, and none had truly regained their feet yet.

Shaking off the desire to scold him, because it certainly wasn't her place, nor would it be a productive use of her limited time, she came straight out and asked, "Where are the other Horcruxes?"

"My dear, if I'd known, I would have already destroyed them. I'm afraid the task of locating them will fall on you and your friends," he confessed regretfully, dipping his head as though shamed by this truth.

It was the very last thing she wanted to hear, though not altogether unexpected. Still, there was so much more information they required if they were to do this properly. Best focus on what she could learn, rather than what she couldn't.

"I understand. But, sir, we know next to nothing about them. There are no books in the library, I've searched. How are they created? What type of object can be used? How can we handle them? Will they hurt us like one did your hand? Do they last forever? How do we destroy them? Is there –"

Dumbledore interrupted, giving her a chance to catch her breath after running on, each question flowing from the previous in a single, continuous stream much as she'd been in the habit of speaking when she was younger.

"My dear, I cannot answer all of your questions at once," he said gently, his upturned palms lowering repeatedly in a gesture that clearly requested she slow down and give him a chance to keep pace.

The portraits all began chittering, the occupants leaning across their frames to whisper loudly to the nearest neighbour. Hermione was highly embarrassed by the gossiping tutters her questioning had inspired, but she was completely overwhelmed by the daunting task before them. The lack of concrete information or solid plan meant she couldn't help feeling woefully unprepared.

"Sorry," she muttered, willing the heat from her cheeks. She was certain they were glowing a glaring shade of red judging from the feel of them. She'd sat near raging fires that put off less heat.

"The Horcruxes themselves will not harm you, though they may put up a fight when you go to destroy them," Dumbledore began, but held up a hand to stay her when she opened her mouth to demand a better explanation. "It is the protections around them that you will need to be most wary of."

"What protections?" she inquired, the ever present panic she felt when considering the challenge she'd taken on was growing exponentially by the second.

What in Merlin's name was Dumbledore thinking to entrust this to a trio of students? They weren't trained for this sort of thing. They weren't qualified to tackle curse-breaking. Hell, they'd not even graduated yet!

Their successes over the years were nothing more than sheer, dumb luck if she were honest with herself.

"I cannot say," he said heavily, spreading his hands before him helplessly.

No wonder Harry didn't share much with her and Ron. Dumbledore was maddeningly vague and surprisingly clueless himself. She'd just assumed Harry had been too distracted to listen properly as he often was in his lessons. Nope. Apparently, he truly didn't know. Because Dumbledore didn't either.

"Can't you give us anything to go on?" she asked urgently, desperation creeping steadily into her voice.

"My intention had been for you to use the Sword of Gryffindor to destroy the items as I did with the ring. I even willed it to Harry," he said cautiously.

Hermione seized the chance to have any good news at all, and quickly offered, "I can take it to him."

"Bit hard, considering some Ministry drone came and confiscated it yesterday," a former headmistress said with an irritated snort. She looked too young to have ever served in such a prestigious position, and Hermione was momentarily distracted as she imagined accomplishing as much herself by that age.

Then her news registered.

"But surely that's illegal!" Hermione gasped, scanning the faces before her. None were sleeping now, and many were nodding their agreement.

"It is, but I was not in a position to stop it from happening until it was too late," Dumbledore relayed, his brow pinching and his bright blue eyes closing. If she had to guess, he was kicking himself for the fact all of his carefully sorted plans were not playing out as he had clearly intended. But when did they ever?

"It's at the Ministry then?" she speculated. Mr. Weasley worked there. Perhaps he could be persuaded to try and retrieve it for them. Surely he had some connections or there were channels he could go through for them.

"No. I would have seen them bring it in, but they didn't," a different headmaster said. His complexion was rather sallow beneath his short, black bangs, though he appeared friendly enough.

"It could be anywhere." Dumbledore's face gave everything away. Using the sword was out of the question. There wasn't time to track down yet another item with nothing to go on.

"Was that the only way to destroy a Horcrux then? Surely you must have considered alternative means?" Hermione asked urgently, beseeching the man to give her something positive to go on. Anything, really. Just so long as they weren't completely stumbling around in the dark.

"There are a few other ways, but none I would recommend you attempting," he said crisply, pursing his lips in obvious disapproval.

"The potion would work," Phineas Black interjected, a sly smile stretching his lips. Hermione recognized him from his portrait at Grimmauld Place. He'd been related to Sirius, and she sensed the same devious sense of humour in the former headmaster. It must run in the family.

Hearing the word potion brought Professor Snape immediately to mind. It didn't matter that Professor Slughorn had taught her the subject for the last year. She would forever associate the other wizard with the subject. He'd certainly been far better at instructing them, for whatever other faults he possessed. At least Snape had pushed them rather than fawning over the connections and bribes his position provided.

But Snape had betrayed them. He was the reason Dumbledore couldn't keep helping Harry and the reason she was now in her current position.

For days now, Hermione had tried to puzzle it out, but it simply didn't make sense to her. None of it did, from Snape's betrayal in murdering the headmaster to why Dumbledore had ever been convinced Snape was trustworthy to begin with. She felt as though she were completing a puzzle, except all the pieces were face down, hiding all of the vital information necessary for solving it.

"We do not teach the Dark Arts here, nor would I ever recommend their use to a student," Dumbledore said sharply. The set down was abrupt and decisive, but somehow it only made Hermione all the more curious.

The Dark Arts? They were required to destroy a Horcrux? All knowledge fascinated her, but there was something particularly enticing about the taboo subject. Probably specifically because it was so off limits.

It reminded her of Umbridge and how the woman only wanted to teach theory. How could they properly learn a subject without the practical element? The same was true of the Dark Arts. How could they defend against a magic they didn't understand?

"Have you another way then?" Phineas prodded. The weddling words were so smug that Hermione felt an instant dislike for the man. She'd never spoken to him when she'd stayed with Sirius, but he reminded her of Malfoy just now. Phineas waited, and when it became clear Dumbledore didn't have an answer, he said, "I thought not. You wanted a solution, but now that you have one, you're going to complain because it's not to your liking? I hardly think you are in a position –"

"Phineas, silence, please," Dumbledore ordered. He was frowning, but Hermione had the impression he was giving the idea serious contemplation. It was a long while before he spoke, finally allowing, "Perhaps your suggestion has merit. Unfortunately, we do not teach the skills necessary to complete a potion of that nature. I doubt even one as clever as our Miss Granger here could successfully brew it."

"He could help her…with a little persuading on your part," Phineas suggested coyly, though Hermione cringed a bit at the slimy coating to his words. It left her feeling uneasy and grungy. The desire to take a shower was nearly undeniable.

"Persuading? I don't believe he'd view it as anything short of outright manipulation," Dumbledore huffed, shaking his head. He inhaled deeply before adding meaningfully, "Nor would she."

"He could ensure it was done correctly, and you've never shied away from forcing him to do loathsome tasks before," Phineas accused, the words full of innuendo. "I don't see why the small matter of your death should alter that now."

Dumbledore appeared very dismayed by the evaluation, and opened his mouth as though to argue.

"I'm still right here," Hermione interjected, annoyed at being discussed so openly while not being included. She also didn't appreciate being ignorant. With a bit more sass than she probably ought to use when addressing her superiors, she demanded, "If I wasn't willing to do what was necessary, I'd not be here asking for help. Is there another way or not?"

"It works best when the vital ingredient is fresh," Phineas informed Dumbledore as though he needed the reminder.

"A rather significant factor in my vetoing the suggestion in the first place," he answered, glancing pointedly at where the other portrait resided.

"Aren't you the one always saying 'For the greater good'?" Phineas quipped, his previous smile growing as he realised he'd won this verbal sparring match.

Dumbledore studied Hermione assessingly, and her unease grew. Whatever they were discussing, she had a feeling she wasn't going to like it. But not even two hours ago she'd promised Ginny to help Harry. She couldn't, no – wouldn't – go back on that now. Not at the very first hurdle. She was stronger than that.

"There are several books referencing Horcruxes on my shelves, just there," Dumbledore finally relented, pointing at a shelf she'd noted upon entering the room. She went towards it as he continued speaking, "The bottom shelf. The last three books in the left corner. I believe you might find several of the answers you seek in there. As for destroying them, Professor Black's suggestion would work, but it would be exceedingly difficult and require a sacrifice on your part."

Considering the sword wasn't a viable option, she didn't see why she wouldn't be willing to try whatever potion they were being frustratingly vague in referencing.

"I'll do what I must to help Harry stop Voldemort. I've never backed down before," she informed the former heads, stealing her resolve for whatever was required of her as she gathered the appropriate books.

"Perhaps you should understand what you are agreeing to and give yourself a bit of time to think on it first. There might be other –"

The sound of voices echoing from the stairs as people ascended the steps leading to the office cut him off mid-comment.

"Go," he ordered, and Hermione wasted no time in throwing Harry's invisibility cloak over her head. "You mustn't get caught with those books," he finished as the silky fabric settled about her.

"Understood," she whispered, making for the door.

"Ah, Minerva and Kingsley, just the two people I was hoping to speak with" he greeted as they came in, catching them off guard enough to hesitate and allow Hermione the opportunity to slip past them and out the open door.

"Albus! You're finally awake," McGonagall gasped. Her exclamation chased Hermione down the stairs as she hurried back to Gryffindor Tower with the forbidden books clutched tightly to her chest.

Except she discovered Ginny had woken and was crying again when she entered her dorm after returning Harry's cloak. So she hastily stowed the books in her trunk and went to comfort her friend again. Besides, it wasn't like she'd be able to focus anyway after her talk with Dumbledore. And she would have plenty of time to examine them in detail when she reached home the next day.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I don't have a beta, sorry. Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’ll write the next couple chapters, but if there isn’t more interest, I won’t continue, so please let me know what you think! I’m sure this storyline seems pretty obvious, but it was the best reason I could come up with as an excuse for them to sleep together right away. The rest afterwards should be fairly unique though. Also, I know Brockdale Bridge is supposed to be a footbridge, but it’s more dramatic this way.

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 2: Discovery

Tension permeated the air in the Granger household, thick and oppressive like the summer heat on an afternoon in August. It’d been this way since her parents had picked her up from the train station the day before. Several times Hermione had tried to strike up a conversation, but to no avail. Stranger still, her parents had taken the day off work and were having hushed conversations that immediately stopped anytime she walked into the room.

The whole situation made her feel like an intruder or unwelcome guest. Part of her understood that she’d spent most of her breaks with the Weasleys or chosen to remain at Hogwarts instead of coming home to visit her parents, but things should not be this awkward.

She was so uneasy that she’d retreated to her room after lunch to start reading the books she’d gathered from the headmaster’s office. They were filled to the brim with many disturbing and strangely fascinating bits, but so far the only relevant parts she’d read about were how to create a Horcrux – a truly nasty business involving murdering someone in order to tear the castor’s soul apart – and that remorse would repair the fractured soul.

Considering Voldemort wasn’t likely to feel bad about the dozens of people he’d murdered, it didn’t offer much in the way of a solution.

No wonder Dumbledore had so much trouble. It didn’t bode well for herself, Ron and Harry either.

The sound of her dad’s raised voice prevented her from continuing, and she headed downstairs to investigate. It was past time for supper anyways.

“No, no, that’s fine. You’re probably right that it was junkies looking for a quick score. We don’t keep much in stock,” her dad said wearily, rubbing a hand over his face. Never had Hermione seen him appear so visibly exhausted. He looked drained.

“What happened?” she asked, glancing from her dad to her mum, who was wringing her hands and pacing, clearly agitated.

“I’ll try to come by the station in the morning after I check out the damage,” her dad promised, nodding despite the person on the phone being unable to see him.

“Our office was vandalised today,” her mum answered, looking ready to burst into tears.

“What?” Hermione gasped. Her parents were dentists. “Why would anyone target your office?”

“I can’t believe it,” her mum muttered, shaking her head as her dad pulled her into his arms.

“Were they looking for drugs?” Hermione asked, trying to make sense of things and recalling the junkie term just mentioned.

“The police think so. That or gangs. Apparently they left a bit of graffiti,” he said angrily.

That office was where her parents met. They were both older at the time, Hermione coming along even later in life for them. Her mum had already been working there for a few years when her dad moved to London after a messy divorce and was looking to start over. From the way they told the story, it’d been love at first sight, though they’d danced around one another for almost two years because her mum didn’t want to be a rebound. Finally, her dad had arranged an elaborate scene with candles and roses at the office to officially ask her out on a date. They’d been together ever since. The whole thing had always seemed rather romantic to Hermione, and she’d longed to experience something similar herself.

Of course she’d resigned herself to the fact Ron would never be one for romantic gestures, but perhaps she could still have a happily ever after.

Hermione shook off her musing, knowing it wasn’t the time for fantasies or schoolgirl notions. But then one word struck her, and tentatively, she asked, “Graffiti?”

“Yes. They burned images of snakes and skulls on the walls,” he answered flatly, forehead creasing.

Hermione's world spun. Death Eaters. They’d targeted her family. They must have known whose office it was. They’d done it to get to her.

She had to do something, say something. How could she protect her parents?

“I’ve been telling you for months that London has changed. I don’t feel safe here anymore,” her mum declared, voice trembling.

“I know, but what are we supposed to do? The rest of England isn’t faring much better. You saw what –”

The sharp tapping of an owl’s beak against the window interrupted his rant, signalling the arrival of the Evening Prophet.

“Er, sorry,” Hermione muttered, rushing over to collect the latest news.

She’d barely untied it from the owl when the headline jumped out at her. “Death Eaters Attack Brockdale Bridge, Almost a Hundred Muggles Dead.”

Hermione stared, stunned beyond comprehension. A hundred dead? All those poor people… What had the Death Eaters done? Just collapsing the newly built bridge spanning the Thames would have killed several, mostly those unable to exit their vehicles, but a hundred? The Death Eaters must have done something to the cars. How horrible!

And out in the open too. She opened the paper to the next page and saw a different article citing a Muggle attack in Falmouth. Three incidents in one day. So this was it. The war had begun in earnest.

“That was caused by magic?” her mum asked quietly, staring at the front page Hermione had quickly turned back to.

“I guess,” Hermione answered absently, busy scanning the article for mention of the Order. Hopefully no one she knew had been injured or killed.

“It’s been all over the news today. All those people died, and now you’re telling me that-that witches like you killed them?” her mum asked shrilly. The changing tone had Hermione’s head snapping up, and the sight that greeted her was one she never could have prepared herself for.

Her parents, both of them, looked utterly terrified of her.

She’d heard other Muggleborns talk about how their parents reacted to learning of their abilities, so of them truly awful, but it’d never been like that for her. They might not understand anything happening in her life, but they were happy that she was happy. Hermione told them she was excelling, and they celebrated that fact.

But this…. Well, it certainly wasn’t like that.

“Not like me,” she said, the words tasting of saw dust and leaving her parched. Her tongue had grown ten sizes too big. Had she eaten a ton tongue toffee without realising it? Surely that would explain why she wasn’t defending herself more ardently or saying more than, “Death Eaters did.”

“Death Eaters,” her father repeated, revulsion for the moniker clear on his face.

It suddenly occurred to Hermione that perhaps she shouldn’t have kept her parents ignorant of all that had transpired since she’d started Hogwarts. There was probably a way she could have told them that hadn’t involved divulging everything, but she’d always been such a crummy liar that she’d decided her best bet was to avoid sharing anything at all. The only thing her parents knew she got up to was achieving top marks in every subject.

Always, there had been this fear that if they knew, they’d try to stop her from returning. Out of love, yes, but they cut her off from her friends and the life where she could be herself. Apparently, she wasn’t wrong to fear that.

“They attacked the bridge,” she tried, not really knowing where to begin. Then it was as though a damn burst and words rushed out in a jumble, “They must have decided to take the war public since they can’t get to Harry. Voldemort keeps failing to kill him. Or maybe it was to lure the Order out? I’m not sure, but –”

“War? Attack? Harry? Wait, your friend Harry?” her mum exclaimed, panic and confusion spreading through the room like a pandemic.

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed, knowing at once she’d not approached the situation properly.

“That’s it. We’re moving,” her father announced.

“You’re leaving?” Hermione parroted dumbly.

“We’re leaving. It isn’t safe here anymore – for any of us,” he corrected, staring at her meaningfully.

“You want all of us to leave the UK?” she asked, needing clarification. Then, more incredulously, she insisted, “I can’t just leave. I have responsibilities. Harry needs my help to destroy Voldemort!”

Never would it have occurred to her that they’d expect her to move as well. She’d been a legal adult in the wizarding world for nearly a year now. But worse was the way her parents were staring at her like she was a stranger.

“Imagine, someone trying to hurt your friend, and you didn’t even tell us,” he accused. “And now you’re telling us you’re helping destroy someone?”

“We’ve handled it,” Hermione said defensively, too stunned not to react. Oh, why couldn’t she find the right words? Never had they alluded her as they were just then.

“We never should have let you go to that school in the first place. We know nothing about what happens there, and you’ve obviously been keeping secrets,” her mum said, burying her face in her hands and sinking into a chair at the table. “We’ve failed you.”

“What? No! You taught me to stand up for a worthy cause and fight injustice. That’s what I’ve been doing! You raised me to –”

“You’re a child! Our child,” her mum said passionately, tears beginning to run freely down her face. “And now you’re discussing a war as though it were ordinary. You’re speaking as though you’ve been involved in fighting this – this war.”

“I have,” she admitted quietly.

No one spoke.

Hermione wanted to argue, but found she couldn’t. It was too easy to see the hurt and betrayal and fear that her parents were experiencing. To them, she was a child not yet done with school. It was their job to protect her and raise her to become anything she wished.

But she wasn’t that child. Not anymore. Not for a long time, really. Not since she’d accepted a place at Harry’s side fighting Voldemort. She didn’t want to be a soldier, but she also couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Too many others already did that.

She couldn’t tell them that the plan was never for her to return to Hogwarts, but to go off fighting. They’d never support the decision. And now that the Death Eaters knew where her parents worked, it wouldn’t take them long to find them or track them to her house. Either place was too dangerous for them.

They were right. They had to leave the UK. Immediately. It was the only way to save them.

But she also knew they’d never willingly leave without her.

“You’re right. I love you both so much,” she said thickly, a plan taking shape in her mind and becoming more solid by the second. Her eyes stung, and pressure built behind her eyes as she held back a torrent of tears and resolved herself to doing what she felt she had to.

The sigh her father released was massive, and Hermione wondered if he’d been holding his breath as he waited for her to argue. He’d always been the first to call her out on her stubbornness.

“I love you,” she repeated, trembling as she pulled out her wand. “Obliviate!”

It was so simple. So easy. No wonder an imbecile like Lockhart had managed the spell. All she had to do was think of herself, of magic, of letters, and it all vanished from their minds. Trickier, was implanting the suggestion that they’d already planned to move and that all the details were taken care of. But she managed.

Guess all the extra reading she’d done while Ron had been busy snogging Lavender had come in useful for something after all.

Her parents slumped to the ground, unconscious when she finished. Memory spells were hard on anyone, but particularly on Muggles. She went ahead and placed a heavy Sleeping Charm on them to keep them that way while she worked.

It was surprisingly easy to race about the house and destroy everything that related to her in any way. She was a pre-programmed machine ticking boxes off a list. Not that it took very long, considering how few momentos existed. It was all evidence that she’d hardly been a part of their lives at all since starting Hogwarts. None of the photos showed her older than eleven-years-old.

Then she booked them tickets on the next available flight to Australia, which luckily was in the morning, packed their bags, and sent a message to a realtor about selling the office and house remotely. That is it. She’d given them enough of a suggestion that they wanted to travel a bit while their properties were sold, then they’d settle in the area they’d best enjoyed.

With her parents taken care of, she went about packing her own belongings and vanishing anything that wasn’t going with her. Only the essentials. Everything else was expendable.

Not once did she let herself think on her decision or question it. At least not until she got to the Muggle hotel nearest her house. Remaining in the Muggle world seemed like the safest bet with the turn the war had taken. No one was likely to search for her there, and she could take the time she needed to form a plan and process everything.

Part of her had wanted to go to the Weasleys, to find solace with them and lean on Ron for sympathy, but she didn’t feel she deserved any after what she’d done. Besides, he’d never been capable of being sensitive to her emotions before, so it wasn’t logical or practical to expect differently from him now. Ron was who he was.

The door had barely closed behind her before she broke down. Her chest tore open and spilled the very blood from her heart. Her soul felt tattered and bruised, banged repeatedly against rocks as it was dragged through class five rapids.

A million different ways to handle the situation came to mind, and she mentally flagellated herself for not thinking of them sooner and not taking a breath before acting. Harry and Ron were the reckless ones, not her.

But it was too late to change anything, and the only way to make any of it all right was to accomplish the goal she’d ultimately made the sacrifice for. Destroy Voldemort.

The books she’d appropriated were the only things that took her mind off of her parents – even if it did take her a week to stop mourning and berating herself enough to open them. By the time she finished reading the third one, she understood why Dumbledore had intended the sword to be used to destroy the Horcruxes. It was imbued with Basilisk venom, and only the most potent Dark elixirs could destroy a Horcrux, the ones that only Phoenix tears could counter. There were no other antidotes.

It really was too bad that Basilisks were so rare. They didn’t even have any other remnants of the one Harry had killed in the Chamber of Secrets. At least not since the summer after it happened. Ginny had been struggling so much in the aftermath, that her parents had agreed to go with Dumbledore back to the place where her ordeal happened. The five of them had gone down and watched as Dumbledore used his considerable magic to incinerate the remains. Dust to dust, and ashes to ashes.

At the time, Dumbledore had thought seeing it happen would help Ginny cope and move forward. It had worked, but it left them at an unfortunate disadvantage now.

There were two other potions listed, but she already knew the first wasn’t possible. She recalled learning about it in Muggle Studies, of all classes. It had been referenced as a reason for animosity between Muggles and wizards because one of the necessary ingredients had gone extinct due to human activities, and now it was impossible for wizards to make. Hermione wasn’t sure it was entirely Muggles’ fault for the extinction, but she had understood the point that Professor Burgage had been trying to make – we’re all connecting and what one side does can impact the other.

The other suggestion must have been the one the heads had mentioned. There was nothing specifically mentioned in the book about ingredients or directions, but it did reference the book where that information could be found, and thanks to the time she’d nicked ingredients from Snape’s private stores, she knew he had a copy of the book.

When Professor Slughorn had taken over, he’d not redecorated the classroom or made any changes. Probably, it was because he was too busy cozying up to important students for his temporary position to bother. With any luck, Snape had left his potions-related belongings in the classroom since they weren’t needed to teach Defence. And considering the hurry Snape had left in, there was a chance it was still there.

Obviously there were no guarantees, but it wouldn’t hurt to check either.

She went early the next morning, unwilling to put it off and let nerves talk her out of doing it – something she wished had happened with her parents. But apparently behaving recklessly was working for her, because the trip there was easier than expected.

She’d cast a Disillusionment Charm and snuck into Honeydukes before using the passage to enter the castle. She figured it would be easiest if no one else was aware of her unsanctioned visit – particularly since it was to steal yet another book from a professor. Having to answer Professor McGonagall’s questions was not on her agenda. The whole journey was completed in less than an hour with no hiccups.

A simple Alohomora was all it took to enter the empty Potions classroom after that, and the book was right where she remembered it from second year. As though it was waiting for her to need it.

Her fingers had barely closed over the spine before the feelings of unease and distrust finally took root. It was all just a bit too convenient. Even the index seemed too straightforward, because she’d found the potion after the briefest of glances and the flipping of a few pages.

That was about the time her luck ran out, and she realised she was in over her head.

It was a poison, certainly, but one unlike any she’d ever encountered. It included several Dark spells performed during brewing, their casting interwoven into the preparation of ingredients, not to mention the ingredients list itself. She didn’t even know where she would locate half of the items or if it was possible with Death Eaters acting out in the open now. Knockturn Alley wasn’t likely to sell anything to a Muggleborn, particularly not when said Muggleborn was also Harry Potter’s best mate.

And some of the things that jumped out at her right away were vile and disturbing. She couldn’t imagine having to use such. Whomever first created the potion must have been depraved to bring such a creation into existence and experiment with such.

But what choice did she have?

Resigned, Hermione studied the list more carefully.

8 bones from a murdered infant
10g Ashwinder egg, unhatched ashwinder within
The heart of an animal, freshly slain – whole
3 tsp. Oleander oil
5 drops Virgin’s blood mixed with bodily secretions collected after achieving first orgasm. Beside it a note read: The fresher, the more potent.

That must have been the one Dumbledore had been referring to. He believed it would need to come from her.

Hermione was uncomfortable even thinking about it. But honestly, was she really that transparent? Was it so obvious she was completely inexperienced and hadn’t been with anyone, let alone tried anything on her own? But really, when was she supposed to? It wasn’t like she had a room to herself at Hogwarts or the Burrow, and there was no way she’d have dared in her childhood home with her parents next door.

Regardless, it wasn’t that big a deal. So she did what Lavender and Parvati were always tittering about and blushing over when they discussed masturbating, then cut herself and mixed it all up. It was the rest Dumbledore should have been worried about her ability to obtain.

Huffing, she returned to reading the list – the list that only mentioned what all she’d need, without elaborating on how to prepare the items. No, that bit was reserved for the next twenty-two pages.

10 mL Syrup of Arnica
Four petals from a flowering Tormentil, and 9 ounces of dried root
3 mL Iguana blood
6g –

A hand suddenly caught her arm, hauling her up to face the very last person she was prepared to encounter.

Terror seized her. It was all she knew. That, and she probably wasn’t making it out of there, so all she’d done was for nothing.

~

Please keep in mind this is AU. I am aware that details have been changed from the original books, that’s part of why this is a fanfiction. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy the drama the additional challenges create and you keep reading and reviewing!

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I don’t have a beta, so please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

Thank you so much for the support. It inspired me to outline all the chapters for this story. Reviews feed the muse, so please keep them coming!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 3: Help

“What are you doing here?” Professor Snape demanded harshly.

What was she doing here – what was he doing here? He’d fled the castle. He’d revealed his true allegiance.

Hermione could barely breathe, let alone speak. The wizard gripping her arm had killed Dumbledore, arguably the most powerful wizard in the world. What or who was she in comparison to that?

The answer was simple – nothing. Particularly in light of his very vocal disdain for her over the years.

He towered over her, crowding into her space. He was so close the scent of sandalwood and musk, probably from his soap, made her dizzy and lightheaded. It spoke of darkness and intrigue, much like the man himself.

“Tell me,” he ordered sharply, shaking her slightly. The act confused her, because it didn’t hurt, more like he was trying to wake her from the sudden stupor freezing her tongue.

“You killed Dumbledore,” she whispered, the words slipping out unbidden.

Snape’s nostrils flared and his glare narrowed, shielding his endless gaze from her assessment. Not that she couldn’t guess his thoughts. For once his face wasn’t the impassive mask he wore whenever he wasn’t viewing a student’s subpar work. He was furious about her reminder.

“I did intend to warn you, but I had not thought she would arrive so soon,” Professor Dumbledore announced loudly.

The arrival of the man she’d just mentioned, as though summoned by her speaking his name, snagged their immediate attention as he appeared in the frame on the far wall. It was a plain black canvas background, and the bright blue and silver robes stood out starkly, the most vibrant sight in the entire bleak room.

All of the Hogwarts professors had portraits in their classrooms in case the head of school needed to communicate with them throughout the day, or in case of accidents. Still, she’d not expected Dumbledore to appear or sound so calm as he addressed the man who killed him.

“You arranged this meeting? That’s the real reason why you asked to speak with me here?” Snape scoffed, curling his lips contemptuously. “Why am I not surprised?”

Dumbledore had asked to meet Snape? They were still in communication? Hermione must be missing something.

“I was also hoping to avoid an unpleasant encounter between you and Minerva. She’s currently in my office,” Dumbledore admitted mildly, offering a placating smile.

“It wouldn’t be necessary if you’d simply been honest with her,” Snape griped, clearly disgruntled.

Honest? Yes, Hermione was definitely missing something.

“You know why I couldn’t,” Dumbledore chided, shaking his head.

“Of course, it’s much more fun for you –”

“Enough,” Dumbledore barked, sounding far sterner than Hermione had ever heard him speak before, even when disciplining the Weasley twins for blowing up a school toilet. “This isn’t the time to rehash old arguments. Miss Granger requires your help, Severus.”

He could help her?

Snape was who Dumbledore and Professor Black had been referring to? Obviously if it involved potions he would be capable, but they actually expected him to help her in defeating Voldemort?

Why in Merlin’s name would he?

Hermione quickly recalled Professor Black’s words. ‘You’ve never shied away from forcing him to do loathsome tasks before.’

That couldn’t mean what she thought it did. Could it?

“Certainly. I can escort her from the grounds immediately – before the Carrows arrive,” Snape answered crisply, crossing his arms. It was a defiant gesture. Or perhaps a protective one, as though brace himself for whatever the headmaster was about to insist upon that he knew he’d be closed to.

“She needs help brewing a potion,” Dumbledore declared, ignoring the warning Snape had given about the Carrows. Hermione didn’t know who they were, but Snape was probably right that she should avoid them.

“So much for her vaunted skills,” Snape sneered, the tension draining a bit from his rigid stance. “I’ve been trying to tell you all for years she wasn’t the genius you made her out to be.”

Hermione desperately wished to argue, but knew he had a point. At least with this potion. Though he needn’t sound so superior and arrogant when cutting her down. She felt like a cat tossed into a tub of water. Her claws itched to strike out and make a few cuts of her own.

But watching the two men converse was far too fascinating to interrupt for a simple petty slight. Her pride wasn’t that important.

“It requires Dark Magic, which you happen to be rather skilled at,” Dumbledore said smoothly.

“Amazing how you condemn my knowledge in one moment, then make use of it in the next when it’s convenient for you,” Snape taunted.

Hermione had heard from Harry about the time Snape had been angry over Sirius’s escape. She thought she might be seeing a glimpse of that now. Though this was laced with undisguised hurt as well.

“We all have our parts to play,” Dumbledore replied gravely, a frown marring his face.

Was that right? Did Dumbledore make use of Snape’s familiarity with the Dark Arts when they were needed? Had Snape been willing, or just done as ordered when he’d spied?

“And mine is to be your puppet,” Snape sneered, staring hard at the floor.

“A role you accepted freely. In fact, you even begged for the chance to do whatever I required of you,” Dumbledore intoned gravely, judgement and condemnation woven through the heavy statement.

Snape looked as though he’d been dealt a fatal blow. Hermione had never been able to resist aiding a wounded creature. The urge to speak in his defence, as she had so many times in the past, was strong. But this was Snape. He’d chosen Voldemort. Hadn’t he?

“But you killed him…?” Hermione repeated, but this time it came out sounding more like a question even to her own ears.

“A strategic move,” Snape said dismissively, waving a hand airly, as though she were no more than a buzzing fly and her curiosity a nuisance.

The casualness provoked Hermione. “There’s nothing strategic about betrayal,” she said fiercely, “particularly not when it leaves us without our best defence.”

“Of course you would view the situation in black and white,” he huffed, shaking his head at her. She felt incredibly naive when he looked at her almost pityingly, and she felt a rush of heat stain her cheeks.

“Miss Granger, have I ever struck you as a fool?” Dumbledore asked carefully.

“You’ve made a habit of trusting when it’s not always in the best interest of others,” she retorted, and even Snape snorted quietly in agreement.

She suspected that Snape didn’t belong in that category, after all, but there were others who did. Peter Pettigrew came to mind first. But so did Hagrid.

The half giant had a good heart, certainly, but he was rash and impulsive. He drank too much and divulged secrets that had led to people getting hurt multiple times. And still Dumbledore trusted him with vital information.

“Mistakes I’ve learned from, or do you think it is by chance that the rest of the Order are ignorant of what you and Harry are attempting?” Dumbledore said, his image staring her down in a way that would have left her a cowering, stuttering mess when he’d been alive. Somehow, the portrait lacked the same impact.

“Always. Every time. I always defended his actions,” she stated, glancing quickly at Snape’s impassive expression. He appeared bored as they discussed him. If the same conversation were taking place about her, she’d have been raging. He likely was, for all he showed it.

“And you were right to do so. Nothing is as it seems. Trust that I will always do my best to help Harry triumph,” Dumbledore said plainly, beseeching her to have faith in him once more. “You cannot do this without Severus.”

Hermione weighed the situation as Snape picked up the book she’d dropped. It was still open to the potion she’d been reading over, and she watched as his finger slowly tracked down the page. His brow furrowed as he studied it, and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.

“How,” he began, voice low and dangerous, “exactly were you expecting me to aid her?”

“She needs ingredients –”

“You are aware that I do not possess all of the ingredients required,” he interrupted, taking a single step towards the portrait.

“You can venture into Knockturn Alley without drawing suspicion, whereas she cannot. Nor can she brew it herself.”

“Of course she can’t,” he hissed, snapping the book shut with an ominous thud.

Hermione bristled at the dismissive retort. He truly thought her intelligence beneath him. It rankled, like sandpaper grating her skin until she was so much raw meat.

“It must be done,” Dumbledore sighed, ducking his head.

“And the fresh blood? Where did you imagine she would obtain that?” Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond, but Snape headed him off, adding, “You know what’s sold in Knockturn Alley isn’t fresh enough for this to work, and I will not abide someone being raped to obtain it.”

Dumbledore glanced pointedly at Hermione and Snape snorted derisively, glancing her over slowly from head to toe.

“Who were you planning to dupe into helping?” he asked her, smirking cruelly. “No, wait, let me guess – Mr. Weasley.”

Hermione felt her lips part as she frowned. What did he mean, help? What did Ron have to do with any of this?

Snape’s head tipped slightly as he took her in, sensing her confusion. She dreaded when he smiled darkly, knowing this next bit would be like a shark scenting blood in the water. He was ready to rip her apart.

“You can’t just cut your hand to collect it,” he explained, and Hermione inhaled sharply, understanding slamming into her with the force of a wrecking ball. Snape chuckled, though without a hint of amusement. “I see. You didn’t know. I’m sure our departed headmaster merely forgot to shed light on all the details when he made his pitch – a pesky habit of his – so let me clarify it for you. It must be collected immediately after a maidenhead has been breached for the first time, and –”

She felt affronted for being called out on her ignorance and presumed innocence, and lashed out, insisting, “I’m sure Ron is more than capable –”

“-- and the witch must have achieved orgasm during intercourse prior to the collection,” he finished clinically.

“Thank you for the additional information, Professor Snape,” she said brusquely, pursing her lips and willing the flush from her cheeks. “I will be sure to let Ron know as well.”

Never in her life would she have imagined having a conversation such as this with a former teacher. Merlin, he must think her pathetic for misunderstanding and for never having got up to anything during her time at Hogwarts. And now for him to know she planned to beg her friend to help since his relationship with Lavender made it abundantly clear he didn’t actually fancy her – it was utterly mortifying!

“That selfish buffoon wouldn’t be capable of making you orgasm, no untried teen could, and it will be a waste of an effort, and you’d be back at square one. Or did you miss that part of the instructions?” he asked snarkily.

It felt incredibly disloyal to Ron, but Hermione suddenly remembered the way Ron had tried to devour Lavender’s face when kissing her and she recalled feeling slightly repulsed by the sight. He lacked finesse. She’d always assumed that wouldn’t have mattered if they’d been together, because they’d be truly in love. Neither of them would really know what to do, so they’d learn together.

It would be for their sakes rather than a potion. Or it should have been.

But Snape was right. There was no way Ron would know how to do this the way the potion required. The first time was going to be difficult and painful, and Ron simply couldn’t do it properly. Not at this point in his life. He’d be clumsy and fumbling, and yes, probably unintentionally selfish.

Was Snape capable? Dumbledore clearly thought so. Or was for her sake. Was Dumbledore aware that she used to have a crush on the man? Lockhart hadn’t been the only professor she’d fancied, though with the first it had been entirely about vanity. With Snape it had been something about the intelligence and confidence he displayed when commanding a classroom. Not to mention the timber of his voice.

Merlin, she was a sucker for the way he spoke. That alone might be enough for her to satisfy most of the necessary requirements – so long as he wasn’t belittling her as he had a tendency to do.

“I saw it. If you recall, I never missed a step in potions,” Hermione said primly, very aware he was watching her closely.

“I seem to recall an incident involving cat hair that I had to rectify. You certainly missed a step there,” he challenged, raising a single inquiring brow. Damn. He was right about that one.

“Severus, stop taunting Miss Granger. You know precisely what must be done,” Dumbledore ordered, cutting in before she could try to justify the mistake she’d made years ago. “You can collect what is needed afterwards then prepare the potion with her help.”

The reminder sobered Snape immediately, and he stared incredulously at the portrait. Apparently he’d not believed Dumbledore intended for him to help her in every way necessary.

“You can’t be serious,” he denied, shaking his head emphatically.

“If you don’t, this will all have been for nothing, and you would be reneging on your vow to her,” Dumbledore said meaningfully.

Snape exploded. His arm shot out to swipe a shelf, knocking all of the glass jars to the floor. Glass shattered and liquid sprayed. Bubbles hissed and fizzed as the contents mixed, and Hermione hoped none of the fumes were toxic.

“How dare you throw that in my face after everything you forced me to do!” Snape snarled, stalking closer to the frame housing the man he murdered. Somehow, the sight just seemed to upset him more. Or, possibly, it was the impotence he felt since he couldn’t technically inflict any more damage to the wizard. He turned, pacing quickly back and forth across the classroom in agitation.

Hermione stared, stunned into silence. Snape’s rage and anger was palpable. If she thought she’d caught a glimpse of it earlier, it had been nothing compared to this.

Snape’s words also brought with them further understanding on her part. Neither had come right out and said it, though it’d been hinted at. But here was all the proof she needed to believe. Dumbledore had wanted Snape to kill him. He’d ordered it. Snape was still on their side. He’d not betrayed them.

‘Please, Severus.’ Wasn’t that what Harry said Dumbledore’s last words were? What if they’d not been a plea for help, but a reminder to do as instructed.

It all came down to a matter of perspective. And this one changed everything.

What had that taken for him to paint himself the villain? Had he known everyone would turn on him, and yet he’d still done it?

Hermione doubted she’d ever be brave enough to dare the same.

Snape’s earlier comment about seeing everything in black or white came back to her. She’d always followed an internal moral compass, where things were right or wrong. But look at what she’d done to her parents. Where did that fall?

Shades of grey.

That was the saying. The world was painted in shades of grey.

Hermione had always thought it trash. A convenient way to excuse selfish or ambiguous actions. But wasn’t this a perfect example? Here she was considering using questionable ingredients and having sex with someone she didn’t love and still wasn’t entirely sure she trusted, but it was for a potion that would defeat Voldemort.

Did the ends justify the means?

Not always, she still believed that, but perhaps she could sacrifice a bit of herself, without hurting anyone else and that would be all right.

Assuming, of course, that Snape agreed to help.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said sternly, holding out his palms in an almost pleading way. “Severus, you promised.”

Promise? Vow? Who had he made his vow to? Dumbledore had said her earlier. The fleeting glimpse into the private man was intriguing.

“Didn’t you meddle enough while you were alive? Must you continue pulling my strings from the grave as well?”

His fist slammed onto the desk with the last word hard enough to make her jump.

“If you refuse and they fail, it was all for nothing. Those we’ve lost will have died for nothing, and you will remain at fault,” Dumbledore insisted, lifting his hand to ward off whatever response Snape was about to make. “That is not a manipulation, only a reminder of the truth.”

Snape’s shoulders slumped with resignation, the fight draining from him in a whoosh. But then he turned to her, and surprise flickered over his face as though just realising she’d not actually agreed to anything yet.

How nice to be remembered.

“Miss Granger?” he said stiffly, almost silently beseeching her to refuse and free them both from the headmaster’s urging.

Hermione bit her lip. Was there anyone else she trusted to do this? Was there anyone else capable of helping? Would he hate her more than he already did for putting him in this position?

Well, the last probably wasn’t possible. He held absolutely no tender feelings for her. As for the rest, not a single person came to mind.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to help Harry win,” she said, tipping her chin up defiantly.

Snape merely nodded his acceptance. Then self-deprecatingly, he muttered, “Even me, it seems.”

What was she supposed to say? That she wanted to shag him? He’d never believe it, even if the thought had crossed her mind once or twice the previous summer when she’d seen the twins’ Patented Daydream Charm. One of the scenarios had involved a classroom, and Snape had been the first wizard to pop into her mind. At the time, she’d explained it away as resulting from the setting, but now that they were discussing making it a reality, her heart had already taken off at a gallop.

“Who better than a skilled potioneer?” she tried awkwardly when it appeared he was waiting for a reply.

“Flattery? Don’t bother,” he scoffed, baring his teeth in disgust at her weak attempt.

“Hmph,” she huffed, planting her balled fists on her hips, then demanding, “will you help me or not?”

“It appears that I have no choice,” he said simply.

“You do,” she insisted, feeling an ache of sympathy for this man in the pit of her stomach. So much had apparently already been asked of him, and she was asking for even more. Snape might complain and resent it all, but he still did it. What sort of character did that show?

“Debatable. The orgasm can’t be induced by a potion or your blood would be rendered inert. Can you put aside your personal thoughts and feelings enough to make this worth it?”

Hermione considered the question seriously. Could she?

The answer was simple.

To stop Voldemort – yes.

“Yes,” she stated firmly.

Less than a second later a shadow brushed her mind, cool and gentle. Legilimency. Why? To make sure she really was willing? She was, and she laid bare her resolve for him to riffle through.

His retreat was slow, as though reluctant to part from such an open book, though surely he found nothing of interest. Especially considering her substandard and lacklustre thoughts.

“Then come with me,” he said, gesturing towards a door that appeared in the wall as though summoned.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I don’t have a beta, so please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 4: First

“Now?” she squeaked, feeling her jaw drop and eyes go round with shock.

She’d thought she’d have a bit of time to mentally prepare herself. Perhaps do a bit of research. Surely there were a few books she could read or something. She honestly didn’t know what to expect. Well, she knew the basics of how sex worked, but what was she supposed to do with her hands and stuff like that?

“If this is going to happen, it must be before I have a chance to talk myself out of sleeping with a student, regardless of the reasons why,” he said gruffly.

“I’m not,” Hermione protested.

“Pardon?”

“I’m not a student here anymore,” she clarified, sensing it was important to stress this fact.

He stared at her, lips slightly parted and she wondered if she’d actually managed to surprise him a bit.

“Indeed,” he murmured, surveying her a bit closer.

Doubts and insecurities immediately began whispering incessantly in her ears. There was a reason she was having to seek Snape’s help and there was no one else she could go to for this. Viktor and Cormac were the only blokes who’d ever shown any interest in her at all over the years, and she had a feeling they only had because of her status as Harry’s friend. It did not inspire the necessary confidence she needed to face a night in Snape’s bed.

Not when he had such a habit of cutting her down and belittling her.

His eyes suddenly closed and he inhaled sharply before stalking over to the door and throwing it open. A set of apartments was revealed within, and Hermione frowned, cautiously approaching.

“Are all of the professor’s rooms connected to their classrooms?”

“Yes,” he answered shortly.

“Why didn’t yours change location when you became the DADA professor?”

“Have you changed your mind and decided you’d prefer pestering me with pointless questions instead of doing what you came here for?”

Annoyed by his brusqueness, she sighed and followed him in, a single wall sconce flaring to life as they entered. The dim light allowed her to take in the scattered piles of books and depressing surroundings. There was an air of abandonment and neglect about the place, and Hermione wondered if the house-elves had all refused to step foot inside the room after he’d murdered their master.

Probably. Extreme loyalty was expected in addition to their slavery.

Shoving the dark thoughts away, she glanced about once more, understanding that she was getting a rare glimpse into the intensely private man’s life. The entire place screamed isolation and solitude. The only furniture was a desk, an end table and a single worn, leather armchair. Oh, and bookshelves. Every wall was lined with overstuffed shelves. The wizard who lived here clearly scorned visitors and preferred keeping his own company.

But was it by choice or necessity?

“I can practically see the gears turning beneath all that bushy hair of yours,” he stated, visibly uncomfortable with her invasion of his home.

Hermione blinked, her hand going immediately to her head to try smoothing her unruly curls, but it was no use. Puberty had helped significantly to tame them, but they often still had a mind of their own. Letting them grow out so they had a bit more weight had helped too, but they’d probably always be the first thing anyone noticed about her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, dropping her hand as swiftly as possible. She did not want to let him know the barb had found its mark. If he knew he’d managed to affect her, he’d probably try to draw more blood the next time he was feeling defensive.

He didn’t acknowledge her immediately, and her hands fidgeted nervously by her sides. What was she meant to be doing? Should she make the first move? Would he scorn her for trying since her novice attempts were sure to be less than impressive?

Merlin, this was so much more difficult when she knew the person didn’t actually want to be with her, nor did he find her attractive. Of course, even with Ron she would have been worrying that he was comparing her to Fleur or Lavender, and that he’d find Hermione lacking. Had he always? It was years before he’d even realised she was a girl.

Most of the time she could care less what others thought of her, particularly her appearance. Sure, she could probably spend an hour or two a day making an effort the way her dormmates did, but it was such a waste of valuable time. Time better spent learning or being productive. It was only with Ron that she let it get to her. And now with Snape, when they were about to have sex.

This would be so much easier if she at least had some clue about –

“Granger, stop thinking,” Snape ordered, shaking his head as he watched her.

“I can’t,” she snapped, crossing her arms and huffing. As if it were that easy to shut off her mind!

“That’s your problem, you know that, right?” he said, walking slowly towards her. Great. Now he was going to give her an evaluation that would further cut her abruptly fragile self-esteem to ribbons. Just what she needed if she was going to stop thinking about what they were about to do. “You’re always over analysing everything.”

“It’s who I am. I can’t just turn off the most fundamental aspect of my personality,” she retorted crossly, tipping her chin up defiantly when he stopped just before her.

“Try,” he insisted, seizing her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

He’d never touched her before. Especially not like this. It made her breath catch and a thousand sensations explode within her all at once.

“How do you expect –”

His hand shifted as she spoke, moving to cup the back of her head. Then his mouth was on hers, swallowing the rest of her sentence. His lips were soft and coaxing, slowly easing hers apart.

Hermione didn’t resist. Why would she? This wasn’t wet and slimy the way Viktor’s kiss had been. Nor did it hurt the way Cormac’s had when he’d pinned her against the wall and nearly smothered her, his hands grabbing at her roughly.

This was light and teasing, particularly when he sucked her bottom lip between his and nipped it playfully. It felt like she was floating as he took his time exploring her mouth, gently running his tongue along hers in the lightest of caresses.

The scent of woods and man filled her head, sensually stroking her with the decadence of crushed velvet and chocolate. Snape felt powerful, vital, overwhelming. He was all around her.

It was ages before he pulled back, and Hermione whimpered at the loss. She was breathless. Stunned. And when she blinked, she found she’d grabbed fistfuls of his open robes and she was clutching them for dear life. Had she unfastened them? His shirt too? She honestly couldn’t remember.

His solid chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her hands, a sparse dusting of fine hair was visible, standing out starkly against his pale skin. She wanted to say something clever, but all that came out was, “Oh, like that.”

She swallowed, bracing herself for whatever sarcastic insult he had prepared for her. But he just inhaled deeper, then answered, “Indeed.”

Shadows flickered over his face, and Hermione realised the darkness had intensified, spreading to snuff most of the minimal light that had existed when they’d first entered his rooms. Oh. It was because they were in his bedroom, and the only illumination in the room came from the open doorway. When had they moved? Hermione had been so caught up in the kiss that she’d not even noticed walking.

But the darkness helped. It made the whole situation feel more like a dream. One that Hermione could allow herself to get swept up in because ordinary rules and limitations didn’t apply.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he stated quietly, noticing that she was staring at the bed behind him.

“I haven’t,” she said icily, her Gryffindor side rising at the perceived challenge. The sorting hat had placed her in that house for a reason.

“Hmph. Take off your shirt,” he said smoothly, his hand sliding provocatively down her arm to rest low on her hip.

Did he honestly think she wouldn’t go through with this? She would. If not for Harry’s sake, then for the pleasure she’d get out of proving Snape wrong. She was every bit as daring and brave as her housemates when the situation called for it – like it did now.

Stealing her resolve, Hermione wiped it over her head and carelessly dropped it. Then, to prove she wasn’t going to be all squeamish and missish, she unhooked her bra as well, letting her breasts spill free of their confining cups.

It was difficult to tell, but Hermione thought she saw Snape’s pupils dilate with reluctant interest as he took in the sight of her typically well-hidden cleavage.

“You will need to be prepared,” he said suddenly, voice thick and husky. It sent a shiver down her spine to hear the rich, whiskey sound. “I’ll have to touch you intimately.”

His demeanour was practically aloof, almost frustratingly so, especially when compared to hers. She was feeling anything but after the kiss they’d shared.

Determined not to indicate how affected she was, she matched his near clinical approach as she asked, “Will you require the same?”

“I’m not in the habit of lusting after children,” he sneered disdainfully, clearly affronted that she might believe he was enjoying this interaction already.

“I thought we’d already established that I don’t qualify as such,” Hermione replied tartly, her lips pursing in annoyance. Was he deliberately trying to be difficult?

“I know you’re unfamiliar with how the male anatomy works, but it must be aroused for this to work, and I’ve never considered you in this setting,” he fired back almost angrily.

“I didn’t suggest you had,” she snapped, then realised he was struggling with this more than he was trying to let on. He was picking at her to mask his discomfort, and losing her temper wasn’t going to help. It would probably only make this harder because he’d view it as her having a childish tantrum. Calling on all the skills she’d honed while acting as a Prefect and managing first years, she explained, “I was merely trying to ascertain if you needed physical or oral stimulation as well.”

“Finally a good use to shut that mouth of yours,” he retorted, chuckling quietly.

His amusement quickly cut off as it seemed to dawn on him what he’d accidentally said out loud.

Determined to make him eat his words, and prove him wrong about his comment on what she knew of male anatomy – even if he was correct – Hermione dropped smoothly to her knees and reached for his trousers. Her fingers had barely unfastened the first of the placket of buttons when he spoke.

“I didn’t mean –”

“Shut up, Snape,” she huffed, continuing steadily down the row, her hand brushing his fabric covered length as she went. To her amazement, he listened.

He wasn’t the least bit aroused. If he was, she had a feeling the bulge would be far more prominent and that he really would stop her. Apparently he was going to need this if he was to help her get the ingredient she needed, just as he’d indicated before.

Thank Merlin he couldn’t properly see her face because Hermione could feel the heat radiating from her flaming cheeks as she took his freed length in hand.

It was warmer than she’d expected and the skin was incredibly soft. Uncertainly, Hermione lifted him to her lips. He twitched against her fingers and she almost jerked her hand away in surprise. Her reaction caused the head to bump against her lips awkwardly.

“Granger,” Snape said haltingly, and she knew he was about to put a stop to everything, despite his reluctant agreement with Dumbledore, so she went for it.

Hermione opened her mouth and took as much of his cock into her mouth as she could. Her lips had barely wrapped around him when she felt it begin to thicken. Experimentally, she ran her tongue over the expanding member, tracing the pattern of veins. The skin felt like a thin layer of satin covering an iron rod. Interesting.

Soon, her mouth felt uncomfortably stretched, so she pulled back some and used her hands to grasp the base of his shaft. She was grateful that Snape stayed silent, allowing her time to explore him a bit and figure things out considering she’d never attempted anything like this before.

After the Yule Ball, when Ron had insulted her, she’d nearly allowed Viktor to talk her into doing this to him. She’d wanted to prove that someone at least liked her, even if it wasn’t the one she really wanted. Fortunately, Professor McGonagall had been patrolling and sent her off to bed before she could go through with it. She still felt a bit ashamed that she’d valued her self-worth on others’ opinions, and let that have so much influence over her actions.

But that was then, and this was an entirely different situation. One that she felt in control of.

It wasn’t difficult to get into the act. She was fascinated by his reaction and the way his breathing had turned harsh and uneven. He smelled of the forest and night, something forbidden and secret. Never again would she be able to venture into the woods again without remembering this moment.

“Grip me harder…yes,” he said gutturally, his hand tangling in her curls and tugging just enough to get her to look up at him.

He was watching her intently, though she could barely see him. It made her brave and curious. An dangerous combination for a Gryffindor. But mostly, she felt visible. He was seeing her, not a figment of his imagination where it was some carefully crafted image of perfection or a veela kneeling before him. No. It was Hermione’s mouth making him groan, and he was very aware of it.

Hermione sucked harder, trying to read his expression, but he was an enigma. Then Snape jerked, accidentally pressing deeper, and Hermione felt him in the back of her throat. Almost at once he pulled back, gasping, “Agh.”

Was she responsible for stirring the unflappable man?

Not that she wasn’t affected as well. A steady throbbing had begun between her legs and she could feel the damp heat gathering in her core, demanding attention. She was getting off on pleasuring him and finally gaining a small measure of approval from him – approval he couldn’t deny given the evidence currently stretching her lips.

“Enough,” he gasped, hands going to her upper arms.

“But,” Hermione protested, not nearly satisfied yet.

“You’re here for a purpose, and that will not happen if you continue,” he stated bluntly, helping her to her feet.

Right. How had she forgotten?

“So, now we –”

“Don’t think,” he reminded, placing a hand on the center of her chest and nudging her back until her legs hit the edge of the mattress.

Hermione swallowed, but sat down, laying back when he continued guiding her back. Shivers raced along her as his hands ghosted over her, never quite touching. The faint teasing was enough to chase the doubts from her once more. Her skin was afire, a blazing path marking his progress over her.

Then his mouth was claiming hers again and she was completely lost. Time stopped. There was nothing beyond Snape and the tantalising press of his lips. At least until his hands cupped her breasts, making her back arch.

His fingers plucked and moulded the peaks, tracing enticing patterns and offering suggestive promises. Snape was clearly skilled, and knew precisely how to make her body sing for him. The weight of his body pinned her hips in place, but her desire from earlier had only grown and the ache was growing more persistent.

It didn’t matter why she’d first agreed to do this. Now she wanted it because she’d never felt anything like it, and she needed more. This was what it felt like to be wanted, desired, seduced. And Hermione was completely enthralled by the experience.

Particularly because she didn’t think she’d ever have an opportunity with someone so skilled again. Because surely not every wizard was this capable. Not if the gossip she’d heard over the years was anything to go by.

She was gasping for breath when he finally broke off the kiss, easing down her body to settle between her legs. When had he undone her trousers? She could free him untangling them from her ankles, but she’d not noticed when they’d first come off.

“Shite!” The startled cry was out before she’d really processed what was happening. And she couldn’t really now either. Not when Snape was using his tongue to circle her clit in gentle, lapping licks.

It was leisurely, as though he had all day to whip her into a frenzy, which was precisely what he was doing. Tiny, fleeting passes morphed into entrancing figure eights. Then she felt his finger at her entrance, dipping inside her to the first knuckle before retreating. He did that several times before he entered her fully, stretching her untried channel and stroking the sensitive tissue.

Hermione gasped and moaned, unable to hold in her reaction as Snape had mostly managed to do when she’d likewise stimulated him orally. She could feel her muscles tightening in preparation. Each part of her body transforming into a coiled spring.

Then he stopped, his mouth and finger withdrawing abruptly.

Hermione lifted her head, gapping at him as he watched her. “What the hell? Why?”

“Granger, relax,” he ordered, his warm breath fanning over her lower lips and making her shiver, her eyes rolling helplessly.

“I am,” she muttered, annoyed that he’d stopped when it had felt so incredible.

The tip of his finger began circling her opening again, light and lazily. Hermione tried to lift her body, seeking more attention, but he pulled away, waiting for her to be still before he continued. The urge to bait him or say something scathing was strong, but just as she opened her mouth, a second finger joined the first and slid fully into her.

She was so wet that he didn’t have any trouble pumping them all the way inside her, but it was a tight fit. Enough so that she cried out, “Augh.”

“Relax,” he reminded, his lips brushing her body as he spoke, just before they closed around her clit and sucked.

“Oh, Merlin,” she groaned, the giddy, tingling from earlier ramping up to a new high she’d not known herself capable of feeling.

Tiny prickles scraped along her inner thighs where his face rubbed against her. She’d noted the dark shadow indicating he needed a shave earlier. It was rough on her skin, and had been around her mouth too, but not unpleasantly so.

Carefully, he pumped his fingers in and out of her, scissoring them occasionally. The coils in her muscles twisted even tighter, impossibly so. Hermione felt the pinnacle approaching. She was hovering right on the edge of the glorious unknown.

But again Snape stopped.

“Damnit, Snape!” she groaned, smacking the bed with a balled fist.

The bed shook, and she heard a faint chocking sound that had her lifting herself up on her elbows. Snape’s face was pressed against the sheets to muffle his laughter. As if making her a frustrated jumble of raw nerves was amusing for him.

“Who knew you had such a filthy mouth on you,” he said a second later, still chuckling slightly.

“I don’t,” she denied, unable to recall to last time she’d cursed or if she ever had in her life.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” he said, drawing out the words, his lingering amusement clear.

“Then stop tormenting me already,” she prompted, falling back onto the cool sheets. They were a balm on her frayed nerves.

“Relax,” he taunted, nudging her thighs further apart.

“Right. Like that’s going to happen with your face buried between my legs,” she growled, gritting her teeth when he had the audacity to chuckle again.

The two digits he’d been using to toy with her returned, and she inhaled sharply when a third joined them, stretching her slightly beyond what was comfortable. Snape rose up above her then, boxing her in as he steadily kept fingering her.

She was seriously going to hit him if he stopped again. Her body felt nearly desperate to reach the climax he kept denying her.

Hermione understood then. He was making sure she was as close as physically possible before they actually had sex because she had to orgasm during it for this to work. And Snape was rather large – her jaw was still a bit sore from earlier. Three fingers didn’t even really compare, and they already left her feeling almost too full to bare.

Snape had been studying her closely, and it was as though he’d read her mind – possibly he had – because he kissed her again then, banishing her apprehensions and making her lose herself in the moment again.

Hermione could taste herself and the tangy musk left her feeling primal and hedonistic. She nipped his lip and revelled in the groan he released. Her arms wound around his neck, nails scratching his scalp as she tried to pull him against her, wanting more contact. Wanting to feel his weight.

The fingers left her then, gliding up her torso to pinch and tease her nipple, and Hermione wrapped her leg around Snape’s hip in response, willing him to know she was as ready as she’d ever be.

“Tell me if I hurt you or you want me to stop,” he instructed, breathing heavily against her neck.

Hermione rolled her hips, feeling the tip of his heavy cock shift through her slick folds, spreading her wetness. Her breath caught when the crown bumped her clit and caused a starburst of pleasure to erupt behind her closed eyelids.

There was no way she’d want this to stop. It was utter bliss.

It was a second before she was coherent enough to respond, but she sensed he needed her agreement in this before he’d actually proceed.

“I will,” she promised, gasping when he reached to position the tip at her entrance.

This was different from earlier. Before, she’d sensed his genuine enjoyment in teasing her and working her into a needy state. But now, he was gentle and tender beyond comparison. He’d only barely entered her before he withdrew entirely, brushing the tip against her clit then dipping inside again.

She felt overwhelmed, but the feather light brushes of his lips along her neck helped distract her. And he didn’t say a word as she gripped his shoulders, her nails biting in more than was probably comfortable for him.

Little by little he worked himself into her sheath until finally he was completely seated within her. Their harsh breaths mingled, and he responded immediately when she initiated a kiss this time. He didn’t move as she adjusted to the foreign feeling, but he’d taken such care that it wasn’t really painful, just different.

But when he did move, she felt as though a fire had been lit in her veins. Hands roved along her curves, needing a breast before massaging her clit. She took the liberty of touching as much of Snape as she could as well.

His body was fit. Toned and lean and so much more appealing than she ever could have guessed. Hard muscle greeted her everywhere her fingers dared to roam. She could feel his muscles bunching and flexing against her, his abs straining as he rocked his hips into her steadily. So much control and power barely contained beneath the cool exterior he presented to the world.

This brief glimpse of the raw vitality and hidden passion wasn’t nearly enough. She was destined to always want to know more, or gain another peak behind the mask.

Hermione ran her fingers through the long strands of his silky dark hair, the colour mimicking the shadows concealing them. She was fascinated by each new discovery she made, from the soft grunts to reluctant moans that escaped when her teeth scraped the hollow at the base of his throat.

He appeared to be in no rush, and her body relished the fact. For possibly the first time ever, she felt completely in the moment. There were no distance worries or pressing concerns. She wasn’t stressed or guilty. She simply felt.

And the way Snape was making her feel was incredible. Delicious. Intoxicating.

Her entire body had become the most delicate of blown glass. So it was little wonder when she shattered, the springs finally reaching the point where they could coil no tighter and had to be released.

“Oh, Merlin, yes!” she cried, her nails scoring down Snape’s back as she arched into him. “Bloody hell.”

Every muscle in her body spasmed, completely out of her control. Her toes curled, and she dug her heel into Snape’s bum, hardly noticing as he shoved into her several times, much harder than he had previously.

A hazy glow spread through her body, leaving her lighter and freer than she’d ever felt before. Champagne bubbles. They popped and fizzed, leaving her dizzy and blissfully drunk.

But only for a second or two. Then Snape was moving and the jostling of the bed cleared her head.

Hermione winced as Snape withdrew from her, and she felt her sore muscles flutter and try to hold onto him, unwilling to release him despite their overuse. But he didn’t seem to notice as he rose, slipping his robes on, fishing out his wand, and conjuring a phial.

The glass was cold and unyielding against her tender core, and he moved methodically to collect a bit of the fluid leaking out of her empty channel. It was awkward and embarrassing, but Hermione held perfectly still for him. Thankfully, he was quick about it.

She watched him straighten and stopper the precious contents, eyeing it briefly before pocketing it. He didn’t say a word as he tugged on his trousers, and did up his robes, not bothering to put a shirt on beneath. His fingers worked quickly to do up the buttons, and Hermione’s mind flashed back to how skillfully they’d managed to manipulate her body.

Hermione struggled against the urge to cover herself in the aftermath. There hardly seemed a point after all the rest, but she also didn’t want him to feel he’d done something wrong if she got all flustered or shy now.

Mostly though, she was wondering how he was moving around so easily. By contrast, her joints were so rubbery she could do little more than prop herself up on her elbows to watch him.

He was nearly finished when, without really thinking, she announced, “I want to help prepare the potion.”

She was sure he’d refuse her help. He’d already made it abundantly clear he felt she lacked the necessary skills. And truthfully, she knew nothing about the Dark Arts, though after reading the books she’d taken from Dumbledore’s office, she was insanely curious.

But he didn’t outright reject her offer.

Instead, Snape paused, eyes tracking over her. She could well imagine what she looked like reclining on his bed. Naked. Legs still partially askew. Hair more wild than ever. Red marks scattered across her porcelain skin from his scruff. Nipples and lips swollen and puffy from his mouth and fingers.

Well and truly debauched. That was how she must appear.

So it surprised her when he drolly remarked, “You’re familiar with my store room.” Hermione winced as she remembered stealing from him in the past, and sat up fully. A mild smirk flirted with his lips as he continued, “Collect what you are able while I visit Knockturn Alley for the rest.”

The reminder had her asking about one of the two other ingredients she was most disturbed by. “Where will you get the bones?”

“Muggles have been known to have abortions from time to time,” he said flatly, eyeing her closely. For some reason, she had the impression that he could see her clearly, despite the near darkness surrounding them. Then, much more harshly, he declared, “I don’t murder infants for sport.”

“I believe you,” she quickly agreed, having learned just enough about Snape in the last few hours to know for certain he’d never do anything of the sort. Honestly, he should have known that she didn’t suspect that of him. Did he honestly believe she’d have gone through with having sex with him for her first time if she thought him capable of such an atrocity?

The idea of using Muggle bones from abortions simply hadn’t occurred to her as an option, but it made sense. There were many unsavoury wizards that would have no qualms about taking the bones from hospitals and profiting from them. Hermione wondered how many other potions there were in existence that called for something similar.

Then again, it wasn’t as though she could judge. She was about to use them herself, so really, was she any different or better?

“Surely you didn’t think you could use the Dark Arts without it blemishing your soul,” he said ominously, apparently having assessed her and recognized the path her thoughts had travelled down. “They are Dark for a reason, Granger.”

Now probably wasn’t the time to ask about the required heart. If she spoke up again, he’d likely deem her too naive to participate. Or he’d mistakenly believe she was accusing him of something nefarious as he’d seemed to do earlier.

“I know,” she acknowledged, prepared to take the risk if it meant satisfying her curiosity and prolonging this strange encounter.

“It should take me an hour. Be sure to ward the door and go no further than the preparation room attached to the store room – it would be exceedingly dangerous for either of us to be discovered here. The loo is through there if you have need of it before we begin,” he informed her crisply, leaving without another word.

One thing was certain, there was so much more to the wizard than she’d ever thought to guess. And now that she’d had a glimpse, she wanted to discover the rest.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I don’t have a beta, so please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 5: Brewing

Hermione was double checking the list of ingredients against what she’d collected when Snape swept in, robes billowing around his legs in a familiar way.

“Did you get the fresh mandrake shavings on your way back in? I didn’t think you’d appreciate me leaving the dungeons to gather them myself,” Hermione said quickly, trying to seem practical and unaffected by their recent tryst. She had no doubt that if she’d blushed and stammered he’d have sent her scurrying away with more than insults pelting her back.

“I did,” he said approvingly, methodically unpacking the bag he was carrying. “I bought the lionfish spines as well, since I believe Slughorn used up all of the whole ones I once had.”

“Dobby should be bringing the heart from the chicken coup momentarily,” Dumbledore volunteered from his portrait.

He’d been watching Hermione since she’d arrived, but he’d not spoken until just now. Snape tensed visibly, but didn’t acknowledge the headmaster. When Dumbledore sighed loudly, Hermione had to bite back an incredulous smile. Apparently he wasn’t impressed by the silent treatment he was receiving. She wondered if Snape was actually getting any enjoyment out of his rather juvenile antics.

Snape glanced pointedly at Hermione, coolly informing her, “It’s probably from the chicken that will be used for supper this evening.”

“I assumed as much.”

The snort he gave clearly indicated he knew she was lying, though fortunately, he didn’t call her on it. The idea should have occurred to her sooner if she were honest.

“Is it all right if Dobby knows I’m here?” she asked suddenly.

If he knew, then there was a chance Harry might find out she was working with Snape. He wouldn’t understand. Harry was completely irrational where Snape was concerned. And she didn’t even want to consider how he’d react if he ever learned she’d slept with the man to acquire a potion ingredient. Their friendship would be over, she was convinced.

“I’m certain our former headmaster has already informed him as much, and taken the necessary precautions to ensure his silence in the matter. You, yourself, pointed out how effective he is at such earlier,” Snape drawled, and Hermione winced in sympathy for Dumbledore. Snape definitely had a way of crafting the perfect jibe. It was a wonder anyone could interact with him at all and not be cut to ribbons in the process.

Once again Dumbledore sighed, though this one was far more dramatic, and she knew it was for effect alone.

“Are you worried?” she asked, wondering if she should go and come back once the elf had gone.

“We shall see,” he said vaguely, but Hermione thought she detected a hint of worry cross his face. It was gone before she could respond, and he was focused on preparations once again. “We’ll require a copper cauldron, size 4.”

“I’ve only ever used pewter before,” she noted absently as she went to retrieve the necessary item. Snape was already checking the measurements of the ingredients she’d weighed out while waiting for him to return.

“That is because potions never interested you beyond proving your ability to read and perform a set list of tasks better than your peers, or making it clear you’d done the required research,” Snape stated critically.

She wondered if he’d meant it as an insult, but considering the way he wasn’t paying her the least bit of attention, she figured it had been a sincere observation on his part. Was he aware of how abrasive he came across most of the time? Did he even care? Doubtful.

“An accurate evaluation,” she finally allowed, knowing it was the truth. Why would she waste time trying to improve something that already worked? There was enough broken in the world that she could devote herself to fixing.

“What? Not going to argue that you secretly loved it?” he asked mockingly, pausing in his assessment to pin her with his penetrating stare. The dark chips pierced straight to the depths of her soul, forcing her to be nothing but honest with him.

“Clearly I didn’t or I wouldn’t have been so upset with Harry following the altered instructions from your old textbook last year – I would have tried my own hand at improving the ones I had,” she said tartly, still annoyed with her friend for cheating. The only reason he’d out performed her was because he used Snape’s directions rather than those published in a book.

It had been the only time a book had ever let her down.

Snape looked a bit surprised, though she couldn’t tell if it was because she’d put Harry down or because she was agreeing with him.

“Luckily, for both of us, this potion won’t need to be altered,” he said, letting the matter drop just as Dobby arrived.

The free elf was savagely twisting an ear with one hand and looking terrified as he held a carefully wrapped object out towards Snape. His hand was trembling slightly, and Hermione was proud that he’d been brave enough to come despite his obvious fear of the wizard. If only the other house-elves would take their cues from him.

She also wondered what Dumbledore’s portrait had said to convince him to help.

“I was told to bring this to Harry Potter’s friend,” Dobby said, looking comically from her to Snape and back again. To be fair, their alliance was rather shocking and unexpected.

Hermione noticed the way Snape’s jaw clenched at the mention of Harry, and how he made no effort to accept the proffered heart.

“Yes, thank you, Dobby. You can set it just there?” Hermione suggested, trying to gauge if that was all right, but Snape remained determinedly silent.

“Does Miss need help?” Dobby asked, frowning at Snape and shifting from foot to foot nervously.

“No, Dobby,” she rushed to assure him, knowing he’d try to intervene if she said yes.

Dobby frowned at Snape again, face twisting as though he was seeing something hideous and grotesque. It was easy to see that he was judging Snape and finding him to be comparable to the likes of Lucius Malfoy.

Her heart went out to Snape, recognizing what a sacrifice he’d made. He was a pariah now. Even house-elves looked down on him.

“That will be all,” he barked darkly, dismissing Dobby with a fierce glare that promised there would be dire consequences if he dared linger any longer or tried to interfere further.

Hermione wanted to scold Snape, but he wasn’t like her friends where she could browbeat them into being nicer to house-elves. Besides, shadows had darkened his face, tormenting him. He looked like a man staring out of his own grave.

“What can I do next?” she asked instead, sensing he’d feel on more even footing if he was taking command and accomplishing what they’d set out to do rather than dwelling on negative thoughts.

“Do not question any instruction I give you. You are to do as I say – no more, no less,” he ordered smoothly.

She hadn’t planned to, recognizing how delicate this potion was and how impossible it would be to start over if a mistake was made. But she also understood that her behaviour in class made him suspicious of the fact.

“I understand,” she agreed stiffly when it appeared he was waiting for verbal confirmation.

He raised a brow at her tone, but fortunately didn’t comment. She probably would have pointed out he wasn’t her professor anymore if he’d tried to. Somehow, given what they just done together, she felt a little bolder – not that she’d ever had a problem standing up to people when the situation warranted it.

“The iguana blood must be heated with the oleander oil for ten minutes without coming to a boil, and it can only be stirred up to five times,” he recited, not even needing to double check the instructions from the book, though she doubted he’d ever prepared this particular poison before.

“All right,” she agreed, moving to complete the task as efficiently as possible.

It was rather boring waiting for the base to gradually heat. More and more frequently she found herself sneaking peeks at what Snape was up to. He was muttering under his breath at the mandrake shavings, his wand tracing over them slowly. The thin, curling peels twitched and writhed as though in pain.

“What are you doing to them?” she asked, unable to help herself when he paused.

His breathing was ragged when he answered, and he clutched the table as though needing the support to remain upright. “One of the Dark Spells. It preserves the screams of mandrake that was skinned to produce them. It should cause haemorrhaging in any who ingest the poison containing it.”

“Oh. What is the effect if the poison is used on an object rather than consumed?” Would it still work on a Horcrux? A locket wouldn’t have blood vessels to rupture. Nor would most of the other objects.

“Sufficient and lasting damage, I would think,” he answered, straightening and walking across the room. “It will suffice for your purposes, trust me.”

“You know….” She wasn’t sure how she knew it, only that she was convinced he did.

“That you intend to destroy his Horcruxes, yes, I do,” he finished smoothly, confirming her suspicions.

She wanted to say more, but he slumped into the only chair in the room. He looked utterly drained, enough so that she couldn’t bring herself to push him and demand answers.

She’d not realised that using the Dark Arts might take a toll on the caster, however temporary. She’d always envisioned them as a bit of an easy shortcut. Especially when she considered the calibre of the individuals she knew who used them. Those like Crabbe and Goyle hardly seemed capable of expending energy or giving a part of themselves as Snape seemed to be doing now.

Or was it because he was more skilled and capable? His spells would, no doubt, produce a more profound effect.

“How do you cast a Dark spell?” she asked, eager to understand and learn something new and take advantage of his guards being a bit lower than usual.

“By channelling negative emotions with the intention of spreading your misery around,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

She suddenly realised the dark strands were slick with some substance that hadn’t been there when they’d had sex. She’d have felt it. But his hair had been surprisingly soft and clean. Thick too. Did he deliberately apply something when brewing? No wonder he’d earned himself a reputation as being a greasy, slimeball. He was almost always in a potions classroom at Hogwarts.

Desperate to distract herself from thinking about how she’d had her hands all over him not too long ago, Hermione asked, “Would guilt work?”

“If it was strong enough,” he said cautiously, considering it for a lengthy pause. “I sincerely doubt you have ever done anything that would qualify.”

The last image she had of her parents. The fear etching deep grooves on their faces as she aimed a wand at them, burned painfully into her mind. Blinking did nothing to dispel the afterimage. It was indelible. The last thing she thought of before sleep claimed her, and her first thought upon waking each day.

Forgiveness wasn’t even a possibility for her. How could it be when those she’d wronged held no memory of the extent of her transgressions?

“You might be surprised,” she said bitterly, giving the potion the fourth stir. She was a bit too rough with it, but fortunately, the cauldron was empty enough that none spilt as it splashed against the sides.

“Hmmm,” Snape hummed noncommittally. Hermione studiously avoided looking at him, positive he’d read too much written across her face. Then he surprised her by acknowledging, “Perhaps.”

Could he truly read her so easily, or had he entered her mind again? It was an alarming –

The timer dinged, startling her. She practically jumped out of her skin at the sound.

“Snuff the flame,” Snape intoned, ignoring her reaction and focusing on the next steps of the preparation process. “Add the two largest bones then stir the potion once clockwise, then three and a quarter times counterclockwise. It will need to sit undisturbed for thirteen minutes afterwards.”

Hermione felt her stomach lurch unpleasantly when she reached into the bag on the table he’d nodded at, but she did not baulk.

The potion bubbled black around the bones as she lowered them into the thick mixture. It reminded her of acid eating through metal, and it was strangely hypnotising to watch them dissolve.

“Be careful of the fumes,” Snape said suddenly, appearing behind her and urging her to take a step back with a hand wrapped around her middle. Her back was flush against his front, and he didn’t immediately release her. “They’re toxic.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, grateful he didn’t say more or berate her for the foolish mistake she’d not made since her first year. She knew proper protocol, but the sight had beckoned her closer, nearly irresistible.

A bit unsteadily, she reached for the timer as Snape returned to preparing the ashwinder egg. Sweat beaded on his forehead, despite the noticeable chill in the room, as small holes appeared, dotting the shell. From each puncture, a drop of blood slowly oozed out like tears of despair.

He brought it to her once the blood stopped flowing. There were so many questions she wished to ask, but she knew it was not the time. He clearly needed to focus, and she was determined to prove she wasn’t always the annoying know-it-all he believed her to be. Honestly, this whole experience was too fascinating to risk banishment just to sake her insatiable curiosity.

“When the timer goes off you may add this to the potion base. One and a half clockwise stirs every two minutes for the next hour. At the twenty-eight minute mark, add the dried tormentil root and give it three and a quarter counterclockwise stirs,” he said, nodding to confirm she understood.

She felt a bit like a robot, moving mechanically with little thought or effort to her actions. Snape, meanwhile, set about efficiently slicing, chopping and mixing other ingredients in a wide, brass bowl. At forty-three minutes, he added the paste he’d created to the cauldron. The potion flashed from a deep navy to a vivid green that reminded her disturbingly of snake scales.

Carefully, Snape placed the tiny heart in front of him then flipped a page of the book, checking something. Hermione could just make out the words on the page and the name of an unfamiliar spell.

When he cast it, a flame of orange light shot out, flaying the heart open.

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat roughly, nearly choking her. It was the same spell Dolohov had used on her in the Department of Mysteries when they’d foolishly gone to the Ministry to save Sirius. That spell had nearly killed her. Would have too, if this was any indication.

If Dolohov had not been incompetent, she’d have looked like the mangled meat sitting on the bench. If he’d had Snape’s ability, she wouldn’t be here now.

Ideally, she wondered how much he’d appreciate it if the tables were turned, and he was the one on the receiving end of that particular spell. Because Hermione wasn’t inept. She wouldn’t botch it.

“Was that wand embellished at the end necessary?” she asked casually, straining her neck to reread the passage he’d left open.

Except Snape slammed the book shut.

“The Dark Arts aren’t for you, Granger. That’s why I’m here,” he said chillingly.

“I wasn’t going to use the spell. I simply wanted to understand how it works,” she refuted, feigning indifference. He didn’t buy it. Not even for a second.

“You’re walking a dangerous path. Take care not to lose sight of what’s most important,” he warned.

Had it begun like this for him? Revenge and curiosity. Was it truly such a dangerous combination?

It really was a shame he’d not welcome her questions. There was no denying that she was intrigued by the man. Always had been, but now…after he’d taken such care and shown her how incredible sex could be, she wanted to know more about him.

But he’d never answer. At least not truthfully. It didn’t matter that he’d been noticeably less snarky and abrasive than usual while working on the potion together. That would vanish in a second if she tread on the thin ice protecting his privacy.

“When the timer goes off, add the four smallest bones,” he said flatly, dropping the matter.

“Anything else?”

“No. It will sit for twenty-one minutes, then the tormentil petals will need to be added one at a time. The potion should be colourless by the last one.”

While the brew was sitting, he handed her a copper knife and nudged a fluxweed stem towards her, then reopened the book to the relevant passage. She began cutting as the page instructed, but had barely started when Snape’s hand covered hers, adjusting her grip and the angle she held the blade.

His grip was firm and warm, and she recalled the surety and confidence with which he’d touched her. He’d made her body sing. She was positive no one else would have taken such care or been as adept at reading her. Years of practice as a spy had definitely been to her benefit.

Would he have acted the same if it hadn’t been necessary for her to orgasm? Somehow, she simply knew he would. Snape seemed to relish being the best at all the endeavours he undertook.

She wasn’t sure what to make of it when he released her, his fingers flexing briefly before he stepped back. But she was relieved to be able to concentrate and think clearly again. His proximity had caused a flutter low in her belly, as though readying and eager for more of his attention. It didn’t matter that her mind was all too aware that it wasn’t going to happen.

Carefully, she cut the root as he’d shown her, glancing up just in time to catch his nod of approval. Her core clenched, and the twing of pain made it impossible to forget that he was the cause of both her soreness and her desire to repeat the act.

The last few steps of the preparation seemed to take no time at all, though from the way her back and feet ached, they’d been at it for several hours.

She forgot all about her burning, throbbing muscles though when he held up the phial he’d collected from her earlier. “One drop each day, precisely twenty-four hours apart. You can collect it from me once it’s ready,” he announced, adding a single, shimmering, pink-tinged drop. The potion flashed a brilliant scarlet red, and Hermione resented the fact that it reminded her that it contained virgin blood from herself. It was beyond embarrassing.

Without another word, Snape began cleaning up.

“All right,” Hermione said uncertainly. Was she just supposed to leave now? Annoyed with his inability to communicate like a regular person, she walked steadily towards the door.

“Granger,” Snape called, stopping her in her tracks.

“Yes?”

Hesitantly, he informed her, “They’re targeting your family.”

Her breath caught. He hadn’t needed to share that information. Probably, it was dangerous for him to have done so. So why had he?

“I know,” she admitted. “I’ve already taken care of it…. Even if they’re found, they know nothing that will put Harry at risk,” she added, not entirely sure why she was sharing, but feeling the urge to unburden herself to someone unlikely to judge her for her decision.

The statement was so quiet she almost missed it when he whispered, “I see.”

And perhaps he did. Two such inconsequential words, but when strung together by him, held a wealth of meaning.

“Why did you warn me?” she asked, needing to know his motivations. Had Dumbledore put him up to this as well? Did he feel guilty over sleeping with her? Or was he truly a decent man beneath his armour of insults and snark?

Snape’s jaw clenched so hard she could see a muscle ticking in his cheek.

“I am a spy, trading information is what I do,” he said blankly, not an ounce of emotion colouring the well rehearsed phrase. How many times had he said the same to the Order?

She couldn’t be sure, not really, but she didn’t think it was a very honest answer. It made her wonder if the real reason was possibly because he was grateful that at least one living person didn’t see him as a monster for his role in Dumbledore’s death.

“I don’t believe you,” she said simply.

If he was taken aback, he didn’t show it.

“The Carrows will be here by now. Take the Floo to The Three Broomsticks, then Apparate from there,” he said, turning his back on her to continue cleaning up the workspace they’d used.

“All right.”

She watched him methodically wiping the table. Here was another warning he hadn’t needed to issue. Though this one made more sense. The potion they’d gone to such lengths to create would be useless if she wasn’t around to pour it on the Horcruxes once they located them.

“The potion will be ready in five days. I will add the blood each day, then it must simmer overnight after the final drop. You may collect it on Monday,” he said without looking at her. He must have sensed her lingering.

“Thank you. For everything,” she said quietly, slipping from the room before he had a chance to say something nasty and ruin her sincerity.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I don’t have a beta, so please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 6: Warning

Hermione didn’t dare remove the Disillusionment Charm from herself until she entered the Potions classroom, despite not seeing a single soul moving about the castle. The quiet clink of glass bottles knocking into one another sounded from the store room, alerting her that there was at least one other person in Hogwarts right then.

Snape. She watched him from the open doorway as he rummaged through the shelves, occasionally putting one ingredient into a wooden box that looked nearly full already.

It actually surprised her a bit to find Snape there waiting for her. Honestly, she’d half expected him to simply leave the potion with a snippy note warning her not to bother him again when the five days were up and she returned for the final product.

“The Dark Lord knows how Potter will be moved,” he announced without preamble, likely detecting her the moment she arrived for all he showed it. Then again, it wasn’t as though he had any reason to fear her, nor were they friends reuniting after an absence.

Then his statement registered, penetrating the clutter of her inconsequential thoughts.

She didn’t even know what the Order intended to do. Though she probably would if she’d been staying at the Burrow as she’d planned to do. At least until she’d gotten to The Three Broomsticks and realised she hadn’t taken a birth control potion. It was too late to go back to the castle, but she also couldn’t bear the thought of whipping one up at the Burrow and Mrs. Weasley catching her at it.

Or worse, Ron.

He’d become a whole situation for her in itself. One she simply didn’t know how to manage.

“Oh? What am I supposed to do with that?” she asked, needing to focus on the matter at hand. The one she actually stood a chance of doing something about.

“Do whatever you like with it. It’s little matter to me if Potter dies,” Snape said scathingly.

Except that wasn’t even close to the truth, and she knew it with every fibre of her body.

“I don’t believe you,” she accused.

“I don’t care what you believe,” he snapped, adding one last phial to the box before slamming the lid shut and shoving it towards her.

She stared at the carving on the top absently, struggling to process why he’d just gifted her with a fortune’s worth of potion ingredients. Was it because he knew she’d be unable to acquire any of her own soon enough? First, because of Harry, but also because with her parents gone, she was already beginning to run dangerously low on funds. A few weeks at a hotel hadn’t been kind to her rather limited wallet.

“How would you move him?” she asked, genuinely seeking his advice. He knew all the players involved best. Who better to strategize?

“Not by flying. It leaves him exposed for too long,” he stated bluntly, revealing the current plan to her.

“Besides, we’ve done that in the past,” Hermione mused.

“Precisely,” he agreed, nodding. “Floo and Portkey are out too. The Ministry is monitoring them, and the Dark Lord has access to all of their information.”

There was a pause as he waited for her to get it.

“Apparation? But Harry can’t. He has the Trace still,” she argued, shaking her head at the flaw in his logic.

“You, however, do not,” he countered, crossing his arms and smirking.

A week ago the expression would have irritated her. She would have assumed it was at her expense because he enjoyed every opportunity he had to point out that she wasn’t the brilliant golden girl his colleagues made her out to be. Now, though, she thought it had more to do with his pleasure at outwitting someone, anyone, else.

“You’d simply need to leave the house first to go undetected,” he added as an afterthought.

“If it’s that easy, why doesn’t someone from the Order just do it then? I’ve never tried Side-Along-Apparition before,” she said, poking holes in his suggestion.

“The timing of it all. Most of the Order are being watched, but the Death Eaters have been unable to locate you,” he said, a hint of a question appearing behind the thinly veiled statement.

She didn’t really feel like confessing that she’d been too torn up and conflicted after her parents and recent choices to reside at the Burrow. Probably, he’d see her confusion at evidence that he’d taken advantage of her or some such rot.

It wasn’t that, because he definitely hadn’t. But she also couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter, then feeling guilty because she wouldn’t mind doing it again. But not with Ron, the bloke she’d fancied for ages. No, her body craved another encounter with Snape specifically.

Between having a forbidden fantasy come true, and the brief surcease from all her constant thoughts and worries that had accompanied it, she couldn’t help but wish for another opportunity to lose herself in the moment. Was it truly so wrong to long for a temporary respite?

Probably.

At least it would be to anyone who ever discovered what she’d willingly done.

“Besides, the Order are worried about protecting his family,” he said dismissively, tearing her from her inappropriate musings. “Something as straightforward as Apparation would never occur to them.”

“And you aren’t worried?” she asked, detecting more than he probably meant to reveal. Some slight or grudge. He said the word family with the same loathing he used to use when addressing Sirius or Lupin.

“Petunia deserves whatever she gets,” he sneered, confirming her suspicions.

Stunned, she blurted, “You know Harry’s aunt?”

Snape froze, his entire body stiffening as he realised the mistake he’d made. Hermione imagined it wasn’t something that he allowed to happen often. It couldn’t, or he’d long be dead given his position as a spy.

“Would you rather discuss a means to move Potter discretely and safely, or my past?”

Somehow, she figured saying both wouldn’t be an acceptable answer.

“What do you suggest?”

“Move Potter now. Before Death Eaters have a chance to intercept you,” he recommended. Had it been like this before? Would Snape advise Dumbledore, then the headmaster would have to weigh the pros and cons of acting on the gathered intelligence?

Hermione felt anything but qualified to make a determination. There was too much she didn’t know. She hadn’t the necessary experience.

“Will Vol–”

“Do not say his name around me!” Snape hissed, clutching his arm tightly.

The Dark Mark. The room had been so dark when they’d been together that she’d not noticed the brand on his arm. Had she touched it? The way he was reacting now, she half expected it to transmit anything said directly to Voldemort.

“Sorry!” she said shrilly, horrified by the possibilities racing through her mind. There must be a reason the Death Eaters all seemed to react similarly when Voldemort was mentioned. Rationally, she knew the tattoo wasn’t sentient. But she still didn’t like the reminder that Snape was linked to the bigoted monster. “Will You-Know-Who suspect that you shared this information or warned the Order?”

She wouldn’t repay Snape for his help by endangering him.

“Who would I have been in contact with after my recent actions?” he asked flatly, expression unreadable.

It was a fair enough assessment. As far as she could tell, no one doubted his guilt. Aside from her.

“Besides, even he can’t fault me for not predicting the impulsive actions of a reckless teenager,” he remarked dryly.

“Guess Harry’s habit of acting impetuously finally comes in handy,” Hermione replied, shaking her head. Harry could never find out about this. If he did, he’d use it to justify future spur of the moment, half-arsed plans.

“There is a first time for everything,” he said mockingly, lips curling slightly in disdain. “The Dark Lord is convinced that nothing will happen for another two weeks because the Order will be determined to take advantage of the protections around Potter for as long as they possibly can.”

“There is a reason why he believes that,” Hermione pointed out. The Dursleys’ was the only place that truly guaranteed Harry’s safety at the moment.

“The Weasleys will shoulder the risk without protest,” Snape said knowingly. It was precisely what she’d been dreading hearing.

“Yes,” she agreed, knowing he was correct in his summation.

“No one is watching the house yet.”

“So being in the open to leave won’t be an issue,” Hermione murmured, recalling what Snape had said about how she could avoid activating the Trace. Being in the open had probably been the biggest deterrent for the Order. But then they hadn’t had someone on the inside capable of letting them know when it was safe to try.

“Precisely.”

Was she truly considering this? Well, obviously she was. Hermione cast her eyes about the room, searching for even a hint that this was the right move.

Dumbledore was back. He stared at her from the frame he’d been in before when she and Snape had struck this unusual partnership. Surely he would have spoken up by now if he disagreed with the plan. After all, there was a reason that Snape alone seemed to know all of the man’s secrets – even more of them than Harry ever learned, possibly.

“I need to borrow an owl. Harry won’t leave unless he knows the others are safe,” Hermione announced, putting her faith in Snape once again. He’d not let her down yet.

Hopefully Lupin would come through for her quickly. If not, she’d just have to risk moving Harry without his help. Or stay with Harry until she convinced the werewolf.

Snape nodded at Dumbledore’s portrait, the first indication she’d had that he was speaking to the wizard again. Though perhaps speaking was an overstatement. Communicating begrudgingly fit far better. Once he’d stepped from the frame, Snape muttered under his breath. Hermione heard words like “knock” and “force”, but nothing more to make sense of it.

“What will you tell the others?” he asked suddenly.

That was a very good question, and one she should probably have an answer to before she met up with Lupin.

Snape didn’t rush her, and after a minute or two, she answered, saying, “A version of the argument you made. It’s logical. Practical. They won’t be suspicious if I present it as taking advantage of the element of surprise with minimal risks to others.”

“You should have been in Slytherin,” he said with a touch of incredulity.

The remark was probably intended as a compliment, but she was still about to say never when she glanced around at what was essentially their territory. The door to his rooms were they’d gone before was concealed, but thinking about it suddenly made her wonder.

“Have you been staying at the castle?”

“Where else would I be?” he asked drolly, rolling his eyes.

The words ‘a house’ were on the tip of her tongue, but she restrained herself. He’d been a professor for so long and spent most of the year at the castle that it actually didn’t make much sense for him to have a different place.

“Does any of the other staff know you’re here?” she asked wearily.

“Of course not. They’d curse me on sight,” he retorted tersely, turning slightly until his ebony hair fell forward to partially shield his face like blackout curtains.

It was such a lonely existence. No wonder he was actually willing to converse with her now. He literally had no one else. At least none who knew the truth.

Hermione studied him. Everything from his posture to his tone was defensive and closed off. It couldn’t be more apparent if he’d worn a neon sign flashing a warning to let the matter drop or he’d turn on her, going for blood like some feral beast.

“How are you getting about undetected?” she asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from his destroyed friendships.

“I’ve lived here most of my life. Do you honestly expect me not to have learned a few of the castle’s secrets in that time?”

So much for changing the topic. His question left her feeling ignorant and a bit foolish. Though perhaps it was merely lingering bitterness on his part making him lash out.

“Is that how you were always able to catch the Weasley twins?”

“They’ve always lacked subtlety,” he said dryly.

“‘I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.’” Hermione quoted, pointing out, “Not exactly subtle.”

“You remember that?” he asked, appearing almost touched that she’d remembered. Though it could have also been the shock of discovering that a student had actually been paying attention in a lesson.

“It was my first introduction to all the…joys of brewing potions.”

Snape cleared his throat, seeming suddenly distinctly uncomfortable. He gestured at the box she still clutched, the one he’d been assembling for her when she’d arrived. “Most of what you’d need to do any of that is in that box.”

“Twice now you’ve shared information to help me, and now this too,” Hermione said quietly, baffled by his contrary actions. Trying to puzzle him out was utterly perplexing.

“That is my job. Don’t over think my actions or assign some altruistic motive to them,” Snape said, a new harshness sharpening his tone.

Hermione ignored it, finding it easier to do now that she’d seen him naked and sucked his cock. A bit of practice helped with it too, since she’d now had three real conversations with the man. So she ploughed ahead, asking, “And if I come to you for help again?”

“You’d be a fool to risk getting caught,” he stated bluntly, “Minerva might have chased the Carrows away before, but they’ll be back. ”

It was clearly a warning, but she noticed he hadn’t actually refused.

“Why were they here at all?” It was something she’d wondered about over the last few days, but she’d been too caught up in everything else to ask at the time.

“The Dark Lord wishes to install as many Death Eaters in the castle as possible – a shift towards teaching the appropriate curriculum and pureblood values,” Snape informed her darkly, his hands balling into fists as he foretold the future of Hogwarts.

“You’re serious,” Hermione gasped, incredulous.

“What did you think was going to happen?” he asked, giving her a pitying look. “He wishes to take over the wizarding world. For now, the Board of Governors have appointed Minerva as Interim Head, but when the Ministry falls – and it will, soon – her position won’t last, and she’ll be forced to go along with the changes if she wishes to stick around and try to protect her lions.”

It was a bleak prospect. Certainly not the Hogwarts Hermione was familiar with. But that was what happened during a war. The familiar often became unrecognisable.

“Then you’ll probably be back here next year,” she realised, unaccountably worried for his well being. His would not be the more dangerous task, but he would be facing ostracism and loathing even more blatant than what the Gryffindors typically displayed.

“More than likely, yes,” he agreed.

An owl soared into the classroom, flapping its wings twice before it landed on the table nearest her. At Snape’s expectant look, she realised she probably should have used the time they’d spent waiting to write her note instead of conversing with the recalcitrant wizard. But who knew when she’d see him again, and she’d actually enjoyed having him not treat her like a leper. High expectations – that’s what that was right there.

But honestly, he’d been far less resentful or awkward than she would have anticipated given all that had transpired between them. Of course, that only served to fuel her absurd fascination with the man.

Sighing, Hermione Summoned a quill, ink, and a parchment then jotted a quick note to Lupin, figuring he’d get the least upset with her and be the one most invested in helping Harry. She didn’t say much, just informed him she was moving Harry immediately, and that he should probably come by if he wished to take steps to protect the Dursleys. Brevity was key, and stating rather than asking would hopefully spur him into action quicker.

“I don’t even know where Harry lives,” Hermione said suddenly, pausing as she tied the letter to the owl’s proffered leg.

“4, Privet Drive, Surrey,” Snape answered automatically.

He’d known all along and not turned Harry over to Voldemort. That should have been all the proof anyone in the Order required to maintain faith in Snape. Yet somehow, with Dumbledore’s death, they’d all lost sight of it.

“I should get going,” she said, unsure of the proper way to leave things.

“Do not get the potion on you. It will kill you in moments,” he stressed, nodding at the box she still cradled. Hermione shifted, wanting to say a dozen different things. But then Snape spoke again, sounding more than a bit irritated, “You have somewhere to be now, yes?”

“Right,” she agreed, internally cringing at herself as she fled the room, willing herself not to break out into an actual run or look back.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I don’t have a beta, so please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

Sorry, no Snape for a couple chapters. Don’t worry, he’ll make an appearance again before too long.

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 7: Reunion

An overly rotund man opened the door when Hermione knocked. He stared at her suspiciously, squinting and frowning as he took in her appearance and tried to place where he knew her from. Did he truly not recognize her?

Hermione might not have ever spoken to him directly before, but she’d seen him at King’s cross station at least three times over the years, and she knew Harry had pictures of her. Mr. Dursley’s complete disregard for Harry appalled Hermione. He was such an unpleasant, abusive lout.

Snape’s statement about Mrs. Dursley getting what she deserved trickled through her mind, and Hermione felt the urge to take Harry and leave his family to whatever consequences befell them. They certainly deserved it, given their treatment of Harry all his life. Except she knew Harry would never allow it. And Voldemort would use them to get to her friend.

“I’m here for Harry,” she announced, unease making her swallow back a bit of bile that was suddenly in her throat.

How could she even consider knowingly endangering others? It didn’t matter that she’d never actually act on the desire. The thoughts shouldn’t have even occurred to her.

Perhaps Snape had been right about the Dark Arts blemishing her soul, even if she’d only been adjacent to their use.

“No! Your kind are not welcome here,” Mr. Dursley hissed, swinging the door shut.

Her hand shot out to prevent the door from fully closing just as Harry cried, “Hermione!”

“Hi, Harry,” she answered, smiling slightly as she rudely pushed past Mr. Dursley’s spluttering bulk to enter the house. Had he truly tried to physically prevent her from seeing Harry? The man was unbelievable! He was doing nothing to diminish her desire to punish him for his past actions.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked incredulously, his jaw agape as he took her in. Emerald eyes blinked owlishly from behind his round frames.

He was a welcome sight after all the upheaval she’d recently endured, even if she did suspect he’d not brushed his hair all summer. Bits were matted and clumped and sticking up all over the place even more than usual. Regardless, he was Harry. Her best mate. Her first real friend. Her only remaining family.

“We’re leaving. Now. Hurry and pack while I help your aunt and uncle. Remus should be here soon to collect them,” Hermione announced without preamble. They’d have time for reunions later. Right now, they needed to get everything ready before Remus arrived and tried to stop her.

She’d meant to ease into the idea of them dropping everything and going, but Mr. Dursley’s wretched behaviour had dulled that desire. If he was going to be such a prick, he could simply deal with what was happening.

“You’re serious?” Harry asked, stunned. “We’re leaving now?”

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed, trying not to laugh at his incredulous expression. It wasn’t often she managed to surprise Harry.

“Why? Did the Order change the plan or was the letter a ruse in case it fell into the wrong hands?” Harry asked, though she had no idea what letter he was referring to.

“Would you rather stay here a bit longer or leave while it’s safer?” she countered, pursing her lips. At no point had she expected him to put up any sort of protest about going.

“You’re here to take him? Good riddance, boy. I know this was the last time we ever had to put you up,” Mr. Dursley blustered pompously. “Ungrateful wretch.”

Harry’s surprise slowly faded, and a crease furrowed his brow, though it wasn’t a result of his uncle’s insult.

“How do I know you’re really you?” he asked sceptically. Mad-Eye would be proud.

“I sent about a dozen canaries after Ron’s head when he kissed Lavender,” Hermione said, relaying the first thought that came to her mind that Harry had been present for.

The memory smarted less, but possibly because she didn’t feel she could be with Ron after all that had happened. Between the guilt of her parents, and having sex with Snape, not to mention the unkind thoughts of Ron she’d had several times recently, everything had changed. They’d missed their window.

There was also the fact that anytime she imagined being with Ron sexually in the last week, and she’d been thinking about it a great deal now that she had a real experience to draw from, he’d slowly morph into Snape and she’d feel even more flustered and aroused. It was impossible not to dwell on the memories of shagging Snape, given how intense it had turned out to be, even if he’d only made it so for the sake of the potion. She wasn’t sure she’d be content settling for less in the future, which was extremely unfair to Ron, since she was assuming he’d be incapable of performing as well.

It didn’t even matter that Ron had made it abundantly clear he wasn’t interested – now she didn’t even want to wait for him to change his mind.

“This is really happening? I get to leave so soon?” Harry gasped, pulling her out of her musings. “But –”

“Hurry up, Harry. For this to work, we have to be quick about it,” Hermione instructed him crisply, retrieving her wand.

“Put that thing away, girl! We won’t have any of that funny business in this house,” Mr. Dursley ordered, waving his hands frantically. He looked like a beached whale.

“You have an hour to pack anything you are especially attached to or fond of. After that, you’re going into hiding until the war is over so that Voldemort can’t use you to get to Harry,” Hermione said succinctly. Now was not the time to mince words.

“The hell we are!” Mr. Dursley roared, face turning a mottled purple that didn’t appear particularly healthy.

“You can either pack willingly, or I will Stun you, throw whatever is closest at hand in a bag, and you can wake up later after it’s too late to do it yourselves,” Hermione replied sharply, doing her best interpretation of the menacing manner Snape used when addressing his misbehaving students.

Harry looked properly shocked, but the man visibly swelled with anger, puffing out his chest and trying to look intimidating.

“I won’t give you a second chance, and I won’t repeat myself,” Hermione stated flatly, utterly unyielding. Too much was at stake here.

Harry looked between her and his uncle, but Hermione simply nodded, making it clear she had the situation in hand. “Go on, Harry. We need to move you before they catch wind of it happening.”

To his credit, Harry didn’t argue further, just turned and raced back up the stairs. Probably, he was too used to trusting her judgement. Either that, or he was desperate to leave this house and never look back. Glancing around, Hermione couldn’t say she blamed him. Not with the Dursleys as his only family and support through everything else.

“Vernon, perhaps we ought to listen,” Mrs. Dursley said from the doorway to the kitchen. Hermione hadn’t even noticed her standing there watching the interaction play out.

Seeing the woman reminded Hermione that Snape knew her. With a quick glance at the stairs where Harry had disappeared, Hermione dared to ask, “Ma’am, how did you know Severus Snape?”

“That awful boy!” Mrs. Dursley turned her nose up, sniffing haughtily. “I warned Lily she shouldn’t be friends with someone from that neighbourhood. Disgusting trash, and no wonder – they both turned out to be your kind, didn’t they? Freaks.”

Petunia shuddered as though even thinking about magic was contaminating her.

Friends? Snape had been friends with Lily, and from the sounds of it, the friendship had begun long before they started Hogwarts. No wonder he was trying to protect Harry. It was sweet, and indicated the presence of a softer side than she ever would have guessed at him possessing.

But hadn’t Harry once mentioned that Snape had called Lily a Mudblood? That didn’t track with the rest. She’d have to ask Harry more about it later.

“If you’ve such a problem with wizarding folk, I suggest you pack quickly – before the house is overrun by the sort that killed your sister,” Hermione warned seriously. Mrs. Dursley’s face drained of what little colour it possessed, but she went at once to grab a picture from the mantle then headed upstairs, snagging her husband’s arm and dragging him along with her.

Hermione debated going to help Harry, but Remus arrived before she was able, sweeping in unannounced.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded hoarsely, running a hand through his greying hair. He appeared far more flustered than she’d ever seen him. When he’d been her professor, nothing had ever rattled him, but he was clearly shaken now. “We had a plan.”

“It was going to involve a guard, wasn’t it?”

The truth was easy to read on his face. As was his shock.

“It’s too predictable,” Hermione claimed practically, shaking her head at him. “If I could figure it out, what makes you think Voldemort wouldn’t have as well?”

“You should have discussed this with us first,” Remus insisted, frowning at her.

“Would you have agreed?”

“Everyone has been on edge since Albus’s death. We all just want what’s best for Harry,” he said, carefully avoiding answering her question.

It didn’t matter. They both knew she’d have been shot down for the simple fact that she was still considered a child. They’d never take her advice seriously, believing she didn’t have enough experience.

Especially when compared with Mad-Eye, who’d come up with the idea of a Guard the last time too. His experience in the first war had made him a firm advocate of safety in numbers. He’d never consider an alternative. Nor did he put enough stock in stealth and secrecy – it was too deceitful for him. Too much their style.

“Remus, I’m sorry, but I need you to trust me here,” Hermione begged, willing him to remember her cleverness and willingness to always help Harry, no matter the consequences. He was probably in the best position to respect her talents and commitment. “This makes the most sense. They won’t be ready for it, and Harry will be safe at the Burrow before they even realise he’s gone from here.”

“We hadn’t finalised plans for Harry to stay at the Burrow yet. You’re expecting a lot from the Weasleys,” Remus said wearily, and Hermione knew she had him.

“We both know they’re prepared to take that risk,” Hermione chided, though her heart clenched. There wasn’t another family in their world deliberately putting as much on the line as the Weasleys. She dreaded to imagine what would happen to them.

“Remus!” Harry cried, bounding down the steps and throwing his lanky arms around the werewolf.

“Hello, Harry,” he greeted softly, chuckling slightly as he returned the enthusiastic embrace.

Remus caught Hermione’s eye and nodded discreetly. She wasn’t sure if it was because he was now truly on board with her impromptu plan, or if it was in reference to the Weasleys. Probably, it was a bit of both.

“I’ve actually got a bit of news to share with you, but it’ll have to wait since I believe I hear Hestia in the drive,” Remus said, releasing Harry and moving to look outside.

“We’re driving?” Harry asked uncertainly.

“No. Hestia is going to take your family and keep them protected until the end of the war,” Remus answered, opening the door for the witch with the pink-infused cheeks.

She looked particularly harried, but Hermione ignored the implicit chastisement as she said, “Dedalus Diggle is at the house finishing up. We weren’t expecting it to be needed for a few weeks still, so settling in should be interesting.”

“I’ll help load the car,” Remus offered, straightening a bit before heading upstairs to collect the Dursleys’ bags while Hestia went to open the magically enlarged trunk.

“Did Dudley hide upstairs this whole time?”

“Yeah. He’s packing…er, he said goodbye to me,” Harry said strangely, rubbing the back of his neck as though unable to believe it had really happened.

“Maybe there’s some hope for him, after all. You all set?”

“Yep. Not much to pack in the first place, but I also wasn’t here long,” Harry said wonderingly.

Hermione knew losing Dumbledore had been a real blow for Harry, and he was anxious to get started finding the remaining Horcruxes. But Hermione also knew he didn’t have the first clue where to start, and that it would be easier for them to sort things out if they were together.

“Sort of figured you’d rather be at the Burrow if we were just waiting around while making a plan,” Hermione answered, shrugging slightly.

“Ginny is there. Do you think…,” Harry trailed off, unable to conceal the wistful edge to his words.

“Harry, look…I get why you did it,” Hermione said flatly, not mincing words as she bluntly assessed the situation, continuing, “but only a fool wouldn’t see right through your reasoning. You’re crazy about her, and everyone knows it. She’s not any safer just because you eliminated the title of girlfriend.”

Harry was about to argue, she could tell, but Remus reappeared, halting the conversation.

“It’s time to go,” Remus announced.

Harry watched aunt and uncle leave without a word to him. Even Dudley just offered a confused frown. Harry didn’t wait to watch them drive off, just darted upstairs to grab his own trunk. Hermione thought he might be trying to hide his hurt feelings. She’d always known things were bad between Harry and his family, but Harry had a habit of making light of it. The reality was much worse than she’d imagined. No wonder he was a bit emotionally stunted and willing to throw himself into life-threatening situations. He didn’t understand his own worth.

He reminded her a bit of Sirius and Snape. All of them suffered from arrested development. Before his death, Hermione had disparaged Sirius because he should have been an adult looking out for Harry, but he often advised recklessness instead. It made sense when she considered that he’d been locked up when he was twenty, and hadn’t really been known for his maturity prior to that. Harry’s issues also made sense given his family. And now Snape too. He was cut off from any real friends because of his spying. Plus he was constantly surrounded by teens. That was bound to impact his personality in some way.

“Are you confident taking Harry with Side-Along-Apparation?” Remus asked as they started down the street.

“Yes,” Hermione said, willing her voice not to betray her. Snape wouldn’t have suggested this if he’d not thought her capable considering how brutally honest and critical he was all the time. It was a huge boost to her self-confidence.

“Arabella lives down this street. If we walk to her house, any magic detected will go unnoticed by the Ministry,” Lupin said tightly.

“Right then,” Harry agreed quickly, picking up the pace a bit.

Lupin’s head was on a swivel the whole way. At one point, Hermione thought she saw Snape standing by a tree, but it was probably just a mind trick since she’d been thinking of him so much lately. Or it was because the plan was working perfectly – just as Snape had suggested it would.

“I’ll see you there,” Hermione said to Lupin, taking Harry’s arm and turning on her heel.

The air around her compressed, squeezing the pair of them tighter and tighter and tighter until they were nothing. But the uncomfortable emptiness and vacuum only lasted a second.

The Burrow suddenly materialised before them. The wobbly structure appeared more patchwork and impossible defiance of gravity than ever. Several people were spaced out on the lawn erecting wards over the grounds and house, Bill, Fleur, twins, and Mr. Weasley among them. Lupin moved to join in, but Mrs. Weasley intercepted him, a garden gnome chasing after her and weaving between her legs as she moved.

“Oh, Remus, you got here all right. I let the others know as soon as you sent word. Thank you for doing this. I’m sure you’d rather still be enjoying your honeymoon,” Mrs. Weasley gushed warmly.

Immediately, Hermione wished she’d contacted the Weasleys directly, rather than disturb Lupin. The same could have been accomplished, but she rather preferred interacting with her former professor than the Weasley matriarch.

The news of Lupin’s marriage though, was…unexpected. He and Tonks hadn’t even started dating until after Dumbledore’s death a few weeks ago. It seemed rather rushed. An act driven by fear of the war they were all risking their lives for. Wars did have a habit of making people behave rashly. And what worked in the heat of the moment, when tensions were high and the future uncertain, didn’t necessarily have a high success rate when things calmed. But what did she know?

“It’s all right, Molly. Dora understands,” Remus said, distinctly uncomfortable. Hermione figured it was because she’d just unintentionally spoiled his news.

“You got married? Congratulations!” Harry exclaimed, throwing an arm around the man.

“Yeah, well done,” Ron added briskly, not sounding entirely sincere, more by rote as he clapped Harry on the shoulder to get his attention. Probably he was distracted looking for a proper greeting from his best mate.

Hermione watched Harry scanning the area, hardly noticing Ron at all. It was obvious he was looking for Ginny, the girl having been on his mind since Hermione had told him where they were going. The second he saw her, his expression changed, a look of undisguised longing taking root. Enough so that even Ron was able to interpret it. Immediately, he began hissing quietly at Harry.

Hermione listened with half an ear as Lupin filled Mrs. Weasley in on the unadventurous journey. He was nearly finished when a silvery penguin zipped forward, its arms out and flapping as though it were swimming.

Hestia’s voice emerged from it when it stopped before Lupin, saying, “We’ve arrived safely. Will contact you if anything changes.”

“Well, that’s all settled then,” Mrs. Weasley announced, clapping her hands together once.

“We should consider setting something up for your family as well, Hermione. It’s irresponsible of us not to have thought of it sooner, given they’re Muggles,” Lupin said, blinking and frowning at Hermione as though surprised by his own oversight.

“My parents are gone,” she said flatly.

Lupin’s face morphed, comprehension and sympathy transforming his expression at once. Hermione bit back the painful sting of moisture pressing against the eyes until they felt ready to pop. She didn’t say a word though. Let Lupin attribute this as the true motivation behind her rash actions. Better this than he suspect Snape’s involvement.

The tears nearly escaped her careful hold when she noticed Harry and Mrs. Weasley both watching her like she was delicate china that’d been dropped and they were just waiting for her to shatter when it impacted with the ground. Fortunately, Ron seemed oblivious, still trying to convey something privately to Harry and not listening to the others’ conversation.

Mrs. Weasley cluck over her. She withdrew from the sympathy, understanding she had no right to it when she was the cause of their departure and forgetting of her.

“Is it all right if I get settled in?” Hermione asked quickly, desperate to get away before she broke down in front of everyone.

“Of course, dear! I already set up an extra cot in Ginny’s room,” Mrs. Weasley responded, watching her piteously. Her exclaim had Ron finally pausing his whispered conversation in Harry’s ear long enough to acknowledge her.

“Er, Hermione, I’m glad you’re here,” he tried awkwardly.

A month ago, she’d have been over the moon by the evidence he noticed her and wanted her around. Now, this seemed a pale comparison to Harry’s earlier greeting. Her guilt over sleeping with Snape rather than waiting from Ron eased the smallest fraction. She’d never mean as much to him as he once had to her. His countless actions over the years supported that conclusion, she’d just been naively hopeful and blind before.

“Thanks, Ron,” she said flatly, not having the energy to even be upset over any of it.

“Maybe we can have a bit of a chat after I catch up with Harry?” he offered, frowning at her as though just realising something was amiss.

“Sorry, it’s been a day, and I really think I need a rest,” Hermione apologised, forcing a tense smile.

“Oh, right. Yeah.” He sounded stilted and taken aback. Jerkily, he turned away, returning his focus to Harry, though his stance had turned rigid and tense.

Hermione felt even worse that her dismissal might have hurt him, but honestly. It was like he said, he’d rather spend time with Harry first anyways.

She’d barely settled in when a quiet knock sounded at the door.

“Harry?” she asked, a bit confused to see him again so soon. Though his first words cleared things up for her right quick.

“I’m sorry…about your parents,” he said sadly, concern radiating from his emerald gaze. The gems seemed to glisten wetly as they took her in.

“They’re still alive. It’s a small consultation,” Hermione rushed to reassure him, mostly because she hoped he’d drop it at that. He didn’t. Of course not. When did Harry ever just let something go? When he opened his mouth to ask, she insisted, “I really don’t want to talk about it. Please, Harry. I can’t. Not now.”

“I get it,” he said, sitting beside her and awkwardly patting her hand. He’d never felt so much like her brother than he did right then.

The urge to spill everything swept over her, but she knew she couldn’t. Harry wouldn’t understand, and unfortunately, Hermione didn’t have any close girlfriends she could talk to either. Better she simply keep it all in…just like Snape.

“I also heard what you and Remus were talking about, and I think you may be right,” Harry said, launching into a new discussion. Privately, Hermione suspected this was really what he was there for. He didn’t do with emotional encounters very well, though he’d gotten better.

“What about?”

“I’ve got to start being more unpredictable. They’ll figure out I’m here sooner or later. I always come here. But I don’t want to be responsible for ruining Bill’s wedding or worse.”

He had a point. This was the most likely place to find him once they discovered his aunt and uncle’s house was empty. At least here there were always others about should the Death Eaters dare to attack the Burrow.

“We should at least stay until your birthday,” Hermione suggested, knowing their departure wouldn’t go over well with the Weasley matriarch. At least if she was able to plan a celebration for her adopted son, she might be a bit more mollified. “Then the Trace will break and you’ll be free to use magic.”

“Yeah. That’s a good point,” Harry said slowly, cautiously. He inhaled deeply, visibly bracing himself, then asked, “Do you think Ron will come with us? He won’t want to miss his brother’s wedding.”

Hermione had no doubt Ron would be a bit petulant and whiny, as he often was, but he would come – for Harry. Because Ron was almost always loyal to Harry, even when it meant he had to be in Harry’s enormous shadow as Ron was with each and every one of his brothers. That willingness was part of what made Hermione fancy Ron in the first place. Now she knew it was why they were friends – despite having nothing beyond Harry in common.

“Haven’t we already proven we’d follow you anywhere – damn the consequences?”

“Hermione!” Harry gasped, shocked by her language.

She’d always viewed cursing as the height of crassness. But when Snape had pointed it out when she did in the heat of the moment, it felt more like a way to really emphasise a point. This conversation seemed to call for something similarly dramatic.

“Oh, hush. It wasn’t that big a deal,” she huffed, rolling her eyes.

“If you say so,” he muttered, studying her like she was something foreign for a moment before shaking his head. Then he sighed long and low. “A few weeks. That’s probably for the best…gives us time to sort out where we’re headed.”

“I’ve a thought about that,” she ventured, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Of course you do,” he replied, grinning widely.

“Grimmauld Place.”

“No way,” Harry denied, vehemently shaking his head.

“Hear me out, Harry,” she insisted, begging, “please! We don’t know where to start –”

“Yes we do – R.A.B.”

“Aside from some initials that we don’t have the first idea of who they belong to,” she retorted meaningfully. “I need access to a library. I’m no use to you without a means of researching whatever ideas you come up with.”

“Sirius hated that house,” he complained.

“I know,” she answered softly, reaching out to him.

“Snape can get in,” he added stubbornly, refusing to give in just yet. The reminder of Snape caught her off guard, and it took her a second to reorganise her thoughts.

“Don’t you think he would have tried something already if he were going to? The school kept records of where we lived. He’s been to the Burrow before too. As far as I could tell from the Prophet, no one has seen him since he fled Hogwarts,” she argued, trying to keep it rational and appeal to whatever logic Harry possessed rather than his ingrained hatred for their former professor.

“I suppose,” Harry reluctantly allowed.

“Then we’re agreed?”

“You’re probably right about it being the best place to go. Even if we find the locket, I’ve no idea what to do with it. Hopefully Mrs. Weasley didn’t get rid of books that we’ll need to figure out Horcruxes when she purged the House of all the Dark Objects.”

Hermione was already compiling a list of topics she wished to research when they arrived, but his mention of the locket and books seemed like the perfect opportunity to mention having a way to destroy the Horcruxes without drawing too much suspicion.

“Actually, Harry…about that,” she said tentatively, forcing her hands to stop fidgeting. They were flexing and jumping nervously as she prepared herself to skirt the truth with Harry. The words came out in a rush, almost stringing together as she had a habit of doing when especially anxious. “Before we left Hogwarts…I may have, sort of, borrowed a few books from Dumbledore’s office about Horcruxes. They mentioned a poison that could destroy them, so I brewed for us to use when I got home.”

“You did?” Harry gasped, slack jawed as he processed what she’d just admitted. “Hermione…did you steal the books?”

“No!” she exclaimed shrilly, crossing her arms over the accusation. Honestly, she was just grateful that’s what he’d decided to focus on and the conclusion he’d arrived at. It was better than the truth, so she went with it, huffing indignantly as she quickly said, “Oh, very well, yes, I did.”

“Have I ever told you how much I like this side of you?” Harry said, grinning conspiratorially as he shook his head, a hand raking through his messy hair. “You don’t show it often, but when you…watch out.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Hermione said primly.

“Thank Merlin you’re on my side,” Harry said wonderingly.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I don’t have a beta, so please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

Any dialogue you recognize is from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 8: Black

Aside from the rather unwelcoming booby trap that Mad-Eye had left for them in the form of a dusty spectre of Dumbledore, it was fairly easy to settle in at Grimmauld Place. The ancient Black house would never be what Hermione considered a home, but at least it was a roof. And it contained an impressive library with a vast collection of Dark Arts books. Some of which might come in handy as they hunted down the remaining Horcruxes, which, of course, was the whole point in coming here.

She barely spared a moment to drop her bags off in the room she used to share with Ginny before she sought out the shelves on genealogy. There were a number of books on the subject, and she could hardly contain her relief at locating them so easily.

“Want some help?” Harry offered, taking a few of the heavier books she’d already pulled from her arms.

“Mark any wizarding family that has a surname beginning with a B. It’s likely to be an old family if they have ties to the Death Eaters.”

“What makes you so sure the person does?”

“Well, he or she knew about the Horcruxes, didn’t they? Who else would have access to that information except someone in his inner circle?”

“Fair point.”

“We can start cross checking the initials R.A.B. against those of the witches and wizards living at the correct time once we have a list,” she concluded, outlining her plan as she scanned more of the titles on a lower shelf.

There was a calmness that came with researching. A sense of order and control that she desperately needed, especially when everything else was so beyond her. At least with this, she was in charge. She was confident and knew what steps to take for the desired outcome.

“You were successful then? I’d wondered,” a rather snide, disembodied voice said coolly. Hermione froze, recognizing the speaker and dreading what else he might see fit to reveal.

Harry looked at the portrait, then Hermione, frowning when he realised Professor Black was speaking to her, not him.

“I told you I stole Professor Dumbledore’s books,” she said uneasily, saying the only excuse she could think of for why the former headmaster might be wondering about her at all. “He must have seen me.” A ridge formed on Harry’s brow, and she cursed herself for not being a better liar. Harry always saw right through her. Eager to change the subject, Hermione shot the painting a warning glare before she asked, “Is Ron going to help look too?”

She knew he had no intention of holding up in the library with them. He positively loathed reading and researching any topic, let alone one as boring as history. There was a reason he constantly tried to get Hermione’s help to finish his homework in school. Besides, he’d already said he planned to pen a note to his mum apologising for leaving since they’d gone without saying goodbye to anybody beyond Ginny. Harry’s goodbye had been particularly enthusiastic, and involved far too much tongue for Hermione to have been comfortable witnessing the encounter. Ron was still a bit disgruntled by the sight as well and had needed the distance so he didn’t hit his best mate.

It’d only taken a day of Harry staying at the Burrow before he’d asked Hermione to give him and Ginny a bit of privacy in the girls’ shared room. She had no clue what all had been said, but it was clear afterwards that the two were back together again, and neither had any intention of that changing ever again. They’d been nearly inseparable in the days leading up to the trio’s departure.

“Probably not. I can check the kitchen though if you want me to get him to help. I think he mentioned checking out our food situation,” Harry replied apologetically, though Hermione wasn’t the least bit surprised. Merlin knew Ron thought more with his stomach than anything else.

He’d certainly taken to trying to ply her with food the last few weeks for some reason or another. Hermione couldn’t figure it out, but Ron kept showing up with some sweet or another when she’d been staying at the Burrow. At least twice a day he’d offered her one.

Ginny had suggested he was trying to make her curvier so she looked more like Lavender since that’s what he was into. Needless to say, Hermione hadn’t appreciated it, and the result was they’d been snippier and bickering even more than usual, much to the whole house’s annoyance.

“There it is!” she exclaimed, spotting the book she’d hoped would be there. The Sacred Twenty-eight. A volume dedicated entirely to the pureblood wizarding families of Great Britain. Who better to support the bigoted monster than the most elite and renowned families capable of tracing their lineage back far enough to boast of no Muggle blood ever “polluting” their family trees?

“I thought you were supposed to be bright, girl. Perhaps he was right about you after all,” Black taunted, clicking his tongue obnoxiously.

“Professor Black –”

Her hand was still on the spine, in the process of pulling the book – the book she’d anticipated because the Blacks were one of the families described in it.

Black.

Hermione turned sharply to stare open-mouthed at the portrait.

“The answer was staring you in the face all along,” he mocked, one side of his lips curving smugly.

“What’s he talking about?” Harry asked.

“Black. It was a Black,” she clarified, too stunned by the revelation to say more.

“Regulus, to be precise,” Black announced, inclining his head in a nod of respect for his descendant.

“Then the locket could still be here!” Harry gasped, racing out of the room, presumably to begin a search. One day she was going to help him break his habit of running off before collecting all of the available, and essential, information. Though apparently that day wasn’t today.

“How did you know it was Regulus?”

“You mentioned R.A.B. Not many of those around, and given my occupation and current location, I’m familiar with every pupil that has attended Hogwarts since my tenure as Transfiguration Professor over a century ago…more than enough time to know the wizard of interest you are investigating.”

Of course.

She’d never have thought to ask the portraits. Though she should have. It was how she’d come up with the answer on how to destroy the Horcruxes, wasn’t it? And hadn’t Harry often mentioned Dumbledore conversing with them? Only an arrogant fool didn’t make use of all of the resources at their disposal.

“Was Regulus capable of destroying it himself?”

“Considering what you had to do to create the necessary potion, what do you think?” Black sneered, looking down on her once more.

Hermione ignored the implicit insult to inquire further, asking, “Do you have any idea where he might have hidden it? We’ll have to find it.”

“If I did, girl, don’t you think I would have informed the pertinent individual?”

“Dumbledore didn’t know the locket in the cave was a fake until after his death,” Hermione pointed out sharply, temper only barely in check. She hated when people assumed she was too young or inexperienced to know the best course of action.

“I was referring to you when you visited the head office, or Severus. I know you saw him again to collect the poison,” he said, sighing grandly and rolling his eyes. Her? Oh. Well that actually made sense, especially if he knew she’d been at the school.

To see Snape. Who was also at the school….

“How is he?”

“Why are you asking?” he returned, a knowing smirk flirting across his face in the most annoying way possible.

“Never mind,” Hermione huffed, turning to look for books on the Hogwarts founders. Mostly just to stay busy and avoid Black’s probing stare.

“Made quite an impression, did he?”

“That is none of your business,” she answered primly, bristling at the insinuation dripping from his words. It left her feeling flushed and jittery like she’d been just before the Yule ball.

“It’s always the proper ones that can’t resist a bit of darkness, and he has it in spades,” Black stated, laughing outright.

“Don’t say that,” she snapped, glaring at him. Snape wasn’t dark…apart from literally. Circumstances had forced him into a difficult position, and he was doing everything he could to aid them from the inside.

“Well, well,” he murmured, smile growing. It held an ominous edge to it – one that didn’t bode well for her.

“If you’ve nothing more productive to contribute,” she said, attempting to dismiss him.

“He’s going to be named Headmaster for next year. The announcement should come any day now,” he informed her.

After her last conversation with Snape, the news was almost expected. She idly wondered how he’d cope with it.

Frowning, because he clearly thought she’d react in some way, though she wasn’t sure how, she simply said, “All right….”

“Hmph,” the professor grunted, scowling at her openly. “Hmph,” he grunted again, then stalked from the frame.

Hermione wasn’t sure why he’d deigned to update her on Snape when he’d initially avoided her question, but she had a feeling he’d only gone far enough into the canvas to remain out of sight, but had every intention of eavesdropping on her and her friends while they remained at Grimmauld Place.

~

For the next few days, the boys occupied themselves with tearing the place apart while she read. Initially, she’d tried to help out, but Harry going on about Regulus for the upteenth time was more than she could handle.

Initially, Ron had tried to crack a joke each time Harry did, probably in an effort to make Hermione laugh, but she just couldn’t find much funny when it was quickly becoming clear that the locket wasn’t in the house. After the fourth day, he gave up altogether, and began brooding instead. Though that could have been because he’d realised Bill’s wedding had just started and he wasn’t there for it. She’d heard him mutter something about Percy under his breath.

Part of her wanted to return the favour and try to cheer him up, but she knew it would be pointless. Years of experience had taught her that when he was in this sort of mood, it was better to just leave him, lest he lash out at her. Somehow she always ended up being the target for his anger.

“Why don’t you just order Kreacher to tell us what Regulus did with the blasted thing? It’s not like he’s doing anything else around here,” Ron grumbled when they took a break for lunch.

They’d been living off sandwiches since none of them trusted the gruel Kreacher had prepared for them the first day. There’d been maggots wiggling through the pasta. Not the best or most appetising meal of her life. Since then, they’d stuck to untampered, prepacked food that Kreacher somehow supplied the icebox with. A much safer and edible option.

“Ron!” Hermione chided, frustrated with his lack of respect for the aged house-elf who’d been shut up alone for over a decade. The neglect and suffering he’d endured was horrible to think about. And now that she’d recovered from the initial food debacle, she was back to pitying the elf.

“Oh, come off it, Hermione. He’s bloody useless. At least this would force him to be helpful,” Ron argued, letting his frustration over missing the wedding influence his temper. Reason and experience explained his foul mood, but she didn’t care. She was sick of him pulling this whenever his pants were in a twist over something or another.

“Don’t talk about him like that,” she snapped, frustrated that he even needed to be reminded to treat anyone humanely.

“Why not? You can’t like the way he talks about you,” Ron countered, crossing his arms and facing off with her. From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry inching towards the door, trying to escape before one of them pulled him into their fight and he was forced to pick sides.

Hermione already knew whose side he’d pick. It was always Ron’s. Though that could have simply been because Ron would turn his temper on Harry if he didn’t.

“Well, no, of course I don’t. But that doesn’t make it all right for you to do the same. Besides, it’s not his fault,” Hermione said stiffly, focusing on taking steady breaths so she didn’t start shouting.

“Here we go,” Ron yelled, throwing his arms up and rolling his eyes.

Proper infuriated by him, Hermione hissed, “Yes, ‘Here we go.’ The way you treat others matters, Ronald. I –”

“Don’t you think I know that! What do you think I’ve been trying to do all summer, Hermione?”

“What?” she asked, feeling like she’d just been knocked abruptly on the head. The statement caught her completely off guard.

“I’ve been trying to look after you and show you how much I’ve changed for weeks now,” Ron declared, looking wounded that she’d even needed to ask.

“Er, I’m just going to…,” Harry said awkwardly, darting around the corner and out of sight with the speed of a Seeker spotting the Snitch.

“That’s what all the food was about?” Hermione asked quietly, putting the clues together.

He’d always offer it to her then pat her roughly on the back. A few times he’d even hemmed and hawed as though trying to bring up an uncomfortable topic, but in the end he’d always chickened out. It had annoyed her and made her feel like a prickly leper. Though that could have just been her projecting her own guilt onto him and trying to assign him a share of the blame for her recent actions. Unfair, certainly…but when have emotions ever helped a person behave rationally?

“Yes! I was trying to be there for you after you lost your parents,” Ron cried impatiently, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Not everyone copes with food,” Hermione said, forcing a touch of gentleness to her voice as she imparted some much needed wisdom.

“I didn’t know what else to try,” he admitted frankly.

And that was part of the problem. A factor in their missing their chance, though only one aspect of a much larger problem. Ron didn’t know her better, even after seven years of friendship. He never really saw her properly. The truth saddened her, but this conversation also made it clear that they needed to get everything out into the open if they were going to be able to work together to hunt down the Horcruxes. The current tension couldn’t continue or they’d end up tearing each other apart.

Well, not everything.

“Look, Ron, I think –”

A bright light interrupted her, and a weasel Patronus scampered into the room, turning in a circle twice before stretching out its neck to face them.

“Harry! Get in here, mate!” Ron cried before the luminous creature could begin speaking.

She could hear him running down the hall as Mr. Weasley’s voice flowed from the silvery animal, saying, “Wedding attacked, Mad-Eye dead, do not come, we’re being watched.”

No one spoke as the wisps of light dissipated. Hermione didn’t watch it happen, she was too caught up in staring at Ron. This was the very thing they’d dreaded happening, the reason they’d left early.

But of course no one knew they’d gone. They’d kept it all hush, hush. A mistake, clearly. And now Mad-Eye was dead, and who knew what condition the others were in.

“My family,” Ron moaned, paling noticeably. A shudder went down his frame, then he was moving, heading towards the open archway leading to the front hall.

“Ron? Where are you going?” Hermione asked, struggling to grasp onto reality.

“I have to check on them,” he muttered.

“You can’t!” Harry yelled, blocking the doorway and holding up his hands to halt Ron, except he didn’t stop. Harry was forcefully pushing Ron back as he insisted, “You heard what your dad said – don’t come.”

“I have to help them!”

“Showing up will just put you in danger too!”

“Just because neither of you have got any family –”

Harry stumbled back, reeling from the words as though they’d dealt him a physical blow.

“How dare you throw that in our faces!” Hermione gasped, feeling each word like a stab to the gut. The acid of her stomach spilled, singing her insides until she was forced to curl arm arm about her waist and hold them all in, lest the blistered, putrid mess tumbled onto the floor.

“If you don’t know that I view them as my family too…Ginny,” Harry whispered, pain etched across his face.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Ron sighed, though he was still eyeing the door with longing, willing them to relent so he could go. At least he’d stopped trying to force his way out, seeming to realise he needed to fix what he’d said first…at the very least.

It didn’t matter that she could also see the regret on Ron’s face, or that Harry was already prepared to forgive Ron for his thoughtless words. Hermione wasn’t. He’d cut too deeply this time. Reopened fresh wounds that’d barely had time to scab over, let alone fade to manageable scars.

“You set up the ghoul to cover for your absence. If you go back, they’ll think your family was trying to trick the Ministry. They’ll be in worse trouble,” Harry tried, willing Ron to be rational, though Harry rarely was in these cases himself.

“Mad-Eye is dead. If he…the others…I don’t….” They all understood, despite Ron’s inability to properly articulate his fears. Mad-Eye had been doing this longest. He was the most trained. If he could be killed, how could the others have stood a chance.

“Your dad –”

“It was not I who killed you,” came a raspy recitation on the other side of the wall. Somehow, despite their arguing, Mrs. Black’s portrait hadn’t woken. This was a different voice, however, but one they all knew well.

“Remus?” Harry called, probably wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him. Except they’d all heard it.

“Hello,” he said, following Harry’s call to locate the trio. He quickly took in the tension permeating the room. “I take it someone has already sent word then?”

“Yes. Just,” Hermione answered succinctly.

“Ginny?” Harry asked at once, unable to bear waiting a second longer for news of her.

Remus clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Mad-Eye fought them when they arrived, and we lost him, but he was the only casualty,” Remus said mournfully, pausing briefly to let the significance of the loss sink in. “They’ve since finished the interrogations. Dora’s parents were tortured, but everyone else is relatively unharmed,” the older man promised. He looked exhausted. No, that wasn’t quite right. Haunted. That was a better way to describe him.

“Why were they tortured?” Harry demanded.

“Ostensibly, for information on your whereabouts, but truly it was to punish them for allowing a werewolf to become their son-in-law,” Remus said, explaining some of the demons screaming and raging behind his pale eyes. “And because they couldn’t get their hands directly on Dora. She’s already gone into hiding.”

“They didn’t do the same to mine?” Ron asked fearfully before Hermione could ask what Remus meant about Tonks.

“Your father works at the Ministry and has for a long time. That still carries some meaning, but…I think they believe he’ll eventually lead them to you. The Ministry fell today. Scrimgeour is dead. Death Eaters officially have control of the Ministry and Hogwarts,” Remus relayed bleakly.

Ron collapsed onto the sofa, relief palpable despite the grim news.

Harry was about to ask for all the details, but seemed to sense that Hermione was still tense as ever as she watched Ron. So instead, he suggested, “Let’s grab a cup of tea, Remus. You can fill me in.”

Harry gave her a pointed look that clearly said she needed to finish hashing things out.

It was several minutes after the other two left before she could bring herself to speak, then she ventured, “I’m glad everyone is all right.”

“I’m sorry,” Ron said, standing slowly to face her. The relief he’d felt about his family dimmed as he took in her stoic expression.

“I know you are,” Hermione acknowledged, searching for the right words to say what needed to be said.

She’d had weeks now to think about it. Ever since she brewed the necessary potion. But the extent of her reasons not to be with Ron hadn’t become clear to her until after she’d spent some time with him again at the Burrow. The deck was stacked against them, always had been, and this was one huddle she didn’t want to tackle.

“I’ve made a mess of things again, haven’t I?”

“There was nothing to make a mess of,” Hermione tried, knowing it was the truth. They weren’t together. What he’d said had been in the heat of the moment. And he’d apologised.

“Hermione, you must know that I…I mean, it’s obvious that I…you know?”

Even now he couldn’t actually say the words. He wouldn’t take the risk. Not unless the outcome was certain. She didn’t mean enough to him to put his heart on the line.

It made this easier, in a way.

“No, Ron,” Hermione denied softly. He looked panicked at first, as though terrified he’d have to explain, but then he seemed to understand that she was refusing them, not an awareness of his feelings. Quickly, he flushed and began to look angry. Hoping to head him off, she asked, “Can you name one interest that we share – apart from Harry?”

“Quidditch. You had fun at the World Cup and the school matches,” Ron answered immediately, naming his primary passion – not hers.

“Because I was with my friends – not because I enjoy the sport. Nor do I particularly enjoy hearing it discussed constantly as though it was the only thing of significance in our lives,” Hermione corrected, deliberately being brutally honest so he didn’t get the wrong idea.

“Chess?” he tried, though much less certain this time. Again, his interest, not hers.

“I’ve never liked it. I know it’s absurd, and probably not all right to admit aloud, but I despise playing any game that I stand no chance of winning. I can lose gracefully, but only if I at least had the ability to be competitive. I don’t with chess, especially when I play with you. Besides, you gloat,” she said frankly, wincing at the devastation that flashed through his ocean blue eyes.

“So that’s it? You’ve decided I’m not good enough for you because I’m not a bookworm?”

“Of course not! It has nothing to do with that, and you are intelligent, Ron. But there’s a reason we always fight about everything. Do you honestly think it’d be any easier if we were dating and trying not to do anything we knew would upset the other person? Have you any idea how much work that would be – the constant pretending to be someone else?”

Hermione had already figured out she’d have to bite her tongue off to keep from saying even half the things on her mind that would set Ron off. And if he tried to stretch his emotional range any further to try and be what she wanted, he’d grow resentful and more frustrated than he already was.

“But I’ve fancied you for years,” he stated, sounding slightly lost as the words were torn from him. A tiny piece of her heart shredded along a cheese grater at the sound, forever lost and destroyed by the boy she’d loved first.

He’d finally admitted his feelings, however unconsciously. But there was no joy for either in hearing them aloud.

“I asked you out. Last year. Your answer was to kiss Lavender,” she said, finally letting him see just how much that act had hurt her. It was the reason she’d honestly started to doubt his feelings. It was a huge factor in why she’d turned to Snape when the time came. She simply couldn’t rely on Ron to be emotionally mature.

Nor could she forget the taste of Snape’s lips or the delicious way he’d filled her and taken care to make her come entirely undone. The sound of his laugh, real and unrestrained, haunted her dreams. That day and when she thought of him was the only time she stopped dwelling on her parents and all the other negative feelings this war was igniting within her.

“I only did that to prove a point! You went to the Yule Ball with Krum,” he shouted, anger turning his face a molten red that clashed with his hair.

So Lavender had been about revenge? Simply to hurt her? The thought had never even occurred to her. And honestly, it made it worse. What would he do if ever learned of her afternoon with Snape?

Not that it mattered. He’d never find out. This was about making it clear they were only friends and would never be anything more. That was what she needed to concentrate on.

“Ron,” she said quietly, willing him to understand. This conversation was just too painful for her to continue.

His eyes went wide, then he looked about the room, searching for a new approach. All too soon he looked at her again, having come up with nothing. Resignation hunched his shoulders.

The smallest fraction of her heart, the fanciful girlish portion that still lingered, willed Ron to try one more time. To fight for her. To put himself out there and take a real risk. To insist things would be different if they were truly a couple. To declare he loved her, not just fancied her. To beg her to at least give them a chance to try and know for certain.

He didn’t.

Because they both knew they would have eventually ended up having this same conversation? Possibly. Probably. Was it easier now than it would have been after getting their feelings more involved and tangled up? That she couldn’t say, but it was potentially safer. When she and Ron fought, it was usually volatile, and Harry was often burned in the crossfire. That was a casualty they couldn’t afford. Too many were relying on them.

“What now?” he finally asked.

“We focus on Harry. We won’t be able to help him if we’re constantly fighting or trying to make something work that was never meant to be more than friendship,” Hermione said, struggling to remain composed and not let him see the true extent of her sadness. It’d only confuse him.

Ron slumped back to the couch, burying his face in his hands. She could see the rough, harsh breaths he was taking as his shoulders shook. But after a minute, he looked up at her, giving a single, sharp nod.

“All right. No fighting. Helping Harry comes first,” he agreed.

“Good, because I took Ron’s advice and asked Kreacher just before Remus arrived,” Harry said sheepishly, cautiously poking his head around the doorway into the room to peek at them.

“Harry!” she gasped, unsure if she was chastising him for clearly eavesdropping or for mistreating the house-elf by giving orders he couldn’t disobey.

“Not now, Hermione. Listen, we were right – it was here,” Harry revealed, grinning feverishly.

“I knew it!” Ron called, jumping up enthusiastically, all previous hurt forgotten in the face of this latest news.

“Was?” Hermione asked, more conscious of Harry’s particular word choice.

“Dung stole it. Remember when he was nicking all of Sirius’s things? Well, that was one of them,” Harry relayed.

“So we find Mundungus and see who he sold it to,” Ron said, already gearing up for a confrontation.

“No need.”

“Harry, just spit it out already,” Hermione ordered, annoyed by his growing smile and deliberate parcelling out pieces of information.

“I asked Remus about it, and –”

“You didn’t! Harry, no one else is supposed to know what –”

“I didn’t tell him why I needed it. Give me some credit,” he countered quickly, stung she’d believe him so reckless – even if he generally was.

“Well, what’d he tell you?” Ron asked eagerly, not as concerned about leaks as she was.

“He saw it two days ago at the Ministry when he was registering Tonks’s pregnancy,”

“Tonks is pregnant?” Ron repeated, uncomprehending.

That was fast. It certainly explained their shotgun wedding. Not to mention the motivation for Tonks going into hiding while the Ministry was torturing people for information. She could lose the baby if they questioned her using those means.

Hermione’s thoughts screeched to a grinding stop as a final realisation occurred to her. “Why would he have to register the pregnancy?”

“Well, he’s a werewolf, isn’t he? The Ministry keeps track of that sort of thing since the baby has a chance of being one too,” Ron stated matter-of-factly, not the least bit bothered or fired up over the injustice.

“That’s barbaric!” she cried, and Harry, at least, nodded a swift agreement.

“I know, it’s awful, but we can’t do anything about that right now, Hermione. That’s a fight for after we win. The bigger deal is – we know who has the locket,” he said quickly, willing her to get on board. She had to stifle the indignation simmering deep in her belly. He was correct, after all. That was a fight she’d have a better chance of winning when the likes of Voldemort and his minions weren’t running the government. They all waited for Harry to make his big revelation. He seemed to be savouring the moment as he waited to be sure she was finally paying attention. “Umbridge.”

“Of course,” Hermione breathed, positive that woman would be the first Hermione took down for her prejudiced opinions and policies when all was said and done.

“We have to steal it from her,” Ron announced flatly.

“How exactly do you plan on us accomplishing that?” Hermione inquired, wishing the boys would show the least bit of restraint and proper forethought for once. Just once. That’s all she was asking.

“I’ve a few ideas,” Harry said immediately.

Hermione shared a mutual look of dread with Ron. When did Harry’s ideas ever go according to plan?

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You’re wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

Any dialogue you recognize is from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows or Binding Darkness. I took a few bits from the Ministry scene I wrote in that story since I really just wanted to finish this chapter and get started on the next. The next is where it really becomes canon divergent….

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 9: Ministry

“That worked well. Reckon we should check her office?” Harry, disguised as a burly Ministry worker, suggested. He was looking around the bustling Atrium they’d just entered as though he couldn’t quite believe they’d pulled off the first part of their plan. It was the only part they’d actually had any luck planning out in detail, but that was how it usually went with them.

And not for lack of time.

They’d waited a month to do this since Hermione had needed that long to prepare the Polyjuice Potion. Luckily, Snape had included all the ingredients in the box he’d given her, minus the hairs, which had been easy enough to get with the help of some of the twins’ gag sweets. He must have suspected that she’d require it at some point.

It really was ideal for subterfuge, and he was amply aware of her affinity to it.

Harry had been impatient about the delay, but there’d been no help for it. At least he’d had staking out the Ministry and formulating a plan to get them in to occupy his time. He and Ron had taken turns collecting all of the information they possibly could, which had included everything from surveying the Ministry itself to drawing on Ron’s knowledge from previous visits to his dad’s office and facts Mr. Weasley had mentioned over the years.

Despite those efforts, they were all more than aware that it wasn’t nearly enough, but they’d risked more for less before. So it was actually rather refreshingly normal to be doing so again now.

“Yes. The sooner we get the locket, the better,” Hermione agreed, a mental clock ticking steadily in her mind, reminding her that their time was limited – be it the potion wearing off or those they’d impersonated being discovered. Each second they stood there was another wasted and one that brought them a step closer to failing.

Except she’d never been able to handle failure. Her boggart was a testament to that.

Clicks and clacks sounded all around her as people hurried across the smooth marble floors, and the three fell in step, passing the place where the splashing fountain with its obscene misrepresentation of magical creatures and their roles in society had once stood. She’d hoped after the battle in the Department of Mysteries when Dumbledore and Voldemort had destroyed it that those in charge would see fit to replace it with something more progressive and inspiring, but the new choice was infinitely worse.

Dominating the expansive Atrium, with its domed roof and filigree accents, was a massive carved black stone. It depicted a regal witch and wizard crushing hundreds of Muggles beneath the elaborate thrones they sat on. And across the base sprawled the words MAGIC IS MIGHT.

It was horrific. So much so that Hermione froze in place, shaking her borrowed head as though she could physically dispel the sight before her. It didn’t work.

“Come on. Hopefully we can corner her alone,” Ron said gently, tugging her arm to get her walking again.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Time hadn’t stopped. It was a thief, and one that couldn’t be bargained with. She could process the absolute wrongness of the new ideology later, when they didn’t have a clock on them.

Except, before her was a scene equally as alarming. A crying man weighed down in lengths of chains was being escorted from the lifts they were heading toward. Even from a distance and in spite of the chaos and noise of people arriving for work they could hear the man insisting a mistake had been made because he was the grandson of the broomstick designer, Arkie Alderton.

Nearby, a wizard called out, “I’ve got another for you!”

They watched as he led a hysterical woman over to a group of frightened and cowering people assembled by the lifts. Four other formidable witches and wizards stood around the perimeter, obviously forming a guard. The woman being led struggled against the hold on her arm, frantically looking about the hall, searching for an escape that simply wasn’t possible.

“Said she was waiting for her husband to arrive,” the wizard added, sneering with disgust, as though he found the idea both improbable and unlikely.

“What’s that about?” Harry asked, appearing ready to intercede. Hermione longed to do the same. But they were here for a reason. Too much was riding on them to get sidetracked.

“I’m not sure,” she said, though she had a strong suspicion that it wasn’t anything good.

They’d just reached the lift when someone spoke to them, saying, “Disgusting, isn’t it?”

“Pardon?” Harry asked, forehead wrinkling in confusion. The newcomer nodded at where they’d been blatantly staring.

“That we have to watch them making a spectacle. Bad enough they stole magic from those more deserving, but to go on about it and grovel as though we’d take pity on the guilty.”

Harry’s fist clenched, and Hermione saw that he was clutching his wand, preparing to curse the man. As discreetly as possible, she caught his wrist, squeezing as hard as she could to warn him off. She wished the lifts would hurry up already. She didn’t think she could stand here much longer herself without reacting to the blatant injustice.

“Oh,” Ron said, face going slack as he seemed to finally get the full significance of what was happening.

“Too right,” someone else agreed, then seemed to catch sight of Hermione. For a second, she worried he saw through her disguise, but his words squelched the fear. At least once she’d realised he was addressing her borrowed identity. “Ah, Mafalda, excellent. I was just coming to find you. Dolores could do with a scribe down in courtroom 11.”

“Y-yes, all right,” she agreed, seeing no alternative. Besides, he’d mentioned Umbridge – the very reason they were there in the first place.

“Find a way to take a break and meet us back up here in twenty. I’ll check her office,” Harry instructed beneath his breath as the lift finally dinged, signalling its long-awaited arrival.

“For what? The locket won’t be there. We know she’s wearing it,” Ron muttered as those under guard were all slowly ushered into the lift before them.

“Reg! Reg! He’s my husband. Please, let him go down with me,” the witch they’d seen early begged, waving at Ron’s masked form.

“Ron’ll come with me. You wait here and try to act natural,” Hermione said quickly, seizing the opportunity and pushing Ron ahead of her into the minimal space remaining. The gilded grill slammed shut behind her, and she caught only the briefest glimpse of Harry’s surprised expression before they were speeding off.

She didn’t think she’d ever been packed so tightly into a closed box. It felt suffocating, particularly with the jostling of the woman trying valiantly to reach them from the other side of the confined space.

“He’s not going to be happy about this,” Ron warned, making a token effort to wave at the struggling woman as though he really were her husband.

“We didn’t have time to debate. It’d look more suspicious if he was trying to act as my bodyguard.”

This was by far the safer option. Harry was a loaded gun, the hammer cocked and primed to go off. His temper and rashness was bound to get them in trouble if he’d come with, as demonstrated by his reaction moments ago.

“I just hope he goes without us if we’re not back before the potion starts to wear off,” Ron said wearily, surprising her a bit. Honestly, now that Ron had mentioned it, she was actually afraid Harry wouldn’t. Just another worry to plague her. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about while crammed into a tin can dropping into Umbridge’s playground – also known as a sane person’s hell.

A soothing voice spoke, announcing their arrival at the lowest level. The cold seeped into the lift before the doors even opened, and dread clenched her heart. As they got out, Hermione grumbled, “‘We’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘It’ll be easy to grab it and go.’ Right.”

“To be fair, we all knew he was lying,” Ron murmured quietly. He looked supremely uncomfortable as the beset woman threw herself into his arms and began sobbing against his chest.

“Not helping,” Hermione said, offering a final nod before she reluctantly headed away from Ron before someone wondered at their conversing.

Ron’s crack had at least served to take her mind off her mounting fear. He certainly had a knack for making the perfect quip to dispel tension in these situations.

He’d surprised her during this last month. After their talk, she’d expected him to be moody and spiteful. Resentful and angry. But he hadn’t. Just the opposite, if anything. Confirming that they’d never be together romantically had seemed to free them both in a way. All of the uncertainty and insecurity and pressure had vanished, leaving a friendship forged through years of life-and-death situations, and inside jokes.

Hermione didn’t need Ron to say it to know they both felt lighter and happier with the outcome than anyone would have predicted.

The guards led the prisoners to a wooden bench in the hall, ordering them to sit down just as a woman was being carted off. Three young children clung to her legs, screaming and begging, but a guard ripped her from them, apathetic to the heartbreaking scene.

The woman slumped, all fight fleeing as she surrendered to her inevitable fate. She was little more than a sack of grain as the guard hauled her away, leaving only two in the hall with the rest of the newcomers.

“If she wants to be a mummy so bad, she can look after the Mudblood firsties when she gets to Azkaban,” the guard joked crassly to one of the others heading back upstairs, but Hermione heard him clearly, the words echoing off the stone walls.

What?

Mudblood firsties….

When had they been arrested? Over the summer? When they’d gone shopping for school supplies? When they’d been in the Great Hall, waiting to be sorted into their new houses?

Eleven-year-olds, Muggleborns, in Azkaban, simply for being born with magic. As though they’d asked for it. As though they understood why they were born different.

Hermione still remembered finding out about the wizarding world.

It was incredible, certainly, but also terrifying to realise you were different. At least until you got to Hogwarts and found the place you belonged with others just like you.

Except now that thrilling experience was being taken away. Replaced with a hellish nightmare beyond comparison. Instead of a mysterious castle, it would be a cell with bars. A place filled with dementors and constant fear. Those wrongfully imprisoned would likely be insane by the time they were released. An entire year group with all of their potential and hopes and dreams…squandered. Eliminated.

Had they arrested the Muggleborns from the other year groups as well? Or had they all gone on the run like her trio had, aware of the fate awaiting them if they tried to return to Hogwarts? At least they understood the dangers and risks, unlike the first years who’d been ignorant.

And all of this was happening because of ridiculous prejudices. It could have been her, if she were seven years younger.

What did the parents think when their children were taken, when they never heard from them? Death Eaters probably erased their memories, so they didn’t even remember that they’d lost a child…just like what she’d done to her parents.

She was as horrible as them, messing with peoples’ minds.

Hermione was still numb with shock and self-recriminations when she took her seat beside Umbridge halfway down the long row of chairs partway up the benches forming a half-circle around the perimeter of the room. A quill and parchment appeared before her, and she didn’t dare try to speak, conscious of the fact that she’d probably vomit all over the horrid witch if she dared try.

So to that end, Hermione began methodically scribbling notes on the events taking place, pretending she did this everyday and that it didn’t make her violently ill to see people treated as little more than vermin. The accused man trembled visibly, shrinking back from the prowling dementors as he struggled to answer Umbridge’s questions.

When Hermione’s hand shook, smearing the fresh ink staining the once pristine, off-white surface of her page, she flexed her fingers and started over. Slow breaths. In and out. The frigid air sawed through her chest, cutting like razor wire. She erected a wall in her mind, burying all of the negative thoughts so deep the dementors prowling the room couldn’t gain access.

Umbridge’s cat patronus only helped so much. It tended to get lazy in its pacing and leave her area for a bit too long, hovering before its caster more than the rest of them, leaving room for unpleasant thoughts to take root.

At least she could see Ron pacing in the hall, walking swiftly back and forth past the open door. Hermione knew to an outsider it would look like he was anxious for his wife’s upcoming trial, but Hermione knew he was really doing it to keep an eye on her so he could jump in if she needed help. That support was what she needed to focus on. It would help her banish the dementors' effects.

“Can you imagine? He actually believes he deserves to be called a wizard! But we know better, don’t we?” Umbridge chirped in her false, girlish voice, speaking to Hermione as though they were in cahoots with this whole matter.

“Yes, Dolores,” Hermione replied dutifully, offering a strained smile.

Sitting passively as Umbridge degraded and threatened the lives of these innocent people, all to make herself feel more important made Hermione want to beat the woman senseless. If only she could simply force her to confess where she’d hidden the locket and be done with this charade!

But speaking to Umbridge at least gave her an excuse to look at the woman. Hermione scanned her, glancing over the hideous pink cardigan set the witch wore, but the locket wasn’t there. If she wasn’t wearing it, where would it be? Had Harry been right? Had she left it in–

“They’re all the same, insisting they be allowed a wand to demonstrate their magic,” Umbridge announced disdainfully, wide lips turning down at the corners in a way that made her appear even more toad-like than she ordinarily did. “As though I’d trust them with something so precious. Not that it would matter. Their kind don’t really have magic, not their own, at least.”

Wait. There! It was tucked beneath her collar. Hermione could see the thick, golden rope of the chain encircling her neck.

“Hmm,” she forced out, knowing some response was required. The little hum of agreement tried to get lodged in her throat, the bile coating it sticky and cloying.

The toad likely knew they’d curse her if she did, and she’d deserve it too for daring to pull this stunt. And the accused could, because everything Umbridge said was a lie. They had magic, they’d graduated from Hogwarts, and everyone knew it. Yet somehow this was still happening!

“All that would prove is that they’ve stolen it from an upstanding wizarding family. That wouldn’t do at all,” Umbridge sighed, shaking her vile head.

“Oh, no. Not at all,” Hermione parroted, staring at the chain encircling the woman’s pudgy neck that had wrinkled slightly with her movements, squished between rolls of fat.

The wretched woman leaned close to Hermione, and she had to resist the urge to scoot her chair back, disliking the proximity to the sorry excuse for a witch – sorry excuse for a person, really. But the new position allowed Hermione to catch a glimpse of the locket tucked beneath the left flap of the sweater. Hermione could just make out the emeralds patterned in the shape of a serpent looping across the front to form the S.

Hermione could take it from her and be gone. She could avoid lingering in the doom and gloom a moment longer than necessary. But how to do it without getting caught?

She tried to catch Ron’s eye. It didn’t take long, since he glanced at her on every pass he made, and Hermione tried to be nonchalant as she tipped her head at Umbridge, but Ron jerked his chin the smallest fraction. No? Why? What was happening in the hall?

“Did you know, the rise in squibs among some of our oldest and most noble families is their fault? They’ve been stealing the magic that rightfully belongs to those with the purest of blood. They’re stealing it from the babies before they ever show their first signs of being magically inclined, so the families never know differently.”

“No!” Hermione gasped, appalled that she was daring to spread such lies and propaganda. But was it really any worse than rounding up children and sending them to Azkaban?

“Yes, it’s true,” Umbridge countered, patting Hermione’s hand as she mistook her reaction. “I know it’s so dreadful to learn that anyone could be so awful, imagine hurting children! That’s why our work here is so important. We must punish all of them for what they’ve done. Fortunately, I was too strong for them to take mine. Now I can do what must be done, and you can help me!”

Umbridge returned to toying with the wizard before her, playing with him like a cat with a mouse as she pretended to consider his sentence.

It was ironic that Umbridge would condemn anyone for hurting children when she’d made a sport of doing that very same thing during her time at Hogwarts with her blood quill.

Not that it mattered. Not right then at least. The locket was just there, only an arm’s length away, but what to do? Time was running out. Tick, tick, tick. They had maybe fifteen minutes left, and that was if the potion didn’t wear off early.

The man before her could be Hermione. Probably would be soon. She was going to get caught. It was going to be her bound in chains and led away. She was going to fail and Voldemort would never be stopped.

How had things escalated in the world so quickly? Were all of these officials under the Imperius Curse, or were they always this hateful and fearful?

How did Mafalda Hopkirk sit there day in and day out witnessing and recording the events of these trials without intervening? Did she buy into Umbridge’s lies? Did she do it because she was scared for herself? Didn’t she have anyone she wished to protect? Or was that her reasoning? But didn’t she understand that doing nothing wouldn’t save them in the end?

If no one stopped this, eventually, no one would be left to protest.

The dark thoughts plagued her. She wished she’d gotten a better look at the spell Snape had used on the heart and Dolohov had used on her. If negative emotions were required to work the Dark Arts, Hermione currently had them in spades.

Hermione felt sick as she glared at the prowling cat, willing it to return or do a better job of pacing before them. She was drowning in negativity. Her mind was a pool of darkness weighing her down, she wouldn’t be able to tread for much longer. Already she could feel the water lapping at her scalp, waves threatening to submerge her entirely, permanently.

Again, she glared at the cat Patronus. She was surprised Umbridge was even capable of conjuring such a pure spectre. Then again, the woman got off on lording her power over others. These farces, or so-called trials, probably provided all manner of happy memories for her to draw from.

“I’m afraid I cannot sit here any longer and listen to your lies,” Umbridge said, speaking as though to a misbehaving child. She clucked her tongue, pursing her lips, and looked thoroughly disappointed.

Of course it was all an act. Just for show. Beneath the facade, Hermione sensed the vile woman revelling in the man’s obvious, near-tangible fear.

“You have been found guilty of stealing magic, and are hereby sentenced to life in Azkaban for your crime.”

Umbridge struck a gavel on the stone bench, the ominous crack reverberating through the room, startling Hermione. Her whole body jerked at the finality in the thud, but the noise of her pounding heart drowned out the aftermath. It raced so fast she could feel it painfully knocking against her ribs.

It galled Hermione that she couldn’t make a stand right then and there. But she had to think of the end game. Too much was at stake. Hermione already had a mission – help Harry defeat Voldemort. It was up to others to do their parts as well. Hopefully someone would here too.

But if today was any indication, she wasn’t going to hold her breath.

The way people were so quick to turn on each other, to point fingers at others over nothing just to protect themselves made her sick. History was full of examples, but she had never wished to experience it for herself. No one did, of course. Yet time and time again it happened.

As the man was led out, stepping past where Ron stood just outside the door, Hermione saw him tap his leg, five fingers extended. He tapped again, removing one digit. Four. What in Merlin’s name? They’d not actually come up with any sort of plan! Again. Three. What was he thinking? He stared down the hall, watching something beyond her line of sight. He tapped again. Two. And one last time. One.

He was as bad as Harry! They were severely outnumbered.

But Ron was already turning on the only guard stationed in the room, his wand moving fast as lightning. Hermione did the same, trusting Ron – more out of sheer desperation than confidence that this was the right move – aiming for Umbridge and crying, “Stupefy!”

Both figures slumped where they were.

It worked. Neither had prepared for the attack or been able to react in time to stop it.

Then the temperature in the chilly room plummeted. Thoughts nagged at her, mocking her efforts and promising failure. It had only been a fluke that they’d knocked Umbridge and the guard out. The cat Patronus was gone, taking with it what meagre protection it had provided. The five dementors scattered, three heading for Hermione and the other two for Ron.

Hermione tried to think of something happy, gasping, “Expecto Patronum!” The words were little more than a feeble squeak. Desperately, she tried again, noting Ron had successfully cast his own, the little terrier prancing before him as he headed for Hermione. A flash of Snape, his face pressed against the sheets as he laughed, the deep baritone startled, but truly amused sprang into her mind, and again she cried, “Expecto Patronum!”

Her otter burst forth, swirling and diving around her, encircling her and forcing the approaching dementors back as she grasped the locket and tugged it over Umbridge’s head, careful not to dislodge the freakish, little-girl bow that sat high on her head.

Frantically, Hermione searched her memory for the duplication spell she’d read about. It was something to do with twins. Geminum maybe? No, that wasn’t quite it. She had to remember. Panic was cluttering her thoughts.

They didn’t want Umbridge realising the locket was gone and coming after it – they’d need all the time they could get to escape. Especially since the potion was starting to wear off. Already her hands had shrunk, the fingers becoming more slender. They also didn’t want Umbridge knowing and telling the wrong person about it. That had the potential to get back to Voldemort. It was imperative that he not learn what they were up to before they had a chance to succeed.

The spell came to her just as Ron reached her side. Quickly, she said, “Geminio! There…that should fool her.”

“Good thinking. Can you modify her memory too? Make her think you aimed for me?” Ron suggested practically, watching the door in case anyone new entered.

“Yes,” Hermione said, wishing she’d thought of the idea first. “Obliviate!” she yelled, thinking of the necessary changes, including that “Mafalda” had chased the wizard, and that was the reason she’d left the courtroom.

The whole incident had taken less than a minute.

She’d barely lowered her wand when Ron, his hair taking on a ginger cast and growing longer and thicker by the second, grabbed her and began hauling her out of the room, forcing her to sprint to keep up with his long strides. The other people awaiting their trials stared after them, most too confused to move.

“Reg? Reg, where are you going?” Mrs. Cattermole called.

“Run while you can. Disappear for good!” Ron hollered, not letting up as they raced down the corridor.

Hermione heard a couple people chasing after them, and tried to look back, worried it might be another guard. It wasn’t. Just two of the six awaiting trial.

“I waited until the guard was escorting the last guy up. Mrs. Cattermole was next. They’re going to think I did it to save her,” he explained, pressing the button for the lift as they panted and gasped, heaving in great lungfuls of air. When it didn’t immediately open, he began frantically pounding it.

A scream sounded from down the hall, echoing after them as the grill slid open with a rattling clang. Ron shoved her in, the other two people following. He didn’t even wait for it to shut before he repeatedly pushed the button for the Atrium.

“The dementors! Wait, we can’t leave the rest!”

“We have to. Word has probably already reached the wrong ears.”

They were already speeding off, but still she tried, “No, they–”

“You’re Muggleborn. I have to get you out of here!”

“But–”

“You can’t make someone save themselves, Hermione. We did our part. The rest was up to them,” Ron said harshly, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the very front of the lift, preparing to bolt the instant it opened. Hermione tripped in her borrowed shoes, her regular feet much smaller, so much so that the heels didn’t fit right. She was about to kick them off when his words fully registered.

“Ron!” she gasped, stunned by his statement.

“I don’t like it either, but sometimes you have to sacrifice a pawn to win the game.”

It was just like in first year when they’d gone after the philosopher’s stone. Except then, Ron had been willing to sacrifice himself. He reminded her of Dumbledore, and the lengths he went to in order to ensure the outcome he desired. Was this really any different? Hermione had the locket, so Ron was doing whatever it took to get her out of there. And he was protecting her.

She didn’t protest further, knowing that he was correct even if she resented it. At least two had come with them. It was better than none.

“Harry had better be waiting where we left him,” Ron muttered when the announcement sounded that they’d reached the Atrium.

“He is – there!” she gasped, relieved that he was, in fact, right before them. It was a bloody miracle they’d managed to join back up.

Ron and Hermione flew out, snagging Harry, who was valiantly trying to keep his head down, as they went past. Hermione immediately noticed why he’d been doing it. His scar was visible on his forehead and his eyes had brightened from muddy brown to spring green.

“Harry Potter!” a woman gasped, triggering a string of gasps and shouts. They travelled through the room faster than the trio could move.

Hermione tripped again in her heels, nearly toppling over, but Ron hauled her up, his grip on her arm unrelenting. She should have taken them off in the lift. They raced forward, shoving their way through the thong of people gaping at them. Several began pointing just as an alarm blared, ringing deafeningly through the cavernous space.

“They’re sealing the Floos!” Harry warned, though that was obvious. Metal barricades covered the opening of several, slamming into place before they could reach them.

“It’s Potter! Stop him!”

“Harry Potter is attacking the Ministry!”

“He’s trying to free the Mudbloods!”

They ignored the enraged yells calling after them and the flashes of light from spells fired, and dove for the first open fireplace they found. Hermione was near hyperventilating as they spun towards the room where they could Disapparate from.

They’d barely stopped spinning, the air by her cheek still seeming to crackle with electricity from where one of the spells had barely missed hitting her.

A wizard stepped into their path, blocking their exit.

“Stupefy!” Harry yelled, a jet of red light erupting from his wand.

Hermione grabbed each of the boy’s arms and turned on the spot, hoping against hope that they’d not fight her. She shrank inside herself, darkness swallowing them as she pictured the front stoop of Grimmauld Place.

It felt strange, and Hermione realised that either Harry or Ron had tried to do the same thing. Luckily, they’d picked the same destination or they’d have been screwed.

An iron grip caught her shoulder, bearing down with the strength of the iron manacles that had just been used to restrain the Muggleborn prisoners. As solid ground materialised beneath her feet, she kicked out, towards the unwelcome presence that had hitched a ride with them. She put all her might into the action, screaming from the force of it as she did. The instant the hand fell from her, unprepared for the assault, she turned on her other foot, losing her balance in the process, the too big shoe coming off as she tried. Hermione stumbled, pitching forward on the step and feeling her hand almost slip off Ron entirely as she fell.

Somehow, they were still able to Disapparate, but this time it felt all wrong – the deliberation D not precise enough. She could feel a separation, an urge to abort and retreat. She refused to stop willing all of herself inward though, dragging her passengers with her. But she didn’t have a destination either. Another D missing. Only the determination D was getting them away from their enemies.

They needed to hide. It was imperative. But where could they go that was guaranteed to be empty?

The field! The field from the Quidditch World Cup!

Picturing their campsite, Hermione discovered it abruptly before her – just as something hot and sharply metallic sprayed against her chest and throat as she fell, her ankle turning from the oversized heels.

Instantly, she knew Ron was injured as she tumbled to the ground right along with him. She didn’t need to hear his agonised groan or watch him collapse to know their trip had gone horribly wrong along the way. She’d messed up, and Ron was hurt because of it – after he’d done so much to keep her safe and protect her.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. She really helped me get this chapter where I wanted it. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

Snape is finally back, and here to stay! I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 10: Sanctuary

A second spray of crimson whipped across her face as Ron slumped, rolling to his side.

Hermione crawled forward, pressing her hands against the wound on Ron’s upper arm. Except it was too big. Nearly his entire bicep was missing, and her hands sank into the gory tissue, squishing and creating a fresh geyser of blood from the damaged area. It oozed through her fingers, coating her hands and making them slip off. She couldn’t even see the extent of the injury through the macabre and copious amount of red drenching his arm.

“Hermione, his arm….”

“I know, okay!” Hermione snapped, panic scrambling her thoughts like so many broken eggs. Moaning, she repeated, “I know.”

“What can I do?” Harry demanded, kneeling beside her, the calm eye of her turbulent emotional hurricane.

Hermione seized onto his soothing surety, needing the level headedness to help her think. It reminded her of Snape and the stability his presence always brought to a crisis. What would he do in this situation? Given his years of experience with students, he probably knew precisely what Ron needed. Too bad he wasn’t here.

What she wouldn’t give to have him here now. But that was impossible for a number of reasons.

If only she could go to him. If only she could sort a way to convince Harry. If only….

There had to be a way. He could fix this. But first, she had to keep Ron alive long enough to get the help she so desperately needed. Only one way came to mind, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“In my bag… find the wooden box of potions and ingredients. There should be one labelled Essence of Dittany,” Hermione instructed, pointing her chin to the coat pocket she wore for Harry to access the small beaded bag she’d stuffed inside when changing into Mafalda’s clothes before entering the Ministry.

Hopefully, he’d not recognize Snape’s handwriting on the bottle he’d labelled. Hermione pressed harder, conjuring a cloth and covering the obscene, gaping hole spanning the entirety of Ron’s upper arm.

“Quickly, Harry,” she yelled, her whole body quaking as she replaced the sodden cloth with a new one.

Almost instantly it was soaked through as well. He must have severed an artery. Possibly several. If they didn’t stop the flow soon, he was in serious danger of bleeding out. How much time had already passed? It felt like hours, though in reality it couldn’t have even been a minute yet.

“Got it,” he gasped, holding up the tiny brown bottle.

Finally.

When she made no move to take it, afraid of what she was about to do, Harry asked, “You’re sure about this?”

“No. Not at all. It’s so deep…,” she said frankly, knowing the Dittany would do nothing more than seal the wound. And halt additional internal bleeding. The equivalent of slapping a bandaid on an amputation.

More sticky, hot fluid seeped through her trembling fingers.

“When we took our lessons, the Ministry folk used spells to set people to rights,” Harry pointed out, reminding her of when Susan Bones had left her leg behind when she’d been the first to Apparate in their class. The Ministry workers had fixed her up right quick with a few simple spells.

“I don’t know them,” Hermione said bluntly, adding, “but he’s going to bleed out if we don’t try this.”

“Augh,” Ron moaned pitifully, his head lolling weakly.

Harry made the decision for them, unstopping the phial and starting to pour the clear contents on the grisly tissue, narrowly missing Hermione’s hands as she jerked them back.

“Careful! Only a few drops,” she ordered quickly, not sure what the consequences of using too much would be. She’d read about it, but with everything else going on, couldn’t quite remember the specifics. The relevant passages were an incoherent jumble doing a jig in her mind.

Immediately, fresh pink skin knitted over the area, sealing what remained of the insides beneath – where they were meant to be all along. There was a massive divot where the majority of his bicep had been permanently excised. The arm wouldn’t function properly anymore, but at least he was no longer in danger of dying.

“Wow,” Harry said, awestruck by how quickly the wound healed.

But Hermione couldn’t get past how motionless and ashen Ron was. Each laboured breath was weak and shallow. She needed to get him help, and getting to Snape was still the only reliable option she could think of.

“Ron? Ron!” Hermione called, patting his cheek, but there was no response. Not even a twitch of his eyes beneath the closed lids. Either from the blood loss or pain, he was unconscious. “Wake up, please,” she urged, willing him to come through this all right. He’d helped her at the Ministry. Now it was her turn to help him.

“Should his arm look like that?” Harry asked worriedly, reaching tentatively to touch the sunken area.

“No,” Hermione said flatly.

“How do we fix it?”

“I don’t know how to ‘fix it’. I’m not a Healer, and I probably don’t have the right ingredients here even if I did.”

The truth was she simply didn’t know what else to do. The necessary healing spells weren’t part of the Hogwarts curriculum either, and she’d been so focused on learning defensive and concealment spells to help Harry, that she’d never considered the need to learn them. It seemed a vast oversight now.

She’d believed herself so clever, but twice in as many minutes she’d discovered she was lacking. Perhaps Snape was correct over the years when he pointed out she didn’t know everything yet – his reasoning for insisting she wasn’t actually brilliant to the rest of the staff, just slightly more intelligent than her dunderheaded classmates.

Again, all she could think about was seeking him out. She could really do with his help right about now. She’d even put up with the inevitable snide comments he’d make before delivering the answers she sought.

“We can’t take him to St. Mungo’s,” Harry said forcefully, as though shocked she’d even hint at such a possibility minutes after they’d broken into and out of the Ministry, nearly getting caught in the process.

“Obviously,” she snapped, huffing indignantly. But here was her chance. If she really wanted to go to Hogwarts and get Snape’s help for Ron, this was her best opportunity to convince Harry. “I was thinking of Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey surely has the right potions for the sixth years on hand.”

“You’re nuts. Death Eaters are running Hogwarts! We can’t just go traipsing through the front doors,” Harry countered, frantically shaking his head. As if he wasn’t the one usually coming up with insane plans and expecting the others to agree.

“I was thinking of using a secret passageway,” Hermione said, a suitable plan coming together even as she spoke.

“It’s too dangerous,” Harry refuted stubbornly.

It stunned her that she was actually having to be the one to talk Harry into doing something rash. She’d thought a simple suggestion and a plausible chance of doing it safely would be all the convincing she’d need to do. Apparently not.

“Aren’t you usually the first to go running towards danger?”

“Exactly! And look what’s happened! Going to the Ministry was my idea, and now look what’s happened to Ron,” he hollered, tossing his arms up in the arm. Hermione inhaled sharply, surprised at his sudden outburst. “This is my fault because I couldn’t come up with a better plan. I was so intent on getting the locket that I rushed us. We weren’t prepared for all of the risks. Now Ron’s been hurt, but if we stay out here, at least he’s alive. I can’t….”

“We were never going to be able to plan for every eventuality,” Hermione argued, hoping to relieve some of his guilt.

“We could have prepared more,” he insisted stubbornly, “I keep making the same mistakes, and look what’s happened. Sirius is dead. Dumbledore is dead. Mad-Eye is dead. Now Ron’s very nearly died!”

“Everyone fighting knows what’s at stake and is willing to take a chance if it means putting an end to You-Know-Who.”

“And that’s the problem – the reason it’s all on me. I can’t keep rushing in blindly when others end up paying the price,” Harry said, fisting his hands in his hair, a tormented look pinching his face.

“Harry, look around you! We’re in the middle of a bloody forest! What’s Ron supposed to do if we don’t get his arm back to normal? Be a sitting duck so that next time he does die? But let’s say we play it safe and leave it anyway, do you know where we should look for Horcruxes next? Do you have a plan? Because I sure as hell don’t,” Hermione yelled shrilly, the last of the adrenaline overdose from the last hour fueling her. It was too much. She felt strung out and desperate. Only the sight of Harry’s sucker-punched expression allowed her to dial her reaction back at all as she continued. “I can’t help Ron out here, and I can’t help you with the Horcruxes either. I need resources, a library, books, if I’m to sort out the broken clues you’ve gathered.”

“You think the answers are in a book?”

“It’s how I solved the mystery of the Half-Blood Prince, isn’t it?”

“Snape. Snape’s at Hogwarts,” Harry spat angrily, fuming at the reminder that the professor he loathed had replaced the headmaster after killing him.

“Yes,” she squeaked, unprepared to hear him mention the wizard foremost in her mind so casually, even if she’d been the one to inadvertently bring him up, but she ploughed on anyway, “and he will be until this war ends. I can’t help with anything without more information – unless you’re telling me you’ve suddenly had an epiphany and you know healing spells in addition to what and where the other Horcruxes are?”

“I’ve shared all I know. You knew this wasn’t going to be easy,” Harry said, hurt by the implicit accusation in her words.

“Yes, I know, but again, I can’t help if I don’t have access to what I need. The potions for Ron are at Hogwarts. He’ll be safer with his wand arm whole. Besides, you’ve seen what I can discover with the right information. We have to do this if we’re to help you,” Hermione repeated, willing him to see her point and agree with her. She couldn’t stand being responsible for hurting Ron after he’d been so adamant about getting her to safety.

Moreover, she wanted Snape’s help. He’d done so much for her over the summer. With his position, they could really use him. Maybe then they’d not have any more near misses and mistakes, such as they’d experienced today. Snape was an extremely valuable resource – there was a reason Dumbledore had relied on him so heavily. Hermione thought it prudent to do the same.

Ron moaned piteously, breaking the silence as Harry debated their options. Still, he didn’t wake fully. Harry took in the sight of his mate’s mangled arm. Without his bicep, the arm was limp and incapable of moving. Not entirely unlike Harry’s had been in second year when Lockhart removed his bones.

“It’s his wand arm, Harry. It’s useless like this,” Hermione added, knowing it was true and wondering if Harry had quite realised that even though Ron wasn’t still in danger of dying, he’d not be able to keep fighting with them after this.

While a witch or wizard could use their nondominant hand, the spells would never be quite as effective. And he’d have to try to survive the war with only one arm before they could attempt to repair the damage. If they even could by that point. The longer an injury went without treatment, the less likely it was that magic could be used to fix it.

“Where would we even stay?” he asked, on the verge of relenting. He teetered on the edge. All it would take was the tiniest nudge of reassurance.

Hermione also had a feeling that Ginny was serving as a lure for him. But it’d be too obvious she was trying to manipulate him if she mentioned the redhead outright. Better to wheedle and coax instead.

“The Room of Requirement? It’s hidden us before, and with only the three of us, it’ll be even safer,” Hermione suggested, pressing a hand to Ron’s face. He was unnaturally cold, his lips utterly drained of colour. “It’s a good plan, Harry. Better than being out in the open, or putting someone in the Order in danger by staying with them.”

Winter was settling in, the ground beneath her still hard from the morning frost that had yet to thaw. It wasn’t as though they could sleep under the stars once temperatures dropped below freezing either. Warming Charms only lasted so long, and they’d never get any sleep if they were constantly renewing them.

“They’d also ask too many questions,” he mused, contemplating the idea and searching for potential holes. He seemed serious about taking fewer unnecessary risks from here on out.

“With the passageways, we can come and go freely if needed. Hogwarts can be our base while we search out potential locations for Horcruxes. Last week you even said it’s possible one is at the castle. If you’re right, we would have needed to go there anyway.”

“I also said Dumbledore already searched the castle, and I don’t really see us succeeding where he didn’t, but you’re right – it won’t hurt to check. You’re not usually the one suggesting something like this, Hermione.”

That wasn’t exactly true. Yes, she often cautioned restraint and not running in blind, but she’d made exceptions in the past. Punching Malfoy, leading Umbridge to the centaurs, and brewing Polyjuice all came to mind.

“I think it might actually be the safest option. The castle is a fortress. No one needs to know we’re even there.”

“Hmmm. Unpredictable…that’s what we decided. They’d never look for me right under Snape’s nose,” Harry said cautiously, warming to the idea as he considered getting one over Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Snape in particular.

“Exactly,” she agreed eagerly, already starting to gather up some of the items that had spilled from her magically enlarged bag when Harry was searching for the potion.

As she moved, her ankle gave a cry of protest, announcing itself with a vengeance. Apparently, she’d been distracted enough by Ron that she’d forgotten turning it. Now it was impossible to ignore. Every muscle in her petite frame tensed as she held back a pained gasp. She did not want Harry knowing she was hurt. He might use it as an excuse not to risk Hogwarts.

Focusing on breathing, a string of silent curses blasting through her mind, Hermione tried to move as little as possible to gather her belongings and checked on Ron. A little colour had returned to his cheeks, the freckles not standing out quite so starkly, but there was little improvement aside from that.

She’d just retrieved one of Ron’s signature Weasley jumpers when Harry reached for something on the ground.

“What about the locket? If we’re caught, I don’t want this discovered,” Harry said, lifting the golden chain, dark along the interlocking links, from where Hermione had dropped it to see after Ron. The opulent oval spun, catching rays of the weak light filtering through the clouds to reach them. It flashed and glinted, the faceted emeralds forming the S glowing as though alive, and twisting across the polished surface.

Harry was right. Just being near the Horcrux filled her with unease. Best to rid themselves of it as soon as possible. And once it was destroyed, they’d have one less piece of Voldemort to worry about.

“The poison is in the box you got the Essence of Dittany from,” she answered, not wanting to leave Ron’s side when he still looked on the verge of death. Or give away her own injury.

“Where did you get it?” Harry asked, examining the bottles to locate the correct one.

“I brewed it, clearly,” she answered crisply, “using instructions from a book.”

“Right,” Harry sighed, rolling his eyes and mumbling something about already having agreed with her plan to access the Hogwarts library. “There are three phials labelled Horcrux Poison.”

Hermione had noticed that as well when she’d been brewing the Polyjuice Potion. At first, she’d thought Snape gave her extra in case something happened to one of the phials since it wasn’t exactly replaceable, but the more she’d thought about it, the more she believed Snape had already premeasured the correct dosage for her to use.

“One for each nonliving item containing a bit of his soul,” Hermione explained, sharing her theory, but presenting it as fact. “It’s not as though Nagini will let us feed her a poison or stay still long enough to dump it on her.”

“How do we kill her then?”

“I’ve something in mind,” Hermione said darkly, thinking of an orange flash and a forbidden spell.

She’d seen what it did to the heart when cast properly. There was no reason to think it wouldn’t be equally effective in killing a snake. And would the spell really be considered Dark if it was being used to destroy a Dark Artefact? Certainly it was something to consider. Snape might have a few suggestions about that as well. Now she could ask him about it.

Part of her still couldn’t believe Voldemort had turned his familiar into a Horcrux. It was a strange mix of careless and sentimental.

The point of a Horcrux was to chase immortality and cheat death. But Nagini was a living creature. Eventually she would die, and the Horcrux would perish right alongside her. And a snake, even one as unique as Nagini, was significantly easier to kill than an item was to destroy. She wouldn’t have the same protections and durability that items such as the locket possessed.

Yet Voldemort had made her one anyway. Did he not care that he was essentially throwing part of his soul away when natural causes inevitably took Nagini, should they fail to deliberately disembowel her first? Hmph. Of course not. This was Voldemort, after all. His soul was so damaged already that he’d not miss a single piece of it. He was too arrogant, believing himself invincible thanks to the other Horcruxes he’d made.

Ron coughed and sputtered, moaning weakly, though he didn’t truly stir. Blood loss and pain was keeping him under for now. Though, if possible, the hue he’d regained had faded, reminding her of grey ashes from a fire grate.

“Best get on with it – it’ll be easier to move him while he’s still unconscious,” Hermione advised, unsure if Ron was doing better or worse. Probably, his body was struggling to regain its equilibrium after everything it had been through.

Harry held the potion and locket uncertainly. The golden oval spun faster as it dangled, and Harry was eyeing it suspiciously. “Do I just splash some on it?”

Hermione considered the question, not having thought about it sooner. A Horcrux stored a piece of soul inside an object. This was a locket. It literally had an inside. What if the poison didn’t penetrate deep enough if they left if closed?

“You probably could do that, but I think you should open it first, just to be safe. Then use all of the potion – but be careful. If it gets on you, it will kill you too.”

“Great. No pressure there,” he said, giving her a disgruntled look as he set the poison down and stepped back from it. Hermione bit back a reminder that it was sealed and could do nothing to him until it was opened.

While Harry was distracted, Hermione muttered, “Episkey!” The spell did nothing. Her ankle went right on throbbing as though her heart had migrated to the site and was attempting to burst free. It must be hurt worse than she’d initially realised.

She watched him fiddle with the locket clasp as she continued repacking her bag, tossing the stray jumper and a book on Concealment Charms inside. While she packed, she retrieved a pair of trainers to replace her missing heels and his invisibility cloak, intending for them to leave as soon as they were finished, and had to resist taking the locket herself to try using magic. They were each as bad as the other at times when it came to remembering not to let habit cause them to behave like Muggles. But this was Harry’s mission. This was for him to do. She and Ron were just there as backup to make sure he succeeded and didn’t die along the way.

“Alohomora!” Harry finally tried, prodding the side with his wand.

Nothing happened. Of course. Voldemort would have added charms and spells to ensure only he’d have access. Something no other could do….

Except Harry.

“Er, Hermione…how do I open it?”

“It’s Slytherin’s locket. The snake,” she said, the clues coming together quickly.

“Yeah. I know who it belonged to,” he said, a line forming between his eyebrows as he stared at her in confusion.

“Parseltongue, Harry. Use Parseltongue,” she said, attempting not to let sarcasm and incredulity coat the words too thickly. The answer was so obvious once she’d landed on it.

Harry blinked at her. “Oh. Right.”

“Honestly, Harry,” she sighed, exasperated. For someone so quick on his feet, he could be awfully thick at times. But then, neither of the boys had ever been able to track her thoughts with much success.

“Nalastalye,” he hissed moments later, the sound eerie and drawn out. Shivers raced down her spine and dread was a pit in her gut, yawning wide.

The locket sprung open as though pressure loaded. Harry took one look at it and cried out, dropping it as he took a step back, tripping over Ron’s feet. His arms pinwheeled, but he went down anyway, landing on his butt.

From her kneeling position, she could just make out the roving eye that had startled Harry. It frantically searched, shifting beneath the glass window, before settling on Harry just as a smoky figure emerged. It swirled upward, shaping itself into the familiar silhouette of Albus Dumbledore.

“You won’t win, Harry,” Dumbledore’s likeness said gravely, almost pityingly.

Hermione and Harry were both too stunned to do more than watch.

“You can’t. There aren’t enough people left to die for you. I was just the last in a long series, but eventually you’ll run out of willing sacrifices. Will it be Ron or Hermione next? Today you stood by doing nothing, safe, while your friends risked their lives. Now Ron might die. All because you don’t know what you’re doing,” Dumbledore mocked, preying on Harry’s insecurities.

Shocked at the critical and not at all accurate assessment, Hermione turned to Harry, seeing his hands sink into the grass, shifting around, though he still stared at the figure. His face had lost all colour, and Hermione knew the words had landed a direct hit. It was everything he’d just admitted to fearing, and worse, it was coming from someone Harry believed he’d let down and was responsible for getting killed.

“It’s not really him,” she tried, then realised Harry was already searching for the phial, but was unable to look away to hasten the process.

“What will you do after this? You don’t have any ideas, and I’m not around to give you the answers. You’ve no hope of finishing this without me. But you let Snape kill me. Will you let him kill Ginny next?”

Hermione was horrified by the suggestion. Snape wouldn’t. She knew he wouldn’t hurt Ginny, but Harry must be afraid of that happening. This figment was using Harry’s thoughts against him. The worst part was there was nothing Hermione could say to change his mind. Not without revealing her actions over the summer. Maybe being at Hogwarts himself would help Harry believe Snape wasn’t the monster he thought.

As her mind raced, Harry rocketed forward, bear crawling to reach the locket. He slowly poured the poison, unflinching as the dark figure screamed. It writhed, seconds extending into years. Her eardrums throbbed.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

“Harry?” Hermione ventured hesitantly, reaching for her friend.

The remains of the locket smoked. Thin tendrils twisted as they rose from the melted glass, the golden frame curled in on itself in a misshapen mess that made it resemble warm putty squeezed in someone’s fist.

“We’re going to Hogwarts,” Harry said thickly, pain clogging his throat. He cleared it, trying to force back tears of shame over past failures and the losses he’d suffered. “We have to fix Ron’s arm then find the other pieces.”

Ignoring the pain radiating outward from her injury, Hermione joined Harry. She placed a hand on his shoulder, lending him strength and support. “He won’t hurt Ginny,” she promised.

“I know. I won’t let him,” he vowed, fiercely determined. “I won’t let her pay for my mistakes the way the others have.”

Together, they hauled Ron’s unconscious form off the ground, one arm draped over each of their shoulders. Awkwardly, straining beneath the weight and balancing the best she could on one foot, Hermione tossed Harry’s cloak over the trio as well.

As the light, silvery material fluttered down around them, she hesitated, terrified she’d make another mistake – one that hurt Ron even worse. Would she get another one of them Splinched?

Harry didn’t say a word, nor did he prompt her, lost in his own world. He was in just as bad of a headspace as her.

“What happened to Dumbledore and the others wasn’t your fault. This – Ron – wasn’t your fault,” Hermione said quietly, knowing Harry well enough to see the way he was heaping the blame on himself. He always took on too much responsibility. Probably a result of the way the Dursleys abused him over the years.

“The passage under Honeydukes is an easier walk with us supporting Ron,” Harry said blankly. “We can levitate him through the path, and that route will put us closer to the Room of Requirement. I don’t like the idea of the three of us wandering the castle for longer than necessary.”

“All right, Harry,” she answered, sighing. Clearly, the subject was closed for now. He’d not hear her no matter what she said. At least he still trusted her to safely Apparate them.

Safely. That word reminded her about the people they’d left behind at the Ministry. What had happened to them? Hermione swallowed, deciding against telling Harry about them, since that’d be just one more source of guilt he’d assume the mantle for.

“Let’s go. We need to help Ron, remember?”

Bracing herself, Hermione turned on the spot, forcibly shutting out all thoughts beyond the alley running alongside Honeydukes.

The relief that nothing went wrong this time didn’t really register until they were about two-thirds of the way through the passageway. It was tempered by the fact Ron was still unconscious. Should he be? Was something else wrong with him? Surely he should have woken by now!

They might not be on the verge of a relationship anymore, but it still tore her up to see him like this.

It also hadn’t helped that she was gritting her teeth so hard they’d be ground down to nubs as she valiantly tried to ignore the throb and twinge that every jarring step sent sparking up her leg. First thing she’d do once Ron was better would be to get a book on Healing Charms.

She couldn’t wait to get off her foot. They’d had to wait to enter the storeroom of the sweets shop until they had a clear path. The same thing happened when they reached the school, the halls full of students wandering around during a free period and then rushing from class. Arriving in the middle of a school day probably hadn’t been the wisest decision. They hugged the walls several times and ducked behind tapestries into tiny alcoves to avoid colliding with stray students.

By the time they reached the Room of Requirement, she and Harry were both huffing and sweaty as they lowered Ron heavily onto the hospital cot the Room had provided. It was lunch time when they finally made it to their destination and were able to open the door undetected. Luck just hadn’t been on their side in terms of stealth and speed. At least they’d had it when it really mattered – when they’d retrieved the locket and destroyed it.

“Stay here and look after Ron. I’ll get what we need,” Hermione promised, picking the cloak up from where they’d dropped it on the floor.

“Hermione,” Harry protested, grabbing her arm tightly.

“It’ll be easier to move around the castle if only one person is under the cloak.”

“Then I’ll go,” Harry suggested adamantly, the Horcrux’s taunt about letting others take risks for him motivating his insistence now.

“You don’t know what we need. I do,” she argued, hoping it wasn’t a lie. She was counting on Snape to know and help. “Besides, you can’t be caught here.” Unsaid was the truth – she was expendable, he wasn’t. Just as the locket-Dumbledore pointed out.

Not all truths were welcome. It didn’t make them any less accurate.

“Fine,” he relented, sagging with resignation, then adding, “be careful.”

“I will. I’ll be back as soon as I’m able,” Hermione promised, hating the shadows haunting her friend. He didn’t like letting her face danger alone for the second time that day.

In moments, she would see Snape. He’d be able to help her fix Ron up. Probably her as well. Then it’d be like this whole thing never happened.

It was much easier getting to the Head office than it had been getting Ron to the Room of Requirement. But when she arrived, it occurred to her that she didn’t have the password.

“Er, I need to see Professor Snape,” she tried, wondering if it mattered that the pair of gargoyles guarding the entrance couldn’t see her as she addressed them. As far as she knew, they were only voice activated, so it shouldn’t matter. Nothing happened. “Please. He’s helped me before on Professor Dumbledore’s—”

They sprung apart at the last word. Was Dumbledore the password, or was it because she was asking for help? Harry had once mentioned that help at Hogwarts would always be given to those who asked for it. Regardless, she hurried up the spiral staircase, not because she expected him to be there since she assumed he was eating with the rest of the inhabitants, but because she didn’t want to get caught. Taking a seat wouldn’t be amiss either.

Her breath caught in her throat when she opened the office door. He was there after all. His presence filled the room. Her heart sped at the reassuring sight. Or was it shock from recent events? She could feel it settling in as her careful composure crumbled.

Snape stood abruptly when his door opened, eyes darting around the room, scanning for an intruder. Hermione waited until the door was shut firmly behind her before tugging off the cloak.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, staring incredulously at her bedraggled self.

Hermione was uncomfortably aware of what a grim sight she must be. The filthy, oversized clothes, the messy, sweaty hair. It all contributed to an unwelcome and alarming surprise.

A low din of twitters and frantic murmuring hummed in the background as her arrival stirred up the portraits, but Hermione largely ignored them. Snape did too, striding out from behind the massive oak desk. Being gossiped about was the least of her current worries.

“Ron’s hurt. I messed up. We didn’t know where else to go,” she rambled, walking stiffly forward. Now that she was here, more aches and pains from running and heaving Ron around were catching up to her. It felt as though her muscles had been put through the wash on a spin cycle with a pair of shoes. Her turned ankle screamed with every step she took.

“You brought Potter here?” he asked darkly. At her grimace, he groaned loudly. “I’m going to turn you over myself for being so foolish.”

“I don’t believe you,” she countered.

“When do you ever?”

It startled her that he would actually acknowledge that she was correct in reading him. But now wasn’t the time to analyse his retort or get distracted. She was here for a reason.

“I know you said not to count on you for help, but I need you. Please. Ron was Splinched…his arm…the muscle is gone,” she informed him clinically, sticking to the facts. It was easier to stave off the tears if she remained objective and emotionally distant. But she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to do that. They were closing in on her fast. “He’s not woken since either.”

Hermione looked away, ashamed by her mistake. Everyone always expected her to get everything right. It was her own fault. She’d made blatantly sure she did for years, then rubbed it in everyone’s face, desperate to prove herself worthy – despite being a Muggleborn.

She was slightly arrogant as a result, usually deservedly so. Except this proved she was just as fallible as the rest.

Ducking her head further, she caught sight of her borrowed clothes. Immediately, her hands came up to touch the bloodstains, only to discover her hands were even worse. They appeared to be sculpted from iron left too long exposed to the elements, until they were completely rusted over. How had she not noticed sooner?

It felt as though the floor dropped out beneath her. Everything from the last few hours hit her all at once with the strength of a wrecking ball. The Muggleborns at the Ministry. Running for their lives. Ron nearly dying. Destroying a Horcrux. Returning to Hogwarts. And now seeing so much of Ron’s blood, because he was still hurt, because she didn’t have the right answers.

Tremors rocked her. It was too much.

Desperately, she tried to wipe her hands off, roughly running them over her middle. The need to rid herself of the evidence of Ron’s injury drove her, making her wipe them harder and faster, the movements jerky. Flakes peeled off, fluttering to the ground, but there was still more. Hastily, she squeezed them, rubbing them together as though washing them. The blood was still there. Taunting her.

“Granger.”

Her nails raked through the dried mess, painfully scraping her palm, desperate to get it off. She went to do it again, but suddenly Snape grabbed them, halting her attempts and snagging her full attention. He anchored her in the moment.

“Is he still bleeding?”

Hermione shook her head, answering, “I used Essence of Dittany to stop it.”

He winced, and she knew at once that hadn’t been the correct call. But she’d already been aware of that.

“I know, but he was bleeding out and I didn’t know what else to try,” she confessed, hating the quiver that shook her voice.

“Wait here,” he instructed, searching her face to make sure she would. Relief swept through her. He was going to help.

“Snape,” she breathed, “thank you.”

With a sharp nod, he left.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 11: Healing

“Miss? Headmaster asked me to bring you this while you wait,” Dobby announced, appearing so suddenly in the room that Hermione jumped in her seat, nearly sliding to the floor.

Snape had barely left the room before she’d collapsed into a seat, utterly spent and quaking knees unable to support her. But she’d been so on edge that sitting still had been a challenge. Now, she welcomed the interruption, even if her heart was still racing from the start.

Dobby rushed forward to place a basin of nearly transparent, pearly pink liquid before her on the small round table in the Head office. The contents lapped lazily against the sides of the bowl in gentle waves. A cloth was extended before the house-elf as he smiled widely, happy to see her.

Immediately, she submerged her bloody hands, needing the stains gone immediately. The soothing fluid quickly dissolved the blood yet remained unnaturally clear. Magic. Snape’s or the house-elf’s, she didn’t know, but she was grateful all the same. Accepting the soft fabric, Hermione dipped it in the liquid and scrubbed her face and neck too, relieved to remove the evidence of recent events and distract herself as she waited.

Having the house-elf provide a legitimate distraction also made her attempts to ignore the probing questions and speculation from the former headmasters and headmistresses easier. Loudest of all, unsurprisingly, was Phineas Black. From what Hermione heard him saying, he had indeed been spying on their progress and was eager to have a recounting of the morning directly from her. Fortunately, Dumbledore was missing from his frame, so she didn’t feel obligated to answer any of them.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Hermione said sincerely, handing the cloth back. He snapped his fingers and both the basin and soiled fabric vanished.

“Sir will be back soon. Does Miss need anything else?” he asked squeakily, eager to help.

Hermione was a bit surprised that he didn’t sound as suspicious of Snape as he had over the summer. Something must have changed in recent months. She was even more surprised he’d trusted Dobby enough to send him to her now. It was a risk, since no one should know about her presence in the castle. The events that morning at the Ministry had made it perfectly clear what was at stake for her as a Muggleborn. Not to mention, if anyone found out about her, they might discover Harry.

“No. I’ll be all right,” Hermione promised. It was a lie, but fortunately the elf didn’t call her on it. Would any of them ever really be all right again? She seriously doubted it as she caught sight of Ron’s blood still staining the borrowed clothes she donned.

Dobby didn’t linger, just bobbed his head and scurried out the door. Unable to stand seeing the remaining evidence of that morning, Hermione pointed her wand at herself and cried, “Scourgify!”

With the blood gone, she felt slightly more like herself, though a sensation of being grimy and gritty remained. It was always like that with Cleaning Charms. They’d remove the visible evidence, but only a shower would really do the trick.

When her stomach growled, reminding her that she’d been too nervous to do more than pick at her breakfast that morning, she wished she had asked for some food. They only had a few meals worth packed in her bag, carefully prepared by Kreacher now that the elf was completely devoted to Harry. Food was just one more thing they were going to have to figure out if they really were staying at the castle. They couldn’t very well raid the kitchens or join the others in the Great Hall, after all.

Should they stay? Now that she was here, she couldn’t decide if shock had been motivating her or if some of Harry’s traditional recklessness had rubbed off on her. No matter what they did next, it would be dangerous. Had it been the comfort and familiarity of Hogwarts that had beckoned so strongly to her?

Perhaps, if they did remain, she could make an arrangement with Dobby to sneak meals into the Room of Requirement. He’d be all for helping Harry. Though she’d have to make sure he never mentioned her alliance with—

Snape.

He entered then, giving her a once over before offering a clipped nod of greeting. He strode purposely over, placing five phials down in front of her, then took a seat opposite.

“This will help dull some of his pain, but it will not block it out entirely,” he informed her, diving right in as he pointed at the pale blue potion first. “You will have to reopen the wound and pour this directly upon the area of missing tissue as quickly as you can. Then you will need to use a spell,” he continued briskly, motioning to the second potion as he spoke, a glass containing a shimmering orange potion with strands of red twisting and weaving throughout like streamers in the wind.

Reopen the wound.

Hermione felt queasy just thinking about doing that to Ron. How could she hurt him worse? How would he forgive her if she didn’t?

“Granger, can you handle this?” Snape asked critically, frowning as he judged her.

She knew he found her lacking. Probably, he thought she was too soft to do what was necessary. But he must have some admiration for her, since he’d said she should have been a Slytherin. She wasn’t. Hermione was a Gryffindor, through and through. This task required grit and determination, not cunning and duplicity. And Gryffindors were nothing if not brave. There were times when the ends justified the means, and this was one of those cases.

“You know I can,” she said, resolve making her sit up straighter and look over the remaining potions.

Two she recognized. One was a Blood Replenishing Potion, the phial significantly larger than the others. Probably because he’d correctly gauged Ron’s loss from the amount covering her. Another was a Strengthening Solution, the turquoise shade a brilliant colour. But she didn’t recognize the final potion.

“Good,” he said swiftly, not questioning her resolve further.

“What spell will I need to use?”

“Trace over the wound, and say VUL-ner-ah sah-NEN-tour.” She watched him carefully, mimicking his wand movements. “Repeat the spell,” he instructed.

“Vulnera Sanentur,” she repeated dutifully, dreading what was to come. Snape nodded approvingly.

“Were you injured at all? You can practise on yourself if necessary,” he suggested. “The spell can be used on any wound that bleeds.”

“It was all R-Ron’s blood,” she said, stumbling over his name as she recalled the thick, crimson river gushing from his arm.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“No cuts, but…my ankle. I sprained it,” she answered, breath catching as he kneeled, easing fluidly to the floor beside her and holding his hand out for her foot.

The sight fully eclipsed her memory of Ron’s trauma. Cautiously, she lifted it, gasping when his calloused hand gently wrapped around her lower calf, holding it secure. Soothing warmth spread through the area as he quietly murmured, touching the tip of his wand to the swollen and bruised area.

“And now?”

Hermione slowly rotated her foot in a circle, conscious of Snape’s hand still enclosing her leg. There wasn’t even a trace of the sharp needles and throbbing that had been there before. “Healed,” she confirmed.

Snape exhaled loudly, regaining her attention. Had he been concerned? Was that why he’d sent Dobby? She’d figured he just didn’t want to see her break down when he returned or have her leave stains in the room that might betray her impromptu visit.

“Silence the room in case he screams,” Snape instructed, getting back to the matter at hand as though they’d never stopped, “regrowing a muscle takes less time than a bone, but hurts nearly as much.”

“He lost a great deal of blood earlier,” Hermione ventured, wondering if she should administer some of the Blood Replenishing Potion prior to cutting away the fresh skin on Ron’s arm.

“If you give him a Blood Replenishing Potion first, he’ll just bleed more while you’re working on him,” Snape said succinctly, following her line of thought easily enough.

“What should I have done?”

“A localised Stasis Charm,” he said gravely, only the barest hint of censure leaking into his tone.

“Of course,” she murmured, mentally smacking her forehead.

It was one of the very first spells they’d ever learned. It was often used on potions. Madam Hooch had used it on Neville in first year during the second flying lesson when he’d fallen and broken his leg. Even Professor McGonagall had used it on Seamus last year when they’d been practising human transfiguration and he’d made a mistake.

She should have known better. The spell could halt blood flow for a prolonged period of time without resulting in tissue damage or death. If she’d done it, all Snape would have needed to do to help her was teach her the spell the Ministry used when someone was Splinched. But she’d used Essence of Dittany, and that had essentially cauterised the vessels, rendering the spell useless.

“Berate yourself later and learn from this mistake. For now, focus on what must be done. Afterwards, you can give him the potion – the full amount, and he will need the Anticoagulant Potion in case of clotting. The muscle will be weak, so tomorrow, once the growth has finished, give him the Strengthening Solution. It should allow him to use the arm immediately, though some soreness may linger for a few weeks.”

“I understand.”

She could do this. She had to. For Ron’s sake, she would.

Hermione didn’t make it halfway to the door before Snape stopped her. “Granger, why did you come to me?”

“I needed help,” she answered simply, frowning as she met his searching gaze. Those fathomless onyx eyes took her measure, and she wondered what he saw.

“You could have gone to any in the Order for it,” he reminded her pointedly.

Yes, she could have. But the truth was that she hadn’t thought of them. She’d only thought of Snape. But she could never say that to him. Somehow, she thought he might recognize the truth without her saying it anyway. Even without Legilimency.

He frowned, the creases in his forehead a familiar sight from years of watching him teach.

There wasn’t another person alive that would willingly trust Snape. The Order certainly wouldn’t. And she doubted Voldemort or his ilk even knew what trust was. Yet Hermione could say that her trust in Snape was incontestable.

Holding up the potions, Hermione repeated, “Thank you, Snape.”

Hermione hurried back to Ron, relieved that afternoon classes seemed to have begun and most of the upper level halls were relatively empty.

“Did you get what he needs?” Harry demanded worriedly, meeting her when she darted into the room.

“Yes,” she breathed, nervous energy drumming through her veins as she mentally prepared for what she needed to do.

“Did Madam Pomfrey see you?”

“No. Luckily she wasn’t there,” Hermione answered honestly, feeling not the slightest qualm about keeping the full truth from him. “This is going to be difficult. Silence the room for me?”

Hermione had barely thought about needing a table to put the potions on before one appeared. By the time she’d laid out the potions, Harry was back beside her.

“What are you going to do?”

“I need access to the damaged tissue if he’s to regrow the muscle,” she said flatly, barely sparing him a look.

“Access…you don’t mean…?” he asked shakily.

“That’s precisely what I mean,” she answered crisply, positioning Ron’s arm so the mutilated area was exposed and facing her.

“Hermione —”

She didn’t wait to hear his protests, just raised her wand, aimed, and cried the necessary spell. “Diffindo!”

“AHHH!” The scream filled the room, surging forth with a new wave of gushing blood. Without effort or resistance, the skin of Ron’s upper arm had peeled back to reveal the missing tissue hollowed out of his upper arm as though with an ice cream scoop.

Ron thrashed on the bed, awoken with a vengeance as he twisted and writhed, pain a swarm of fire ants crawling over his limbs. He fought Hermione’s hold, and she nearly dropped the contents of the potion as she tried in vain to restrain her friend.

“Hold him down!”

His one good arm swung uncontrollably, while the other hung limply, spilling precious blood that he could ill afford to lose onto the ground and bedding.

“Harry!” she cried, breaking him from his disbelieving stupor.

“Sorry, mate, but you’ll thank me for this later,” Harry muttered, hauling back and clocking Ron right in the jaw. Ron slumped back, clearly unconscious as all noise cut off abruptly mid scream.

Hermione was stunned, not having expected Harry to try such a tactic, but she quickly moved to do what was needed before Ron lost any more blood. Harry then helped her hold Ron’s mouth shut while she massaged his throat to get the Blood Replenishing Potion and Anticoagulant Potion into him.

She worked on autopilot, tending to him then cleaning the resulting mess without a word. It was easier to do when she wasn’t thinking.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Harry finally said, unable to hold the words back any longer now that the gruesome task was done.

“We all do what’s necessary, you more than anyone should recognize that,” she said stiffly, fearing censure. She shouldn’t have. Harry understood difficult choices more now than he once did. He’d lost too many people not to.

“Yeah,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face roughly. “I guess you’re just a bit scarier when you reach that point. Not sure I could have done it.”

Harry might not always be able to do the difficult deeds, but at least he surrounded himself with those willing to make the sacrifice. He’d never survive if he didn’t.

No one spoke for a long time, each lost in their own musings. The silence was heavy, but not oppressive. More like a thick blanket on a winter day than an unwanted burden.

Hermione welcomed the peace to get lost in her thoughts, recalling at once her most recent interaction with Snape. When he had tended to her ankle, she couldn’t help but recall the way he’d seen to her pleasure over the summer. He was so gruff and abrasive verbally, while his touch was soft and gentle as velvet. He was a conundrum.

But even as she welcomed the opportunity to get lost in her own thoughts, she could almost see Harry’s growing darker with every passing minute.

“Do you want to talk about what the locket said to you?” she asked tentatively, willing him not to snap at her. She never knew whether or not his temper was in check after a tense situation. And right now she wasn’t sure she could take him unloading on her. Her nerves were raw, ground from a trip through a meat processor.

“Not really.” The clipped tone conveyed all she needed to know. The only person with any hope of getting through to him right now was Ginny. But she was currently in class.

Hermione had a feeling the temptation to see the fiery witch was going to become a problem before too long if they did stick around.

They should probably set up some ground rules about remaining hidden. It was imperative that no one learn about Harry’s presence in the castle. Of course, if she was using his cloak, he’d be forced to stay put….

“I’m going to get some books on the Hogwarts Founders tomorrow,” she announced, wondering if she could get away with a pit stop to the Head office as well, “probably a few history books as well. Do you think you’ll be up to searching for clues if I bring them back here since you can’t come with me?”

“I know I have to stay here,” he grit out, annoyed that she had slipped the little reminder in, “but I thought you wanted to do the research.”

“You’re more familiar with You-Know-Who than I am,” Hermione countered. Perhaps this would help keep him occupied. Not to mention providing Harry a chance to relay additional insights he’d initially cast aside as irrelevant. Who knew how much he had flitting through his mind that might rise to the surface and aid them with the proper prompting. They’d be able to work out the clues he had sooner once they were using the right tools.

“Ron’s not awake. You can use his name,” Harry muttered, still annoyed that Ron had been insisting they stop saying Voldemort. He’d been so adamant when they first got to Grimmauld Place that Hermione and Harry had quickly relented.

“I’d rather not,” she said crisply, thinking back on how Snape had reacted to it as well. More than ever, it felt as though the name and the Dark Mark were sentient. No sense tempting fate more than they already had that day.

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed, agreeing, “Sure. I’ll make a list of possible hiding spots too. We can check them out one at a time.”

They lapsed back into silence, occasionally checking on Ron. It was actually possible to see the divot in his arm shrinking. Hermione could also see the sheen of sweat and extensive flush covering his body as he twitched and jerked periodically. Faint hisses escaped his clenched teeth, and a burgundy smudge marred Ron’s chin where Harry had punched him. She wondered if, like earlier, he’d momentarily forgotten he was a wizard. A Stunning Charm would have had the same effect.

Eventually, Harry retrieved the Marauder's Map from the pouch he wore around his neck. He hunkered down in one of the cushy, red armchairs provided by the room to stare fixedly at it, and she knew he was watching Ginny’s dot. That map would be a problem if she really did decide to drop by Snape’s office again. Something she’d better keep in mind.

Leaving him to it, she was relieved when a bathroom materialised in the Room a second after she thought about needing one. The temptation of a hot shower called to her after the experience of getting Ron’s blood on her for the second time that day.

Ron was awake by the time she exited the small room, sitting up and speaking stoically to Harry. The bag of packed sandwiches she’d pulled out earlier was flattened, the boys obviously having demolished the lot of them while she’d been getting cleaned up. Two more cots had appeared as well beside Ron’s.

“How are you holding up?” Hermione asked eagerly, going to check his arm.

“We all got out. The locket is destroyed. Give me a couple days and I’ll be ready to celebrate,” Ron said mockingly, though the half smile he gave her was at least relatively sincere. Then he winced and pulled free when she tried to bend his arm at the elbow.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione ventured, never having wanted to hurt him. Particularly after he’d been so focused on protecting her. “That man had my arm, then I tripped and —”

“‘S’ll good,” Ron interrupted. “Been hurt worse playing Quidditch,” he said, forcing a lightheartedness to his tone. The last was debatable, but she appreciated his effort to downplay her culpability. At least until he winced again while trying to get settled back into bed. His arm was still all but useless.

Harry moved to help him, which was probably for the best. Ron would have likely resented her assistance, viewing it as a blow to his masculinity or some such rot.

It didn’t take long for Ron to fall back asleep after that, probably a lingering effect of the pain, and potions, and blood loss. Harry was out too not much later.

Hermione wrestled with the choice for all of five minutes before she found herself under Harry’s cloak, the nicked map in her pocket, and retracing her steps to the Head office.

Snape was there, alone, when she entered. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for her return. It was a fanciful notion. The reality was, he likely only wanted to know if she’d been successful. No. Probably, he’d simply been working. Running a boarding school for magical students, while also following the insane decrees of an evil despot, was a round-the-clock gig.

He didn’t immediately look up from the paper he held when she entered, seeming to know it was her despite her transparent state. Hermione hesitated in the middle of the room, slowly pulling off Harry’s cloak, not quite sure what to say.

Snape saved her from the uncomfortable silence, finally looking up and prudently asking, “How long will you be here?”

“Indefinite,” she answered, judging his reaction.

Snape looked shocked, suspicious, apprehensive – but not actually opposed to the notion.

“Is this necessary?”

“No? Possibly? We didn’t have any good options, but this felt right,” she answered honestly, fighting the urge to squirm beneath his intense scrutiny.

The portraits were back to muttering loudly. Snape shot a glare over his shoulder, and most of them quieted quickly. All except Phineas, who couldn’t seem to resist saying, “Just can’t stay away, apparently.”

Snape ignored the obvious innuendo. Hermione did as well, though her cheeks felt incredibly hot. Yes, she’d come here for Snape, but not for what the Slytherin was implying.

“Make certain Potter isn’t caught,” Snape ordered, leaving no room for doubt that this directive was not up for debate. As if she didn’t already know as much. Even Harry was aware. He’d never have let her roam the castle without him if he’d thought he could take the risk.

“I will,” she vowed anyway.

After all, he’d be implicated as well were Harry to be discovered here.

Though he might have also issued the reminder as a diversion, given the previous topic.

“We’ll need food while we’re here. I was thinking about Dobby since you sent him to me earlier,” Hermione mentioned awkwardly, hoping he’d not be angry that she was asking for yet another favour.

Snape grunted, glancing at Dumbledore’s nodding portrait before agreeing, “Yes. I will speak with him and impress the need for discretion. He has done quite well so far.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling more confident about her decision to hide at Hogwarts.

“You broke into the Ministry today,” Snape said tonelessly, laying the Evening Prophet on his desk and scooting it towards her until she could read the headline for herself.

A picture of Harry was off to one side, clearly labelled as Undesirable Number 1. Beside it, a headline declaring: Ministry Break-in to Halt Conviction of Magical Theft. So they were publicising that it had been them. She knew Harry had been recognized, but even if he hadn’t, they probably would have accused him anyways. They’d been pinning every unstopped “crime” on Harry lately. Scanning what she could of the front page text, Hermione understood that the trio, led by Harry, was being blamed for attempting to free those rightfully accused of stealing magic because he wished to see anarchy and chaos bring down their society.

“Who knew three teenagers could have such lofty ambitions,” Hermione murmured weakly, wishing she could discount the possibility of anyone taking the news seriously. But she’d already witnessed the wizarding world’s attitudes toward what was printed. For over a year, they’d taken everything that wretch Rita Skeeter wrote as gospel. This would be no different. The public was afraid, and they’d look for any answer that was being provided, regardless of how illogical.

“You think this is funny?” he asked darkly.

Knowing Snape was about to berate her for foolishness, and remind her that there were far more important things at stake than freeing a few innocents, Hermione headed him off, blurting, “Umbridge had one of the Horcruxes.”

“You were successful in retrieving it?” he asked, sitting forward intently, attitude abruptly changing. Dumbledore perked up in his frame as well, his blue eyes sparkling noticeably.

“We were,” she confirmed, feeling another hint of hope that they might actually be able to pull this whole thing off.

“That was a dangerous gamble. Potter’s idea, I take it?” he asked rhetorically, as eager as ever to attribute all blame to Harry.

“It all worked out in the end…thanks to you,” Hermione said sincerely, looking anywhere except at Snape. For the first time she realised that nothing about the office had changed. He’d made no effort to make the space his own. As though he knew this appointment was temporary. It was a dark thought.

She stared at his desk as she moved to sit in the chair before it, inviting herself to stay.

His next words made her instantly regret the decision.

“Don’t rely on me to save you from all the ridiculous scrapes you’re bound to get into.”

Hermione swallowed back a number of defensive arguments she immediately wanted to make, glaring at the wizard across from her. He was watching her intently. So much so that she realised he was deliberately provoking her. Why? Was he determined to have her admitting why she’d come to him for help? Why she wanted to be at the castle?

She didn’t really have an answer to that. At least not one she could put into words.

“Why not? That’s precisely what you’ve been doing for years.” The words escaped her before she’d fully processed the significance of the thought.

“Because Albus ordered me to,” he replied in a measured voice. The slow, drawn out sound delighted her senses, taking her back to his room when he’d curtly informed her that she thought too much – just before he’d kissed her.

A pointed cough from the back wall broke her free from the wild imaginings. Apparently Dumbledore disagreed as well.

“I think it’s more than that,” she dared to argue. Was it because he was truly a good man beneath the thorny exterior he wore like armour, or was there more to it?

“Then you’re a fool. Little better than a simpering dolt,” he said harshly, lashing out.

He had a habit of deliberately driving people away when they got too close to viewing his vulnerabilities. She’d watched him do it with the other staff, and during the summer she’d stayed at Grimmauld Place, she’d watched him do it with other members of the Order. Now he was doing it to her. Well, she wouldn’t be deterred so easily. Years of handling Harry and Ron’s tempers and mood swings had primed her for the challenge.

Hermione opened her mouth, prepared to call him on the lie, but his look warned retribution if she dared mention more. Wisely, she didn’t.

Even knowing his current prickly mood, spikier than a cactus, it still threw her when his eyes abruptly narrowed, and he asked, “Did it not occur to you that the easier method to obtain the Horcrux was to invade Umbridge’s home?”

“No,” she breathed, stunned by how much simpler that approach would have been.

Umbridge would have been alone. Breaking protective wards was a topic she actually had studied, so they would have been able to get into her home. With three against one, it’d have been easy to catch her off guard, then modify her memory after the fact. They could have been in and out without alerting the whole wizarding world that they were on the run together and getting up to something.

It wouldn’t have put the Weasleys in danger, yet again. After all, Voldemort hadn’t been aware Ron was with Harry, and not sick with Spattergroit in the Burrow’s attic.

That was something she’d need to speak with Ron about tomorrow.

“Perhaps next time you will endeavour to take fewer unnecessary risks,” Snape said caustically.

“I’ll be sure to run our next plan past you for approval,” she retorted stiffly, resenting that he made her feel about twelve years old all over again.

“Haven’t I already said I won’t help you?”

Yet, as she’d pointed out, he kept helping despite himself.

Needing to give him a reason to want to help, she found herself abruptly announcing, “The potion worked.”

“Then it was worth it?” he asked carefully, something deeper behind the question.

“You know it was,” she answered, breath hitching slightly. Tension simmered in the air, an uncurrent filling the room. Were they about to discuss the fact they’d shagged? As soon as the idea occurred, she rushed to ask, “How have things been for you here?”

She just couldn’t talk about it with Snape, not when he’d already shown how barbed his tongue was this evening. Perhaps another time it’d be easier.

But she could also tell he wasn’t happy with her question. Not that she blamed him. She was beating around the brush, and he hated when anyone was less than forthright with him. He played enough word games as a spy.

Or maybe he didn’t actually care about that at all. Maybe the real issue was that she was reminding him of a sensitive topic. The way his fingers flexed then clenched until the tendons strained suggested she’d have been better off asking literally anything else in the world.

“Haven’t you heard? My appointment was met with a riot of cheers and applause,” he sneered, sarcasm thick as molasses. “I’m aptly suited to hold the fate of future generations in my hands.”

Hermione thought again of the first year Muggleborns currently in Azkaban. She knew at once he’d known nothing about it until the deed was already done. Otherwise, he’d have risked everything, giving himself away in the process, had he known beforehand. Snape was nearly buckling under the weight of the burden he was carrying. The aftermath. Possibly something more – no doubt this year had gotten off to a rocky start afterwards. And the students had only been in school for three weeks. His relationship with her fellow Gryffindors had been contentious at the best of times.

“Becoming Headmaster was my life’s ambition,” he added, lips curling into a smile that held not a trace of warmth.

“I don’t believe you,” she said frankly, unable to bite the words back in time.

“Why must you always call my bluff?” he asked seriously, startling her with his candour.

Bravely, Hermione answered honestly. “Because you aren’t the bastard you pretend to be, and I want you to know I’m aware of the truth.”

“Don’t delude yourself into believing I’m some dark hero,” Snape sneered, seeming offended that anyone would dare attribute a good deed to his name.

“I think I’m starting to see precisely who you are.” She immediately regretted making the observation because he looked absolutely furious. His palpable anger didn’t make it any less true. Though she was left to wonder why he was so upset by her comment.

What was happening to make him either doubt his own goodness or put him in such a foul mood?

“Go to bed, Granger,” Snape ordered, shutting down anything she might have otherwise considered adding. “I have work to do, and your presence is a distraction.”

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 12: Taboo

“What are you doing here?” The clipped question had Hermione’s head whipping up to see the new arrival. Snape swept in, robes billowing about his legs like giant bat wings as his long strides carried him swiftly to his desk. Immediately, he rounded it, bracing his hands on the surface as he faced her.

It was almost like he was using it as a barrier, but more likely, the manoeuvre was to project an air of power and authority. This was his new domain, after all. And she’d invaded it.

“Do you ever get tired of asking me that?” she inquired, trying to appear nonplussed.

“I will…when you stop appearing where I am without an invitation,” he snapped, scowling darkly at her impertinence.

“Then extend me one,” she suggested, shrugging and looking back at the book she’d been reading – not that she could still process the words, it was more to give the appearance of being unaffected. It was all she could do not to laugh when he huffed.

Hermione continued to ignore him, though she could tell he was staring at her expectantly.

“Anyone could have walked in to discover you,” he finally stated, offering that as reasoning for his annoyance. Privately, she thought he’d seek any excuse available to be in a foul mood. It was simply his way.

“Because you have so many visitors knocking down your door?” It was a bit of a low blow considering the obvious animosity permeating the castle, but then she’d not expected such a cool greeting.

The day she’d arrived, he’d not treated her like a nuisance. His reaction to her now was noticeably more hostile, and she couldn’t help feeling the slightest bit offended.

“Explain yourself. Surely Potter hasn’t injured himself yet again,” he demanded, crossing his arms. The rigid stance practically screamed that his patience was at an end.

She didn’t bother reminding him it had been Ron injured, not Harry. He was perfectly aware, she knew. He was just being ornery because he could.

So, rolling her eyes, she answered, not really having a reason to keep it to herself beyond enjoying poking at him. Something about having seen him come undone and laugh without reservation made him infinitely less formidable. Slightly indignant, she explained, “I was researching in the library and a third year nearly sat on me. It was difficult enough trying to read under the cloak, but now I have to be on the lookout lest I be used as a chair.”

“So you’ve taken it upon yourself to make use of my office rather than join your friends?”

To be fair, it was a valid question. It wasn’t as though he’d invited her to make use of his office or given any indication that she would be welcome, but it was the first place she’d thought of to go and be undisturbed. “I can’t concentrate with them talking constantly,” she admitted frankly, figuring honesty would help her cause.

Plus, she was utterly sick of fighting with Harry. He’d been in Voldemort’s head again that morning. She simply didn’t understand why he wouldn’t acknowledge how dangerous that was! Voldemort could have reversed the connection, discovering they were at Hogwarts or hunting the Horcruxes! Why did he want to experience the monster’s horrible thoughts? It didn’t make any sense, and he blatantly refused to take her warnings seriously or try to do Occlumency to prevent it from happening. It was positively infuriating!

“So you’re here to bother me instead?”

“That’s the idea,” she countered, offering an unconcerned smile.

Snape looked uncertain about how to take the teasing jest. It almost made her feel bad for the man. He was clearly stressed and unused to easy banter. But maybe that just meant he could use a distraction as well. Not to mention a bit of practice conversing with someone that didn’t outright hate him.

“I also need someone to bounce ideas off,” she added, thinking of the list of questions she had piling up after spending hours debating with Harry and Ron about the Horcruxes.

“Finally figured out Potter and Weasley are useless idiots, have you?” he retorted, posture relaxing a fraction in the first hint that he wasn’t quite as opposed to her invasion of his space as he’d first indicated.

“Yes, well, I have questions –”

“When don’t you?”

“Hmph,” she huffed, willing herself to let the taunt go and not take offence. Snape was about as cuddly and approachable as a porcupine. “As I was saying, I have questions that you’re in a better position to answer.”

“This should be interesting,” he drawled, settling in behind the desk.

Hermione took that as an invitation, asking, “Which Death Eater does You-Know-Who–”

“I didn’t think you’d been in contact with anyone since coming here,” he interrupted, a crease wrinkling his brow.

“I haven’t,” she denied, shaking her head, confused.

“Then how did you learn of the taboo?”

“What taboo?” she asked, disliking not having enough information to follow the conversation properly. It left her on uneven footing, and with Snape, that was never a good position to be in.

“There’s a taboo on the Dark Lord’s name. It’s how he’s tracking Potter’s followers. Kingsley was nearly caught yesterday,” Snape informed her brusquely. Part of Hermione wanted to seize on the news, anxious for updates about the Order and outside world, but given the way Snape’s obsidian eyes were currently penetrating her, she figured it would be better to stay on point.

“I didn’t know. I just remembered you…requesting I not say it,” she informed him, skirting the fact it had been more of an order with a healthy dose of intimidation to ensure it stuck.

A taboo? On a name? It was absurd, but apparently effective. Only those closest to Harry and Dumbledore had ever been brave, or brash, enough to use Voldemort’s name aloud.

For once, Ron’s paranoia had actually paid off and benefited them. His superstitions might very well have saved them these last few months. If nothing else, it’d meant they weren’t suddenly attacked while preparing to infiltrate the Ministry.

“I’m surprised you listened,” Snape said dryly, disdain or disbelief colouring his words with a heavy paintbrush.

“I’ve always listened to you,” Hermione insisted quietly.

It was true. She’d always treated everything her teachers had said with the gravity and reverence their positions deserved – with the notable exceptions of Trelawney and Umbridge. But then there was no reason to heed the words of obvious frauds. Unlike Snape. He was extremely knowledgeable, and she valued all she could learn from him. Always had, and likely always would. It was part of why she was currently making camp in his office. Among other reasons that she refused to dwell on.

A strained silence descended, and Hermione was at a loss for how to dispel it. Snape was clearly unused to the respect she was indicating she had for his previous position. Possibly because she was a Gryffindor, though it could also have been because they’d blurred the lines between them.

She searched their previous conversation for anything to use to break the awkwardness, finally settling for grasping at the familiarity he’d displayed when saying Kingsley’s name, sensing it went beyond serving in the Order together.

“Did you go to school with Kingsley?”

“He was two years ahead of me. Head Boy in his day as well. Always very fair…even to the Slytherins – probably because he was a Ravenclaw.”

Hermione noticed how he emphasised that last bit. It was true that Slytherins were often blamed for everything. That was their reputation, earned with ample evidence, yes. But maybe they wouldn’t be so prone to making bad decisions if people didn’t automatically expect them to turn out evil. It was something to consider at the very least.

“He was very close to the Longbottoms. I believe that was Dumbledore’s motivation for including him in the Order this time,” Snape continued, the shadows clouding his face like an oncoming storm.

“I’d forgotten Neville’s parents were Aurors,” Hermione said quietly, recalling that heartbreaking meeting at St. Mungo’s. Poor Neville.

Kingsley must have been completing his third year of training when they’d begun their first year. They’d worked together to track down Voldemort’s followers after the war…before the three Lestranges and Barty Crouch Jr got to them, at least. Had Snape been one of those followers? Was that part of why he disliked Neville so much? It would explain a great deal. Snape was certainly well known for his ability to hold a grudge.

“Until they weren’t,” Snape intoned flatly.

“I’ve met them,” she admitted, wondering if he’d share anything about them as he had Kingsley. Even if she had just stumbled onto the reason he bullied Neville, she still wondered what he remembered of the young couple. There were few in a position to know what they used to be like. She knew from her time with Harry how desperate he was for any tidbit he could learn, the only means he had to know them. Neville was likely the same, despite having his Gran. That woman didn’t strike Hermione as once to share common anecdotes, so much as boast over-inflated accomplishments.

Snape didn’t. Instead, he relayed a different, darker prediction. One she was certain he was correct about. “They won’t be the only ones in such a state by the end of this.”

“It’s not that much different from the Muggleborns the Ministry is arresting,” Hermione acknowledged.

Snape visibly tensed, his fingers clenching around a quill on his desk hard enough to snap it. Was he expecting her to ask about the Hogwarts students? Possibly even condemn him for not protecting them? She wasn’t. She’d already figured that out for herself. No, she was more concerned with her own role in this war.

“When we got the Horcrux. There were Muggleborns awaiting trial. I left them there,” she confessed, bracing herself and ploughing ahead, needing to have someone who might understand hear about what she’d done. So far neither she nor Ron had been able to bring themselves to tell Harry. They both knew he’d not have left the others. He’d have risked everything for them. But then, Harry was the best of them. It was the reason he inspired so much loyalty in those around him. “Ron insisted we go – because of the locket, but also so they wouldn’t catch me. I wanted to get all of the ones there out, but Ron wouldn’t let us wait. He protected me over them…and I let him.”

“Possibly the first intelligent thing the prat has ever done.” Hermione grit her teeth at the insult, figuring it was a habit for him to be a bastard when it came to her friends. Besides, defending Ron wasn’t foremost in her mind.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she admitted, seeking advice. If anyone had experience learning to live with regret and the hardships of war, it was Snape.

The nightmares had started up after that first night they’d stayed in the castle. People screamed, begging for help as she turned her back. Then came the blood. It marked her, an indelible reminder of her guilt for all the world to see. Each night she’d woken, having to double and triple check that her hands weren’t truly stained crimson.

“Try harder,” he remarked snidely. Hermione couldn’t stop herself from glaring at him, but he merely raised a brow in challenge. It was bloody infuriating! It made her want to hit something.

Yet she was still more angry with herself than anything else.

Hermione looked around the room, unable to meet his knowing gaze. Snape possessed the unique ability to see straight into the very depths of her soul. Without words, he apparently could read her better than her two closest friends.

As she searched for a distraction, it suddenly occurred to her what was different about this visit. It was quiet. Too quiet. Not one portrait had spoken or whispered since she’d arrived. For once it actually felt as though they were having a private conversation.

In fact, as she took in the various headmasters and headmistresses mounted on the wall, every one was either missing or feigning sleep. And a lot were currently missing. Most, in fact. How peculiar. Somehow it made it easier to confide in Snape. Especially when she saw that he was still waiting for her response.

“I see their faces when I close my eyes. Every single time. I’ve not slept the night through since it happened. I keep wondering if I will ever manage again, or if I even deserve to.” The words were ragged, shaken from a part of her that had never seen the light of day or crossed her lips. But she said them now. “I keep wishing I’d done something different. But wishes change nothing. They don’t serve a purpose beyond fueling guilt.”

“Dwelling will get you nowhere – trust me,” Snape replied gravely, not dismissing her confession as he once might have.

Probably because he was doing the same. They were both powerless and hated it. Hermione could easily picture the similarities between them. Life was a series of choices, and each of them was doing their best to make the least objectionable one. But it didn’t mean the consequences weren’t adding up.

“Do what you must to get through the coming months or years with the least collateral damage. It’s the most you can hope for.” It was honest advice, and probably for the best as far as her mental state went.

But that was the problem.

Abruptly, Hermione was spitting mad at the entire situation. It sizzled around her like electricity intent on making her frizzy curls stand on end. She had probably been angry all along, but now all of that pent up rage was boiling over.

“It’s so easy for You-Know-Who’s followers to blame and hate Muggleborns. You’re a half-blood. I remember. Your Muggle blood comes from your father. Do you hate him?”

“Yes,” Snape spat, nostrils flaring and face reddening as he answered.

For the first time, Hermione felt uneasy. That wasn’t the answer she’d expected to hear. Her mouth went dry as she recalled just how much power this man possessed. The venom as he’d spoken…it was alarming.

But no. Snape wasn’t like that. He didn’t hate her because of her blood. He wasn’t Malfoy. Right?

Just because he freely admitted he hated his father didn’t necessarily mean he hated him because of his ancestry. There were probably other reasons. There must be. But he’d never welcome her prying – that much was amply apparent.

“You’ve never been particularly outspoken against Muggleborns,” she dared to say, seeking confirmation in a roundabout way.

“I learned my lesson long ago,” he said distantly, hand fiddling with something on the desk that she couldn’t make out. The broken pieces of the quill he’d snapped? No. She could see those clearly.

Wait, lesson? What lesson had that been? Hermione frowned, her inherent tenacity demanding she push despite all reason and logic where Snape was concerned. She wanted to get a deeper sense of the man.

“Because teaching allowed you to see firsthand how ridiculous and untrue the prejudices were?”

“I was already aware by the time I began teaching,” he said stiffly, glaring at her for poking and prodding in a personal area she had no business venturing.

Not wanting to be cast from the office, Hermione relented, sighing and changing the subject. Not that the new topic would be particularly welcome either, but it was one she needed to know about. Another motivation for reading here rather than with Harry and Ron.

“I’ve seen a number of injured students on my way to and from the library over the last few days. What’s happening around here?”

It took some time before Snape answered, and he only did after turning to stare out the window. “Much in the same vein as you saw at the Ministry.”

“Which translates to what – specifically?” she persisted, refusing to let the matter drop as he so obviously wished she would.

“The Carrows are teaching students the Dark Arts. Any who refuse to practise them have the spells practised on them,” he said bluntly, finally meeting her stunned gaze.

“You’re serious,” Hermione gasped.

Snape gestured towards a stack of three books on the table Hermione had ignored in favour of her own research. Now she picked up the top one, The Dark Arts: Curses and Jinxes.

“The new textbooks,” he said brusquely, lips turning down in disgust.

Flipping through the pages, she saw a number of rather graphic spells described. She stared helplessly at a picture of a wizard with his eyes bursting and blood spraying, feeling her stomach turn unpleasantly at the sight.

The students were actually learning these? And using them against each other? No. That couldn’t be true. Hermione’s head jerked up, a denial dying on her lips as she saw the undisguised truth.

No wonder Snape was struggling. He’d barely been Headmaster for a month, and already everything Hogwarts stood for was in jeopardy. This was going to be his legacy.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

No one would know about how he’d helped her create the potion necessary to destroy Voldemort. And even if they did, it’d just play right into the depravity occurring under his reign – sleeping with a very young, though legal, virgin for the sake of collecting a potion ingredient.

His face was completely, utterly blank as he continued, adding, “Fortunately, the majority of students are incapable of truly utilising the spells, and most cannot cause permanent damage.”

Well that was something at least. Except….

“Most?”

He inclined his head, then brought a hand to his temple, betraying a headache. It was probably recurring at this point. “For now, there are physical means of inflicting similar damage, though the longer this continues, the more the fear and animosity will grow, fueling the students’ ability to properly perform the spells.”

At least it explained why only the first year Muggleborns had been imprisoned. She’d wondered. The other years had demonstrated a verified magical ability. Now they were being conditioned, brainwashed. Taught and threatened into following Voldemort’s twisted ideals and vicious, depraved practices. Their morales twisted and perverse from an impressionable age.

What would happen to those that proved incapable of performing the spells? Would more Muggleborn students be arrested come end-of-term?

“How long did it take you to learn?”

“My situation was different than most here.”

Hermione didn’t bother questioning him further regarding that little tidbit. He’d never reveal more, she could tell. Besides, she could guess at the source. The Marauders. His childhood. Given what she already knew, and Mrs. Dursley’s oblique reference, it wasn’t difficult to figure out. So instead, she pressed, “How long?”

“I was sufficiently motivated by the end of my first year here. If the students here begin practising in earnest, this war will not go our way,” he warned seriously.

How many would turn to Voldemort when that happened? Fear of ending up in Azkaban could be a powerful motivator, as she’d seen for herself. It looked like the time left on the clock had just became finite, and it was much less than any of them had anticipated.

“Is Potter aware that his friends are being particularly stubborn?” Snape asked, the question interrupting her mental mapping of a theoretical timeline.

A lump formed in her throat. She’d been worried about the students incapable of performing the spells. She should have also considered what would happen to those who refused outright. Snape had already mentioned them, but now that he’d referenced her friends, she knew they’d never go along with the new regime. They’d resist, and suffer as a result.

“No. I’ve insisted he stay in the Room of Requirement, but he’s already going stir crazy. I’m not sure how much longer he’ll be willing to wait if I can’t come up with a lead for us soon,” Hermione admitted wearily.

Four days. They’d only been at the castle for four days, and already Harry was itching to do what they all knew he shouldn’t. Hermione didn’t want to go, especially after tonight – she’d needed the affirmation – but there was no way Harry would continue sitting in a room so close to the people he cared about, particularly if he discovered the news she’d just learned.

Part of her had hoped yesterday would help, but their failure to locate a Horcrux when they’d snuck out to search where the orphanage had once stood only made things worse. The building had been torn down years ago, and nothing to hint at magic remained. Harry had been surly afterwards, saying he’d known there wouldn’t be one there. You-Know-Who picked places of importance and significance to him, not locations he loathed and wished to erase.

Problem was, they didn’t know where those places might be. And Harry just kept suggesting the places important to him – not Voldemort.

“If we all had the luxury of doing as we pleased,” Snape sneered petulantly. Hermione sighed, annoyed that he was behaving more like her friends than a fully grown wizard at the moment. Honestly!

“Well –”

Snape held up a hand, halting her mid set-down as he seemed to consider something.

“Perhaps you can use the situation here to keep him occupied,” he said slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“Instead of risking him behaving as he usually does and running headlong into danger to visit his friends, bring his friends to him,” Snape explained, displaying more interest than he had since arriving.

“As a common room?” Hermione asked uncertainly. She didn’t like the idea of exposing Harry to potential threats. What if someone turned on them as Marietta Edgecombe had?

“As a refugee for those being targeted by the Carrows,” Snape clarified, raising a brow. Understanding dawned. This was as much for him as it was Harry. He was desperate for a way to protect his students, and this was the answer he’d been looking for.

Snape’s expression turned beseeching, and Hermione was helpless to refuse outright. Still, she felt it necessary to warn, “They’ll band together, and if Harry knows how bad it is, he’ll start up the D.A. again.”

“We’re at war. If your little friends intend to keep standing against the Death Eaters hurting students, then they should be properly prepared to fight,” he said, warming to the idea.

Muttering sounded at that, and they both glanced at the meagre audience no longer pretending to sleep as the few Heads in the room watched from their stationary positions on the back wall. A curtain seemed to fall over Snape as he recalled that his every action was being judged – if not by Voldemort, then the students, staff, or his predecessors. It was an impossible position.

Wishing to relieve him of some of his burden, she plainly said, “You blame yourself. But you can’t stop them, or they’d suspect your true loyalties.”

His jaw clenched a second before he turned it around on her, disliking what he likely considered to be her pity. “No more than you could have saved those Muggleborns at the Ministry.”

“I suppose,” Hermione allowed, sensing the new comradery that had developed between them was at an end.

“You think too much, and unfortunately they are not original thoughts.” A coldness accompanied the assessment. Try as she might, she couldn’t completely shrug off the hurt it caused.

Yes. It was definitely over. Snape was her ally, true, but not her friend. She’d do well to remember that moving forward.

“So you’ve said,” she replied stiffly, determined not to let him see how affected she was by the cut.

A disapproving cough sounded, and she didn’t need to look to know it’d come from Dumbledore. Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously. The sound probably reminded him that the man had forced Snape to compromise his morals before the latest events had even started at Hogwarts.

“If you insist upon remaining, then I demand you read in silence. I have enough to do without having to entertain you as well.”

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but abruptly closed it. This wasn’t the time to push. He’d already been more open and understanding with her than she had any right to expect. More than that, he’d allowed her to remain – so long as she didn’t keep pestering him. It was an infinitely better alternative to rehashing the same debate with the boys.

It wasn’t until much later, when she was slowly making her way back to the Room of Requirement, that she realised she’d never actually asked Snape the question that had started them talking – Who among the Death Eater was close enough to Voldemort that he’d entrust them with safeguarding a Horcrux?

Only Snape was in a position to help with that sort of information – that was part of her reasoning for wanting to be in the castle while helping Harry. They needed someone on the inside.

He’d not exactly forbidden her from returning to his office. Once she sorted out the issue with the students and let them in on the secret, she’d try again.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

Any dialogue you recognize is from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, though most is changed at least a bit to fit this story. I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 13: Rebellion

Hermione looked over the Marauder's Map again. She’d been searching for an opportunity since leaving Snape’s office two days ago, and now finally appeared to be the time.

Initially, she’d planned to tell Harry and Ron outright what was happening at the castle, simply saying she’d overheard students talking, but she was worried Harry would overreact. His sudden urge to proceed with caution had already vanished in the wake of Ron’s full recovery. So instead, she’d been waiting for someone like Ginny to be in the corridor outside the Room, when she could exit and “accidentally” get caught. It’d be less suspicious and might temper Harry’s response.

Currently, Neville was one corridor away. It wasn’t Ginny, but honestly, he was the next best thing. She had no doubt he was right in the thick of things – had been ever since the Department of Mysteries.

“These are useless!” she announced, slamming her tome shut and adding it to a rather large stack she’d been accumulating. “I’m going to return them and try to find a book that might provide something of actual value.”

Hermione winced, wishing her acting skills were a bit less obvious, though she needn’t have worried. Neither of the boys did more than glance up from the books she’d instructed them to search earlier. She had a feeling they were more zoned out than truly engrossed. History had never been either of their strengths.

This wasn’t the first time she’d done something similar. The first morning, the boys had woken to her pouring over the books she’d gathered after her visit with Snape. She’d stopped by the library on her way back to have a cover in case either Harry or Ron had discovered her gone during her visit. They hadn’t, but her nightmares had been severe enough that she’d given up on sleep rather quickly. When Ron’s rumbling stomach woke him, she’d made the comment, “I wish someone here could bring us food. Didn’t really think about that when I wanted us to come here.”

Harry had replied, “I think Dobby is still –”

The elf had materialised as though just mentioning his name had summoned him. Probably could, given their inherent magic was geared towards service. Once he’d finished fawning over Harry, he’d readily agreed to drop food off for them while they were here, and then he’d gone again.

Hermione had been on pins and needles the whole time, just waiting for him to slip up and reveal something he shouldn’t. But every time he looked at her, he’d squeak and jump and dart about the room. It left her feeling uneasy to know how anxious Dobby was about lying for her, but she consoled herself knowing he at least wasn’t hurting himself as he had in the past.

Overall, Dobby’s behaviour hadn’t drawn more than a single remark from Ron, which had been, “That one is still the most barmy house-elf I’ve ever met.”

Now it was time to test the next charade.

With a final glance at the map to ensure Neville was still alone and nearby, she hefted her enormous pile of books and headed for the door. Her struggle to open the door was genuine, weighed down as she was.

It was barely open when Harry called, “Hermione, you haven’t got the cloak on!”

At once she dropped her burden, wincing and jumping for real at the loud crash that sounded when they tumbled to the floor, spilling into the hall. “Blast it!” she yelled. She’d barely bent to gather them up, nerves making her authentically clumsy and frantic, when Neville raced forward, staring open-mouthed at the door and the sight of Hermione Granger kneeling inside of Hogwarts.

Just as she’d hoped, the racket they’d made and her yell had alerted their friend and brought him racing around the corner towards their hiding spot.

“Hermione!” he gasped, slowing his approach as he asked, “Is that really you? What are you doing here?”

“Neville!” she squeaked, not feigning the high-pitched tremor that shook her cry. This had gone even better than she could have hoped.

“Neville?” Ron repeated, appearing beside her and reaching to clap their fellow house and year mate in a hug.

“Er, maybe we should continue this inside?” Harry ventured, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he glanced worriedly down the hall.

“Harry! You and Ron are here too?”

“Inside,” Harry repeated. Quickly, the four hurried into the room, talking over one another as they did.

“What are you doing here?” Neville repeated anxiously, following it with more questions before they had a chance to answer. “Are you insane? Do you know who’s running this place? What if you’re caught?”

“How is everyone?” Ron asked, thrilled for news and a bit of fresh conversation. To be fair, they were all starved for the last. It might explain her consistent desire to seek out Snape, regardless of how much he’d made it clear she wasn’t truly welcome in his space.

“How’s Ginny?” That from Harry was nearly drowned out by Neville’s final question.

“Did you really break into the Ministry to stop them from arresting Muggleborns?”

“Hold up!” Harry called, raising his voice and hands to silence everyone. “Neville, I promise we’ll fill you in and answer all of your questions, but you first.”

“Deal,” he agreed readily.

“How have things been here?”

A look of unease flashed over his face. He briefly touched his faintly swollen eye before he reluctantly admitted, “It’s been pretty bad, mate.”

Hermione truly took him in then. His robes were a bit rumpled, but that wasn’t all that unusual for Neville. He’d also grown taller and filled out over the summer, his features finally suiting him, though the kindness typically present in his eyes had dimmed noticeably. But he didn’t look bumbling as he used to, or even confident with his maturing physique. No. He looked haggard and weary. A great weight perched precariously on his shoulders. Hermione recognized it because she’d seen Harry struggle with the same burden for years.

“What do you mean?” Ron prompted, exchanging a baffled look with the others.

“Lot of pressure to look after everyone and figure something out. But we’ve got to do something, can’t just stand idly by,” he said, more to himself. Neville shrugged then, plainly stating, “Not really like Hogwarts anymore, is it? Death Eaters treat us like we’re mini Malfoys-in-training.”

“Is that how you got the black eye?” Harry asked stiffly, pointing at the still relatively fresh, bluish-purple smudge under Neville’s right eye.

“What? This?” he asked, again touching the puffy area. “Nah, mate. The male Carrow gave it to me when we threw a party to celebrate you standing up to the Ministry.”

“You threw a party over us?” Ron straightened, ego inflating visibly. Hermione could well imagine that he was just itching to tell his version of events. It was Sirius Black with a knife all over again.

“‘Course. Ginny and Luna helped organise it,” he informed them proudly, grin stretching across his entire face.

“Are they all right?” Harry asked thickly, worry shadowing any lingering excitement from reuniting with an old friend.

“‘Bout the same,” he answered grimly.

“Carrow is a Death Eater,” Hermione said tonelessly, recalling the name from the fight the previous year. The name Carrow had been mentioned in the hospital wing when Bill was being treated.

“Yeah. There’s two of them teaching this year. Between the Slytherins and the Carrow siblings, I’m not sure which is worse. And they’re everywhere,” Neville relayed, dropping heavily into one of the plush seats provided by the Room.

“Wish we could just cast the lot of that house out,” Ron grumbled, sitting as well.

The idea rankled Hermione. She pursed her lips, shaking her head. No. That wasn’t the answer. “The school is split into four houses for a reason. Balance —”

“Yeah, one house is for all the bad witches and wizards,” Ron interjected, and even Neville nodded at that, though Harry looked rather uneasy, eyes distant in turbulent contemplation.

“Not every Slytherin is evil, and not every Gryffindor is good. Something to keep in mind when you go lumping them all in as one,” she argued, crossing her arms and glaring at Ron for his bull-headed outlook. So much for not arguing now that they’d settled on just remaining friends. At least the peace had lasted for more than a month.

But the topic of the House system had been weighing on her for the last couple days. Ever since Snape had made the comment about Kingsley being fair to the Slytherins when he’d been Head Boy. For some reason, she just couldn’t let the matter go.

“Name one Slytherin that isn’t evil to the core,” Ron challenged.

Hermione concentrated on taking several even, deep breaths to prevent her from blurting Snape’s name. Once she’d controlled the impulse, she triumphantly declared, “Regulus Black.”

“Probably because he had Sirius’s influence. They were brothers,” Ron countered, equally victorious.

“Yes, because Percy is such an influence on your choices,” she sneered, unconsciously mimicking Snape. “This prejudice is precisely–”

“Give it a rest, Hermione. No one asked for a bloody history lesson,” Ron snapped, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Please. We have other issues to focus on right now,” Harry requested, wincing sheepishly.

Silently, Hermione fumed. Ron only wanted to end the “conversation” because he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. His points were feeble, and he knew it. And of course Harry took his side. He always did. But he also had a point. So Hermione grit her teeth and said nothing more on the subject.

For now.

“Speaking of lessons…,” Neville said tentatively, clearly uncomfortable, but used to rows like that after witnessing them frequently over the last six years, “they’re teaching us the Dark Arts here this year. We get punished when we refuse to try, but some of us never will.”

“Punished?” Ron asked quickly, looking a bit green.

“Like I said, it’s not Hogwarts anymore.” A darker edge, sharper than the tip of a blade coloured the bleak statement.

“This is Snape’s doing,” Harry spat angrily, seizing on the opportunity to lay the blame at the feet of the man he believed helped murder his parents, and did personally murder his mentor.

Hermione inhaled sharply, knowing there was nothing she could say. It wasn’t a fun position to be in.

“Actually, he’s never really around,” Neville said suddenly, brow creasing as he reflected on the year so far. “Though he did stop Crabbe from beating up a second year Hufflepuff yesterday.”

“This is You-Know-Who, Harry. It all goes back to him,” Hermione said gently, attempting to redirect her friend’s fury to where it truly belonged.

“And those who follow him,” Ron insisted stubbornly. His jaw set, but after a moment he voiced his reasoning, throwing out examples, each one landing like a physical blow. “He didn’t attack Bill’s wedding directly and kill Mad-Eye. He wasn’t at the Ministry arresting Muggleborns. He isn’t here hurting students.”

The reminder of the Muggleborns at the Ministry hit with the force of a punch to the gut. Her stomach cramped unpleasantly. There were those like Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Dolores Umbridge, who were truly monsters – nearly as horrible as the master they willingly served.

It wasn’t all right. None of it.

“We’re not just sitting back and taking it. You’d be proud, Harry. A few of us are following the lead you set with Umbridge,” Neville said animatedly, gesturing about as he filled them in.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be making yourself a target,” Harry suggested, appearing shocked that he was being used as the inspiration that had probably played a role in the black eye Neville now sported. Hermione watched as Harry clenched his fist, staring at the scars scrawled across the whitened skin.

“Are you kidding? You’ve never just rolled over. It’s about time more people stood up and joined our side,” Neville insisted, displaying a measure of his newfound grit.

“You want to fight back too, don’t you?” Hermione asked quietly, staring at Harry knowingly.

“We have a few other things we need to be focused on,” Harry said pointedly, glancing at the stack of books they’d abandoned by the door, but a wistful, longing note had underlain the reminder.

“Maybe we can do both,” Hermione suggested, seizing on the opportunity. “You ran the D.A. before. Students still have classes, so starting it back up wouldn’t take more than an hour or so a day. A regular daily break might be just the thing we need.”

Harry had been in a funk since facing the Dumbledore figure from the locket. It had rocked his confidence. He’d been great at leading the D.A. Doing so again, seeing his classmates’ admiration and faith in him might go a long way to restoring his belief in himself. She was also banking on it giving him a much needed physical outlet, so he’d be mentally useful in uncovering the Horcrux hiding spots.

“We need something to do between…the other stuff,” Ron agreed eagerly, all for it and apparently ready to side with her on something again, their earlier spay forgotten in the excitement.

“I don’t know…what if we’re discovered again?”

“I doubt anyone would dare risk Hermione’s punishment after they saw Marietta. She’s still got the scars,” Neville said, infusing the words with the verbal equivalence of a shutter. What did that mean? Neville had sounded almost…afraid – of her. He went on before Hermione could ponder it further, saying, “Besides, things are different now. Everyone has picked a side. Impossible not to with the truth constantly staring them in the face. There’s no denying it anymore – not for any of us.”

“That’ll work once they’ve agreed to train here occasionally, but what if they find out and decide keeping our presence secret isn’t worth the risk?” Hermione was relieved by the evidence that Harry hadn’t completely abandoned his recent commitment to caution.

It prompted her to suggest, “I can create a similarly spelled document for them to sign before Neville brings them around to learn anything.” Because he was correct. Things were more dangerous now than they’d been in fifth year. Secrecy was paramount.

“Trust me, that threat will work. You’re terrifying when you want to be,” Neville assured her, eyes round with sincerity.

Again with the fear. Harry had mentioned her being terrifying too. So had Ron for that matter.

Was having that sort of reputation necessarily a bad thing? If it protected them?

Pushing the debate from her mind, Hermione suggestively mused, “It might be inspiring to talk with some of the other houses, Ravenclaw for example.”

“She’s got a point, mate,” Ron said, face alight with understanding.

They’d been focused on trying to figure out what artefact from Ravenclaw Voldemort might have used as a Horcrux. Who better to ask than members of that House? All the books they’d read insisted nothing remained, but Harry stubbornly refused to believe it.

“It’ll really feel like we’ve got a chance if you’re leading the rebellion,” Neville said, a trace of hero-worship for Harry leaking in, oblivious to their ulterior motive.

Harry’s resolve firmed, and he took in each of them, announcing, “Let’s do it.”

Over the next couple days, Neville slowly brought students from the former D.A. to the Room to see Harry for themselves and sign the newly completed nondisclosure agreement.

Very first had been Ginny, and they’d given her and Harry a few moments of relative privacy to reunite – even Ron. The youngest Weasley had looked Harry over, then taken his hand and sat beside him, not saying a word. That acceptance had unleashed a floodgate in Harry, and Hermione had watched from across the room as Harry spoke more to the redhead than Hermione could recall him saying in one go ever before.

Seeing the pair reminded Hermione of the promise she’d made to Ginny – that she’d do whatever it took to protect Harry. Her heart was pounding at a jagged gallop that was sawing through her chest as they set down this path. Yet it felt right all the same. Yes. This was the right move. It had to be.

While the two conversed, Ron, Hermione, and Neville had worked out logistics for how they’d proceed. Ultimately, it was decided that Neville, Ginny, and Luna would get final say on any new members before any big reveals took place since they knew the most about what was happening in the castle. From there, Harry would lead a Defensive Spell training session for two hours each night for any students interested or available so they didn’t have to worry about an absence from practice being noticed. It helped that Harry didn’t have to juggle his Quidditch and studies this time around. It was also probably good to keep him sharp, since he would eventually be expected to fight Voldemort and any number of Death Eaters.

It had taken five days to get enough people and organise the room properly to have the first lesson, which had just ended. Harry was flying high as their core group of six congregated afterwards to talk about it.

“Hermione’s spells are working, so no one is talking about it, but I swear I can feel the change working its way through the castle. There’s a new energy,” Neville was claiming.

“He’s right. You being here and doing this is making all the difference,” Ginny agreed, beaming at Harry. He shone under her praise, beaming brighter than the sun at noon.

Beside her, Luna was laughing loudly at something Ron had just said, and he looked supremely satisfied about it.

Hermione should have felt right at home among her best mates, but something tugged at her. It’d been nearly a week since she checked in with Snape, D.A. preparations keeping her busy. She still had dozens of questions for him, but mostly, she was worried about how he was doing. The stories they’d heard from their former classmates had painted a pretty bleak picture.

Each story she heard fueled her anger, stoking the fires hotter. Hermione was furious that it was happening at all, and even more enraged by the helplessness she felt as a result.

Just thinking about it now was too much. She was restless, desperate for a distraction. Anything to take her mind off the impotence it left her with. She couldn’t sit there simmering a moment longer or she’d burst.

Without a word, she stood, hoping her absence would go unnoticed. She had a couple books, Harry’s Map and the cloak before anyone noticed her.

“Where are you going, Hermione? Sit, have a chat,” Ron prodded, frowning at her.

“Can’t. We’ve been rather preoccupied all week. Time to get back to it and establish a normal routine,” she said meaningfully, lifting the books she held. They still had a mission to complete, and it wouldn’t happen by itself.

Ron nodded faintly, then aloud, joked, “She just can’t have any fun unless it involves a book.”

Once, a comment like that would have had her up in arms, but there was something lighter to it now that hadn’t been there before. When they’d bickered the day Neville first met up with them, she’d feared they’d lapse back into old habits, but apparently that episode had been a one off.

“At least I can read,” she volleyed back, smiling slightly to convey she knew he was teasing and merely giving her an out. They’d decided against telling anyone else about the Horcruxes, even these three.

“Why do you think I’ve kept you around all these years? Mum would have murdered me if I’d have gotten as few O.W.L.s as the twins.”

“And yet you’ve earned precisely the same number of N.E.W.T.s,” she quipped, then immediately regretted the jest. The twins hadn’t finished their education, and now, neither had she. So much for the perfect academics she’d so long striven for. Biting back the sting that knowledge caused and the deep longing, she warned, “Be careful getting back to your dorms. It’s nearly curfew.”

The trek to the office was uneventful, the corridors quiet as a crypt, though a few portraits seemed more lively than usual, the subjects moving about restlessly.

Snape all but ignored Hermione when she entered his office. The only sign he gave that he was even aware of her presence was a momentary pause in his writing. He didn’t glance up from the parchment on his desk. He didn’t greet her verbally. She hesitated, wondering if she was intruding, but quickly recovered herself and took a seat at the table she’d used previously. If he didn’t want her there, he wouldn’t be shy about letting her know. Mincing words was one thing Snape could never be accused of.

Nearly an hour passed as they worked companionably, each having plenty to keep them occupied. So she was startled when Snape finally spoke, breaking the silence with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

“When I suggested you prepare the students, perhaps provide a bit of guidance and support, I did not think you would immediately go and make my job more difficult,” Snape began stiffly, displeasure and annoyance warring in his tone.

Hermione was at a loss. As far as she knew, things were proceeding slowly and quietly with the reestablishment of the D.A. It wasn’t as though she was truly in a position to know everything, hiding as she was.

Yet Snape was now watching her expectantly, dark strands of hair falling forward to conceal most of his face. All except his eyes. That obsidian gaze was sharply pinned on her like the arrowheads the volcanic glass was often used to create. “What’s happened?”

“Did you not see the graffiti on the second floor today? It appeared just after the last class of the day.”

“I haven’t been down that way recently. I came straight here,” she admitted, internally wincing when Snape predictably glanced at the two books she’d brought with her.

The library was on the second floor. So she’d basically just declared that she’d rather read in here with him than she would spend time with her friends in the Room of Requirement, since she’d clearly just left there and come straight here. Which wasn’t necessarily true. It just wasn’t untrue either.

“It’s an advertisement for your club. ‘D.A., Still Recruiting.’”

“Oh!” she gasped, never having expected anything so blatant to be advertised. Her spells were meant to prevent anything like this. She’d been certain she’d impressed upon everyone how vital and paramount secrecy was. For someone to just put it out there like that….

What would this mean going forward? Should they leave? Was Harry in danger? Or could this possibly be a good thing…inspiring more to join the resistance and fight —

“Yes. Oh. It was Miss Weasley,” he continued, each word crisp and curt.

Of course. Only the three doing the recruiting were excused from her spells since they needed to be able to attract more members. Blast Ginny! Hermione knew she’d not intentionally done it to endanger Harry. She’d probably gotten caught up in the excitement Neville was boasting about earlier – trying to be like Harry and inspire hope.

That did nothing to mitigate the current situation.

Displeasure formed a shroud around Snape, and she wondered if the reason he’d not spoken sooner was because he was too busy seething. It was too much to hope that he’d been trying to reign it in rather than take his temper out on her. “She was seen and reported.”

Ginny hadn’t said a word when she’d joined them for the D.A. meeting. No one else had either. Of course, they’d met directly after classes, so many probably hadn’t seen the bold message yet. She’d probably come straight from writing it. No wonder she seemed intent on lingering in the Room all night – she was avoiding the staff, and rightly so.

“What are you going to do?” Hermione asked, dreading the answer.

“What do you think?” he grated, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw. Hermione understood. His hand was being forced. Again. The very thing he most hated – having his decisions stripped from him and being forced to do awful acts. “It’s been too well publicised. She’ll have to serve a detention.”

“Will you determine the detention?” she asked bleakly, hoping, likely in vain, that part of his anger stemmed from having to save her and her friends yet again.

“Amycus has already claimed that honour,” he warned.

Hermione had begun hearing the stories. Amycus enjoyed the Cruciatus in particular. Would it be even worse though, considering Ginny was both a blood-traitor and Harry’s “ex-girlfriend”?

Again, her fury at their new reality threatened to consume her, sucking at her feet as though attempting to pull her into a black hole or bury her alive. There had to be something she could do. This was precisely why they’d reestablished the D.A. They were meant to fight back.

Except….

Except, what would happen if they did before all the pieces were in place?

Difficult as it was, she had to be rational. She had to wait.

“Snape,” Hermione said weakly, desperately wishing to ask him to intercede or at least protect Ginny. But there was no need. She already knew he would do what he could. Just as he always had.

“Leniency will raise suspicions,” he warned, making Hermione swallow. Ginny would be hurt, but Snape would not let Carrow take it too far.

Snape tensed, bracing himself for the condemnation he no doubt expected her to heap on him, as others always seemed to, but she couldn’t. He was in an impossible position and doing the best he could. It wasn’t his fault Ginny had done something so reckless. Nor was it his fault she’d been caught.

“Now that the school will be aware that the D.A. is running again, do you have any suggestions on maintaining secrecy? There are already thirty people involved, and more will probably want to join, if not immediately, then at some point this year,” Hermione said, letting the matter of Ginny’s upcoming punishment drop.

Snape exhaled loudly, visibly relaxing. Had he been even more worried about her reaction than she’d realised? It certainly appeared that way.

“Be careful about who you trust to know anything at all. Make use of the natural protections the Room provides. Be specific in your requests for what it can do for you, such as the door only revealing itself if there are fewer than three individuals in the hallway then immediately disappear once those entering are inside. The coins you used before might be beneficial as well to signal members. Station several students as lookouts whenever possible,” he listed quickly, demonstrating a knack for this sort of thing.

Hermione suddenly recalled Malfoy doing something similar the year before with Crabbe and Goyle serving as his sentries. She should brew more Polyjuice Potion.

“Students have to sign a pledge before hearing anything Neville, Ginny, or Luna have to say. There’s a Tongue Gag Jinx to prevent them from repeating anything they hear, and a Disspelling Curse to keep them from writing about it. I got the idea from one of the Weasley twins’ trick quills. It jumbles the letters into nonsense. It should last at least a year.

“Once students actually come to the Room of Requirement and discover Harry is here, they have to sign a different agreement that I spelled. It’s like the one we used last time, only…I used a different spell,” she explained in a rush, glossing over the last bit.

Part of her still couldn’t believe the spell she’d decided on.

A thousand cuts. One single slice delivered daily. Nothing major, and magic could heal them, but the person would be reminded of their betrayal regularly for years.

It’d been in one of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks. Well, new Darks Arts books, anyway. Neville had left it in the room and she’d been idly flipping through it when she’d settled on using the spell. She’d understood immediately after casting it that she shouldn't have. The energy and focus she’d poured into the spell probably wasn’t enough to produce more than the equivalent of paper cuts, which some might see as less gruesome than the permanent, disfiguring SNEAK scars, but she’d felt it. The sense of control and power that went with the spell. It’d been a mistake. One that left her feeling adrift and ashamed. So much so, she didn’t even want to tell Snape – probably the one person guaranteed not to judge.

Still, he appraised her assessingly, reading into what she didn’t say. His lips pursed tightly, nearly disappearing as he likely suspected the truth, but he didn’t say a word.

His silent acceptance prompted her to relay another troublesome issue that’d been weighing on her. “I think knowing I Charmed the parchment will be enough to prevent any betrayals this time. A few people have admitted that I am rather…scary.”

“Fear can be a powerful influencer,” Snape said wisely, nodding familiarly. “It’s certainly worked wonders for me over the years.”

It was true. Snape maintained order in the classroom through intimidation and dread of his wrath. But fear reminded Hermione of the likes of Umbridge and Voldemort. She did not want to be comparable.

“Yes, well, as I said, that part is taken care of. But I’m also concerned that only three of the four houses are included in the Room of Requirement,” Hermione admitted frankly, wondering if he’d be as dismissive and argumentative as Ron had. Would Snape sneer at her and believe her concerns ridiculous and unfounded?

“Worried some of the Slytherins are being targeted and are unable to help themselves?” he prodded, grinning slyly, likely enjoying the knowledge that should someone underestimate his House in such a way, it would be to their detriment. Snape might be on the right side of this war, but he still displayed a tremendous amount of House pride and loyalty.

“Not so much,” she said dryly, snorting at the very idea of that happening. Snakes were shockingly adept at wriggling free from sticky situations.

“Then what has you gearing up to take on a new lost cause?” he inquired, sounding genuinely curious.

Hermione ignored the crack about her championing underdogs, and asked, “Each House glorifies specific traits and talents, correct?”

“Indeed,” he drawled, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms as he waited to see where she was going with her line of thinking.

“All four houses are needed to truly be balanced. If we’d not allowed the divide to grow so distinct in the past, perhaps this wouldn’t be happening today,” Hermione insisted, imagining a different present if the Slytherins weren’t treated like the enemy from day one. Perhaps if they’d not grown up isolated, and had friendships outside their House, they’d be less likely to attack and harm those individuals now.

“Oh please, you sound like Dumbledore…always insisting love is the answer,” Snape pointed out, adding, “it’s much more complicated than that.”

She looked over to see if the man in question had anything to add, only to discover he wasn’t there. In fact, every canvas in the entire room was empty. What in Merlin’s name? There hadn’t been many around the last time she entered the office, but Hermione didn’t think they’d ever all been gone at once before.

As much as she longed to ask about the former Heads, she was too invested in continuing the current debate.

“There is a justification behind his worrying and conviction,” Hermione retorted stubbornly.

“Shall I extend an invitation to Crabbe on your behalf? Last I saw him, he was overseeing the detention for three second year Hufflepuffs,” Snape countered, referencing the incident Neville had told them about previously.

“Not every Slytherin is evil.” She stared pointedly at Snape as she made the declaration, believing wholeheartedly that he was good. From their recent interactions, and what she knew he was being forced to allow, she had the impression he was beginning to doubt himself.

“We are all capable of it,” he said quietly.

This was what had been missing when she’d tried to broach the subject before. Conversation. Ron had been completely unwilling to listen or discuss the matter, his prejudices too firmly in place. Snape, on the other hand, withheld judgement as he gathered additional information. He formed an initial opinion, but he was reasonable enough to be able to modify his beliefs when presented with enough evidence.

Wanting to ensure he wasn’t just referring to Slytherins with his last statement, her use of the cutting spell foremost in her mind, she said, “The same holds true for every member of every House. Look at Wormtail, he—”

“Do not speak of that vermin!” Snape hissed, lips curling back dangerously.

“Sorry!” she gasped, stunned by his outburst and frothing rage. He’d not even loathed Sirius to this degree. Apparently Wormtail had wronged him even more in some way.

All right, so Snape was reasonable and willing to change his mind about everything except the Marauders and Harry.

“Snape, I —”

“Sixth floor. Near the painting of the forest nymphs,” a wizened old man huffed, bounding into view in the frame nearest the corner of the room. His face was red from exertion, and he slumped heavily against the edge of the painting.

“Excuse me,” Snape said abruptly, rising quickly and rushing out of the room.

Hermione stared after him, blinking in confusion as she tried to process what had just occurred.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 14: Temptation

Hermione didn’t wait around to discover the cause of Snape’s abrupt departure. Without him in the office, the room lost its appeal. Besides, the longer she was gone, the greater the risk that the boys would start questioning her absences – particularly when she kept returning with nothing new to show for her time. She just hoped none of her friends had managed to land themselves in worse trouble by getting caught returning to their dorms after curfew. None of them had a reason to be on the sixth floor, so it was unlikely.

She’d only gone one corridor before she noticed the older man ambling idly along the bottom of a painting depicting a battle on a field of rolling grass in France. She only noticed because he kept ducking the flaming arrows being volleyed his way. It was one of the loudest paintings in the castle, with shouts and clanking armour often echoing from the inhabitants as they struggled in an endless feud. Most of the other portraits avoided the eternal conflict, but perhaps the old man had been bored enough to seek out an adrenaline rush.

It was still on her mind when she turned the next corner and recognized Professor Dippet squeezing past a rather rotund image of a renaissance man with a massive neck ruff. Hermione paused, watching him continue down the hall moving from frame to frame, then back again. Unusual, yes, but then this was Hogwarts.

Except….

Rushing forward, Hermione raced up the final staircase on the way to the Room of Requirement, taking the steps three at a time and huffing heavily, all while ignoring the stabbing stitch in her side as she scanned the portraits in the hall. She had to check. It was just too much of a coincidence otherwise.

Yes, there! A stately woman with perfectly coiffed hair and a rather pinched expression. Another former Head of Hogwarts. The name eluded her, but she could easily envision the woman’s frame two up and one over from Snape’s shoulder when he was seated at his desk.

So that’s where they’d been lately. They were patrolling the castle, acting as Snape’s eyes and ears while the Slytherins were running amuck. There were certainly enough to station one in every hall. Clever really. Hardly anyone paid any attention to what was on the walls with so many other distractions readily apparent.

The demonstration of Snape’s determination to do right for Hogwarts, in light of the odds stacked immeasurably against him, did something to Hermione. She couldn’t quite describe the sensation, but she was very aware of how much she admired the man.

The boys were still caught up in the excitement of the first D.A. meeting, chatting happily away when Hermione entered, mind still rolling over her latest revelation about Snape. They hardly even acknowledged her flimsy excuse about being dead on her feet, so she could slip into bed and drift off without having to force conversation. There was so much on her mind that she worried they’d see right through her if she dared try.

For the next week, Hermione waited to hear Ginny complain about her upcoming detention, but she said nothing. Snape didn’t bring it up either, hardly acknowledged Hermione at all, despite what had become daily visits on her part. The only conversation that passed between them was an update on how the students seeking sanctuary in the Room of Requirement were faring, and additional names of those he believed should be included among their number as the students grew bolder and earned increasing punishments. Or when she’d ask after a relic she found mention of. But every time he verified that it had been destroyed through the years.

She had the feeling she was merely retracing the steps Dumbledore had already taken, but if she was, he didn’t stop her from wasting her time or prolonging the process. No. The wizard remained stubbornly silent as he watched her from his place on the wall the rare times he was in the room with her and Snape.

At least in the relative silence of the Head office, she actually could get work done. The Room of Requirement was becoming increasingly louder throughout the day as their numbers doubled – probably in response to Ginny’s advertisement – and people started ducking in whenever they wished to avoid retribution from the Carrows or upper year Slytherins. The camaraderie between the Houses was a welcome sight, though she still worried what the future consequences of excluding the Slytherins would be.

Even so, it wasn’t until Friday night that Ginny’s predicament was mentioned. Luna had come by early to help set up for the lesson, rearranging furniture and tossing out huge pillows to cushion falls, and was chatting with Ron when she casually informed them that Ginny wouldn’t be joining because of her detention.

“No,” Ron said flatly, hands balling into fists at his sides.

“What do you mean, ‘No?’” Hermione asked, dreading his response.

“She’s not doing one of the detentions here – not after what we’ve heard about them,” Ron insisted, heading for the door, overprotective brother mode turned all the way up.

“Ron! You can’t,” Hermione gasped, stomping her foot. When he didn’t immediately stop, she yelled, “Be reasonable!”

“She knew this would happen. She got caught on purpose,” Luna announced, derailing Ron with her calm revelation. The girl was like the eye of a hurricane, nothing ruffled or moved her.

On purpose… Wait, Ginny had deliberately gotten caught? No wonder she had not brought it up. She’d known the others would protest bringing trouble down on herself. They’d be getting enough as it was without asking for more this year. What had she been thinking?

“Why would she do that?” Harry asked stiffly, voicing all of their thoughts. Hermione had been so caught up in Ron’s reaction that she’d missed Harry’s. A mistake. Tension had the pulse in his neck beating fast enough to rival a hummingbird’s wings.

“To show the younger students she couldn’t be intimidated, of course.” Luna’s melodic voice delivered the news as though the answer should have been fairly obvious. Her early arrival suddenly made sense. She’d come to break the news privately, so Harry had a chance to control his reaction before the others arrived. Harry’s opinion would have a big impact. “It will give them hope, Harry.”

Getting over the stunning revelation, Hermione verified, “For the graffiti? I saw it by the library.” Surely Ginny hadn’t committed any other transgressions in the last few days to earn a detention, right?

“What did it say? Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Harry demanded, glaring at Hermione. She pursed her lips in response, disliking his tone, even if she understood he was simply worried about Ginny.

“D.A., Still Recruiting. Obviously I didn’t know who’d written it, or that Ginny had detention for it,” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms and returning Harry’s glare haughtily. Her gamble paid off. He took her false resentment as defensiveness, rather than the lie it was. He relented, silently demanding more information from Luna.

Luna smiled dreamily, ignoring the tension as she shared the plan. “Ginny and I talked about it, but we decided it would mean more for her to be a symbol than me, since everyone already thinks I’m a bit loony.” They all winced at that, and Hermione felt ashamed for every unkind thought she’d ever had about Luna. It wasn’t as though Hermione herself was perfect. She could probably try to be a bit more accepting, especially when she routinely campaigned for others to be.

Harry looked ready to defend Luna, but concern for Ginny outweighed the comment, and he instead asked, “Is she with Snape? What will he do to her?”

“Professor Carrow, the Dark Arts teacher, actually. It won’t be pleasant,” Luna said frankly, demonstrating her usual knack for bluntly stating uncomfortable truths for the second time in as many minutes.

“She’ll show everyone the D.A. won’t back down or be bullied,” Hermione surmised, nodding. It was a bold move. “It’ll set the tone for the resistance within Hogwarts moving forward.”

Ron looked reluctantly proud, partly because he was close enough to step in if necessary, but he was probably also taking credit for her audacity in doing this, believing she was following his lead in defiance. Privately, Hermione thought it had the twins’ stamp all over it, but if it helped Ron calm down a bit, she’d let him think differently.

“I can’t believe Snape. Wait, of course I can. This is just like him, getting off on hurting my friends,” Harry railed, rational thought fleeing as he latched onto a legitimate excuse to blame Snape. He’d been searching for one since the day they arrived. Something like this was bound to happen eventually. “He needs to pay.”

“Harry,” Hermione said sharply, infusing her voice with steel, “she’s a student. Carrow – not Snape, by the way – won’t do anything worse to Ginny than they’ve been doing to everyone else, or what we’ve been through before on a number of occasions. She’ll recover.”

“You need to show your support for this, Harry,” Luna added sternly, tilting her head. It gave her the appearance of a bird in a tree watching a dog run around just below her perch.

He barely seemed to hear either of them.

“Mate, Hermione’s right…we have to. I’m sure she’ll be by later and we can check on her, but you can’t confront Snape. Besides, the others will be here any minute,” Ron added reluctantly, after Luna pointedly nudged him.

“It’s no different from what Umbridge was doing to you. Intervening would undermine the message she’s sending to the others,” Hermione added, though she regretted the words at once when Harry’s jaw clenched. He’d not wanted to be a poster boy then, especially not if it meant something happening to Ginny now.

“I hate this,” he complained.

“You think I don’t hate it just as much? She’s my baby sister. None of us are particularly keen on the idea, but we’ve got to make the most of it. Let’s just run the lesson like normal,” Ron suggested, frowning at Hermione as he too noticed Harry’s reaction.

It took the three of them a few more minutes to convince Harry that Ginny would be fine, but the significance and necessity of Ginny’s actions didn’t sink in until students started arriving for the meeting. They were all excitedly talking about it, particularly how Ginny had just mouthed off at dinner in the Great Hall when reminded about the start time. She was a legend now, equal to Harry in their eyes.

When the group disbanded later that night, Ron and Luna were debating other meaningful acts the students could do. Hermione winced when she heard Ron bluntly say they’d stop seeing Luna as loony if she tried a few of them. All tact, that one. Not that Luna seemed to notice. Nor did it seem to register that Ron kept staring at her flowing pale hair, the shade rivalling delicate moonbeams.

Harry was antsy. He kept pacing in front of the door, ignoring the others.

Knowing he was seconds from leaving the room, Hermione coaxed, “She’ll be here soon. Just give her a chance. Luna’s keeping Ron busy, and I’ll go to the library, so you’ll have a bit of privacy with her. Just wait here, all right?” The idea was about equal parts using his cloak so he couldn’t, and checking in with Snape herself.

“Hmph.”

“Promise me, Harry,” Hermione begged, grasping his hand tightly. Harry looked wrecked, but nodded anyway.

Hermione had barely entered Snape’s office when he assuaged her fears, “She’ll be fine, just needs a good sleep.”

It had been one thing to promise Harry, another thing entirely to convince herself.

“Did you have the portraits monitoring it?” Hermione inquired, having not brought the subject up all week after puzzling it out.

“Indeed,” he drawled, raising a single brow at her.

The confirmation made her preen internally. She was right. He was having them keep a lookout and inform him if a situation was severe enough to warrant intervening.

“What gave you the idea?” she asked, curiosity stirred. Snape was an enigma, one she’d dearly love to unravel.

“At first? I didn’t trust you to keep Potter tucked securely out of sight,” he admitted frankly, one side of his lips quirking up.

The statement should have made her temper rise, or at least ruffled her composure, but honestly, he had a point. As tonight had clearly demonstrated. Harry led with emotion and couldn’t always be reasoned with. Sirius would probably still be alive now if he could.

“And later?”

“I realised they could be my eyes both in and out of the castle,” he answered vaguely.

“Out of the castle?” Hermione repeated, willing him to explain.

“A number of the Heads have portraits in key locations around Britain. Those that do, I have stationed there to collect information. How did you think Kingsley was warned to flee after breaking the taboo?”

“You warned him,” she stated needlessly. A series of facts ran through her mind, and Hermione found herself eagerly speaking before her brain and mouth synced up, “That’s right! Headmistress Eupraxia Mole married a Shacklebolt. Has he taken over leading the Order? Is she informing you about their movements?”

“He does not know that I was the source of the warning, but yes…to all of your questions and observations. I must know if I’m to avoid unintentionally spoiling their plans or harming someone,” he said simply, his brow a dark, slanted slash across his forehead as he smirked at her.

Snape – secret guardian. The wizarding world would never think to suspect. If they did wonder at the warnings, questioning why a former Head of Hogwarts was getting involved, they’d probably believe the orders were coming from Dumbledore’s portrait, and he was undermining his murderer. Again, Snape was putting his cunning and cleverness to good use.

Hermione wasn’t sure what to say. Then Snape cleared his throat and gestured at the table she’d claimed as her own, a clear prompt that she should settle in and let him get back to work.

~

Another week passed in much the same way. The trio searched three more places outside of the castle without luck, and Hermione returned only to escape the ruckus in the Room of Requirement for the awkward greetings and stilted quiet of the Head office while she and Snape each worked independently.

At least until the evening that all changed.

The door crashed into the wall with a terrifying bang as Snape stalked into the room. He didn’t slow until he reached his desk, where he kicked his chair hard enough to send it toppling over, the wood of one arm splintering like a lightning struck branch.

“Snape!” she cried, startled by his actions.

His face was mottled red and she knew at once he was livid. With her call, he rounded on her. She should have been terrified by his lack of composure. So rarely did he ever allow his infamous temper to slip the leash he strangled it with.

But she wasn’t.

Harry often did the same when things got to be too much for him to keep it all bottled up any longer. Sometimes a person simply needed a physical outlet.

Snape was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he watched her.

A ripple wavered over him, the careful mask he put on for others flickering in and out. Jerkily, he tucked his long hair behind his ears, likely just to exert a measure of control over something he actually could affect.

Then he was pacing. Short, brisk steps that carried him from one corner of the room to the other and back again. It wasn’t until the second pass that Hermione realised he was speaking as he did. Clipped words that she could only barely make out as he ranted, unleashing all of his frustration over the Carrows’ latest actions.

“Chains. They used chains. On a third year. For talking back. Of course Filch was all too happy to supply the chains. Mutiny. Supposed to be working for me. Against school policy, but does that matter? Never would have dared when Albus was here,” he muttered, not bothering to use full sentences.

Chains. Just the word reminded her about what the Ministry was doing to Muggleborns. As if she could forget. The memory was never far from her thoughts. Would that be her fate one day? Was she destined for Azkaban?

There was nothing she could do about it regardless, but she could try to help Snape. It was the least she could do after all the times he’d been there for her.

Hermione could tell he didn’t actually want a response or proposed solution. He just needed to get it off his chest to someone who would listen. So she did. Because he had no one else in the world in a position to lend a sympathetic ear.

“And what can I do? I should be supporting such practices. It's expected. Speaking out would have me out of here within the day, then who would be there to point out when the student’s face is turning blue because the collar around his neck is too tight?

“And yesterday a fourth year was backhanded in the hall. Minerva was all too happy to criticise me for not preventing that one. The fact that I was dealing with the group of Gryffindors protesting attending Alecto’s lesson at the time meant nothing. I’m supposed to be everywhere. All the time. Keeping both sides happy. An impossible task. Yes?”

Hermione blinked, realising he actually wanted acknowledgement to the last. Clearing her throat, she softly replied, “It is.”

“I am not confident I can prevent something irrevocable from happening to one of the students at Hogwarts,” Snape confessed, bracing both hands on his desk and leaning heavily on them, his head falling forward and hair swinging like curtains caught in a breeze. He looked…defeated.

Damn Dumbledore for putting him in this position. It was too much for one person. She had to do something to help Snape. She owed him – a dozen times over, or more.

“No more than any of us are able to for those outside of the castle. Just keep trying to protect who you can. You’re not in this alone,” Hermione tried, hoping he would believe that he was making a difference, even if he couldn’t see it himself.

“Don’t try to placate me. I know my sins and where I stand,” he bit out, shoulders tensing.

Hermione thought quickly. There had to be something he could do that would protect the students without bringing him under suspicion.

“Make a decree that chains are only to be used by year five and above. They can take it, and it will look as though you are supporting the harsher forms of discipline necessary to bring those most strongly opposed to You-Know-Who to heel,” Hermione said quietly, chest constricting as the words formed and fought to escape the prickly briars lining her throat. By the time the idea left her, it was a bloody, savaged mess, nearly unrecognisable.

“I do not think I can make such a determination…to sentence any child to that brutality – even if it means remaining to protect the others,” Snape confessed, shaking his head against her gruesome suggestion.

“You’re not. I am,” Hermione said plainly, lifting her chin defiantly.

Guilt was a noose of barbed wire strangling her. Hermione was accepting accountability for putting this on her friends, but she, like them, was determined to shield and protect the younger students. That was the goal. The one Neville had started after Ginny’s infamous detention had inspired students to become more outspoken. When a first year had called one of the Carrow’s a dim-witted donkey’s butt, Neville had volunteered to serve the student’s detention. Other older students were now doing the same.

Which brought them to this point. They were united in their mission to get the younger students through this war with the fewest nightmares possible. To help preserve what was left of their innocence and childhood.

And why shouldn’t they? It was already too late for the rest of them.

This, at least, was a burden she could share with Snape. The responsibility could fall on both of them. A small compensation for his continual dedication and sacrifices over the years.

“I will provide you with some potions that should help with the bruising for those in need,” he said by way of acceptance.

Things were different after that. He stopped holding back all of his frustrations. Some days, he’d barely make it through the door before beginning to recount every challenge he’d faced in the twenty or so hours since he’d seen her last. And Hermione was more open about her anger over the current circumstances and her concerns that they’d never locate the remaining Horcruxes.

Having someone to confide in actually helped a little with the nightmares and her worries. She admitted more to Snape that week than she had to Harry in months. It was strange. She should have felt more comfortable discussing her issues with Harry, considering they were working together on the same challenge, but given everything he was already facing, she felt like voicing any of her thoughts would only make things worse for Harry. With Snape, it felt different. She could confess her doubts sans fear of guilt.

It was almost cathartic.

At least until the day she woke from a renewed nightmare that was more memory than dream. She’d relived the moment of the woman being taken away in chains at the Ministry, only to jerk awake to find the whimpering and crying was happening not two metres away from her. The sounds originated from a second year who’d arrived at breakfast to find her older sister in chains in the Great Hall.

Her reality had become a waking nightmare at that moment. She couldn’t focus on any of her research. Dark thoughts festered all day, morphing into taloned bogeymen stalking her from the shadows.

If only there was a way to make it stop. But there was no surcease in sight.

“It’s Halloween,” Harry said wearily, plopping down beside her on one of the overstuffed, multicoloured sofas the Room had taken to supplying when more students began congregating for longer periods of time throughout the day.

Hermione went to close her book, sensing he wished to talk, then realised she’d not even been holding one. She’d been too lost in the chaotic maze of her bleak thoughts, too mesmerised by the flickering flames of the fire in the grate to do anything else but stare at the hypnotic dancing and imagine them being turned on the ones doling out pain and agony.

“I’m not particularly in the mood to celebrate,” she admitted, hoping he wasn’t going to propose they plan something for after the feast the rest of the students were currently attending. He didn’t appear particularly jolly, but Harry could be contrary at times.

Ron was in the loo, had been for a while now for whatever reason, which was probably why Harry was sharing this with her right now.

“None of us are,” he grunted, letting his head fall back. He spoke again, apparently finding it easier if he was addressing the ceiling. “When I first got to Hogwarts, this became one of my two favourite holidays. I hadn’t really known… It never really struck me before, but he was thinking about it, and now I can’t shake it.”

“What are you talking about, Harry?” She was not in the right frame of mind to deal with his riddles.

“The day he killed them. Today is the anniversary of their deaths – my parents. He killed them on Halloween,” Harry said gravely. Hermione inhaled sharply, the air lodging in her chest, constricting her heart. “The girl this morning, Demelza’s younger sister, said Alecto mentioned their murder at breakfast. Crowed about their defeat rather than my survival. She told me earlier.”

“Harry….” Hermione shook her head, unable to produce any words that might alleviate his suffering. As she watched him, a single glistening tear made the lonely trek down his cheek.

The sight of it ripped a chasm in her chest, shredding her heart and spilling blood until it filled her torso and she was drowning in the metallic abyss.

Three times. That was it. Only three times had she ever known Harry to cry, not that she’d witnessed any of the times herself. Once after each of Cedric, Sirius, and Dumbledore’s deaths. Only those three times. And only Ginny had witnessed the last and most recent, but Hermione had never seen him surrender to the aching grief.

Tentatively, she reached out a hand, laying it lightly on his shoulder. Even a year ago, she’d have thrown her arms about him in a fierce hug, but a small voice urged restraint. He was barely holding it together, and clearly didn’t wish to break down right now. Yet even her timid touch was enough to shatter his self-control.

She heard the ragged gasp an instant before Harry was off the couch and disappearing into the loo.

This should have been a festive day, especially for witches and wizards, but Voldemort and his followers were apparently intent on ruining it.

Fury had her up and barrelling towards the Head office. This couldn’t keep happening. The Muggleborns. The students. The deaths. None of it.

Quickly, Hermione scanned the shelves of books, locating Snape’s personal collection dedicated to the Dark Arts – the only personal belongings he’d moved into the office. She had no intention of killing Alecto, the one who favoured chains and mocking the Potters’ sacrifice, but she did intend to give her back a bit of the torment she unleashed on others. Fair was fair, after all.

The leather on the book she grabbed felt wrong, similar to the cover of the tome on Horcruxes she’d nicked from Dumbledore previously, but she forced herself not to contemplate the source too closely. Each page she turned revealed a spell more gruesome and disturbing than the one before. She was so engrossed that she didn’t even notice when Snape returned from the Halloween feast.

A hand gently closed the book, easily taking it from her startled grasp.

“The Dark Arts aren’t for you, Granger,” Snape intoned quietly.

“Why not? I think I’ve proven I’m capable,” she snapped, indignant at being questioned. She wasn’t incompetent. She wasn’t a fool. She wasn’t a Muggle. And her hands certainly weren’t pristine and pure. Not anymore.

A wild energy thrummed in her veins. It filled her with a need to act. A need to do something. Anything.

She was tired of sitting idly by. Tired of cautioning restraint and patience and logic and reason. It was time to give in.

It wasn’t the first time she’d felt so overwhelmed over the years. A few instances came readily to mind. And honestly, she didn’t regret the outcome when she’d given in before – not when it usually meant changing her circumstances. Honestly, she was probably a bit overdue for a change anyway.

Snape watched her silently. A flutter, soft as a butterfly’s wing brushed the edges of her thoughts, and she let him in, exposing every dark desire she’d fantasied about that day. It was all there for him to riffle through, but he withdrew almost at once.

His rough features twisted, and she had the impression he was fighting his own internal battle. The demons he faced clamouring to be heard as well. What a pair they made.

“This isn’t the way,” he insisted, raising the book meaningfully, the deep baritone of his voice attempting to settle some of her restless emotions. “They take a toll you aren’t truly prepared to pay. That is why I performed the spells last summer – not you.”

Hermione sagged in her seat, the fight draining from her as swiftly as it had taken root. Helplessly, she sighed, gritting her teeth and squeezing the arms of her chair as she spoke, forcing the jagged words past the broken glass lining her throat and swallowing the thick, metallic ooze left behind. “I’m angry. I’m just so angry…all the time. I can’t shut it off. It’s eating me alive.”

“Is this about this morning?” Of course he’d witnessed the scene. What a way to mark a holiday, binding the Gryffindor Chaser in chains and bragging about killing a baby’s parents.

“Among other things. She needs to pay. Someone has to stop her.” The reminder filled her with a renewed surge of longing…not for justice, but revenge. An eye for an eye. She didn’t care that the desire went against everything she believed in. Everything within her was too much. She had to channel it all somewhere. Anywhere.

“What do you think will happen? You’d storm into the Great Hall, curse a highly favoured Death Eater, then walk away unscathed?” Snape demanded harshly, making it clear how much he scorned her current behaviour.

When he phrased the situation in such a way, summing up her actions, she felt shame bubbling up from deep in her gut. She wouldn’t blame him if he belittled her further right then. She deserved it.

“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly, swallowing thickly as she met his assessing glare. It softened perceptively, shocking her.

Honestly, she didn’t know up from down right then. Wasn’t even sure the last time she could distinguish the two. The whole world had been inverted, and she was missing the cipher necessary to make sense of any of it.

And now she was caught up in the way he was staring at her. She’d not really noticed before, but he was truly striking. Or maybe she’d noticed, but it was hitting her all over again. No one would ever accuse him of being beautiful, his features so far from classically handsome as to not be in the same realm, but there was something deeply masculine and commanding about his appearance. And right now, she was in his thrall.

“You are not the only one deeply affected by the spectacle this morning. Believe me.” Of course. She already knew he had an issue with seeing students in chains. “But you must know this is not the answer.”

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t sort out my head,” she confessed quietly.

“Best you figure it out, and quickly…before you do something irreparable. You aren’t in a position where you can afford to make mistakes. Do you know what would happen if you failed or were caught? Imagine, Potter’s best mate, and the witch sharing my bed,” he said crisply, scolding her in a way that nearly screamed he was seconds from physically shaking sense into her.

Wait.

Sharing? Present tense?

He’d said ‘sharing my bed.’

Hermione glanced at the hard set of his mouth and immediately felt her pulse accelerate. There was a sense of standing on a precipice. Had she been looking for a place to channel the maelstrom tearing her up inside? Well here it was. One small step, just one, would potentially set her on an entirely foreign, and possibly highly rewarding path.

They’d already had sex once. And it had been incredible. The rush, the release…feeling that again…she was tempted. So tempted.

All of the turbulent emotions festering within her pushed at once. Shoved her, more like. She stepped.

“Was that an invitation to sleep with you again?” Had that been her voice? She’d never heard herself sound so wanton.

Hermione licked her lips in preparation, noticing how Snape’s inky eyes followed the movement closely.

From his expression, she knew it hadn’t been, he’d not even registered the slip in his speech in the heat of the moment, but given her reaction to the suggestion, he was now weighing the possibility with grave sincerity.

Seconds ticked by, creeping slowly into minutes. She waited, letting this be his decision, knowing this time it needed to be, especially when nothing else in his life was and the first time hadn’t been.

Snape leaned closer, then stopped. He was as conflicted as she was, but the temptation was there for him as well. Especially after the events of that morning.

It took him ages to reply, but when he finally did, it was decisive, resolute, as his role as a spy often forced him to be. It had been years since anything Snape did was hesitant or uncertain.

“We could both do with a distraction…and as you said last time, you’re no longer a student here,” he said huskily, the rich sound making her core clench in anticipation.

Distraction. He was right. That day together had completely taken her mind off of her parents and the war. They’d only been together to acquire a potion ingredient to stop Voldemort, and he’d still taken her mind off the war. It had cleared her head of all the fear and stress and chaos. For all of a day, yes, but it had been a much welcome break – however short-lived.

And now she had the opportunity to experience that same clarity and take a brief time out from reality.

There was only one possible choice.

“Now?” she requested, not wishing to lose her nerve or give him a chance to change his mind. There was a very strong possibility that this was only happening because recent events had driven them each a little out of their minds. Temporary insanity was the only plausible explanation. But she’d take it.

Snape lent down, placing his hands on armrests of her chair, effectively caging her in. He leaned towards her until he was close enough for her to catch his scent, exotic and spicy and all male.

“Have you any idea what you’re doing?” he prodded.

Probably no more than he did.

“Honestly, no, but I know I need something,” she answered truthfully, reaching up to wrap her arms behind his neck and card her fingers through the silky strands of his dark, dark hair.

What had he said before? That she thought too much… Perhaps it was time she let her mind take a break, and she only knew one way for that to happen.

Scooting forward, Hermione tugged on his head. He let her, following her urgings until his face was close enough for her to cover his mouth with her own.

At once Snape groaned, pressing harder against her, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opened to him. His hands grabbed her thighs, hoisting her to him as he stood. A startled gasp escaped her, but it was lost in his kiss, his mouth claiming and devouring her own, stealing her breath.

Automatically, her legs wrapped around his hips, ankles locking together behind his back. The position brought her core in direct contact with his stiff cock, and she ground her pelvis against the ridge. Sparks sizzled in her blood, electrifying her and making her blood sing. It was exquisite.

As intoxicating sensations, the best she’d experienced in months, swamped her, she knew. He was right. This was exactly what she needed to get her mind off everything else. And only Snape’s need for the same was a rival.

His mouth was wet and hot and sinful. He tasted of forbidden delights and promised glimpses of secret knowledge. Her head spun from oxygen deprivation, and it was only through sheer force of will that she tore her lips free, heaving in great lungfuls of air. Snape traced his tongue along the shell of her ear, his own laboured breathing fanning the flames in her belly.

“This can’t be a good idea,” he muttered against the skin below her ear, not slowing or faltering as he carried her through the adjoining apartment abutting the office. Hermione noticed not a thing about her surroundings. Every molecule of her being was centred on Snape as she pressed her hips against him harder, thrilling her when she heard his tortured groan.

“I don’t care,” she declared, repeating the phrase he often used with her. The only difference was that when she said the words, she meant them.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 15: Release

Snape hoisted her tighter against him, squeezing her bum when she rolled her hips, rubbing her against his thick cock. The friction felt incredible, and Hermione let a moan escape into Snape’s mouth. Each step he took heightened her pleasure, the action jostling her against him, and her hands grabbed at his broad shoulders, seeking an anchor lest she lose her hold on reality.

Because this was actually happening.

And not because anyone had manipulated them into the situation.

Already this felt different from the last time. He’d coaxed and seduced her body then, the spell requiring her to orgasm at just the right moment. Not before, or during, but right at the conclusion, and only then. As a result, there had been an underlying edge of perfunctoriness to the whole thing. This held none of that calculation or forethought. Only need drove their actions.

As they reached Snape’s room, he tumbled to the bed, landing them in a twisted tangle of limbs. A startled laugh sounded from her as he withdrew his arms, rising to kneel over her, his arms caging her in. But she certainly didn’t feel trapped. More, it caused desire to pool in her core at his show of strength and vitality. Snape would never be mistaken for anything but the solid and imposing man that he was.

At once, her hands went to the row of buttons and she began working at his clothes, anxious to feel his warmth and trace the ridges of his well hidden muscles again. Impatient for this moment.

With each freed button, Hermione exposed more pale skin, the colour contrasting starkly with the dark robes he favoured, making him appear as though carved from marble. She strained her neck to arch up and run a line of open-mouthed kisses along the taunt tendons in his neck, her fingertips inching further down his torso, drawing closer to his belt buckle.

She had to wedge her hand between them to undo it, as Snape continued grinding his hips against her while she did, the layers of fabric doing nothing to mask the feel of him. She ached to wrap her hand around his length. To feel its heat branding her palm, to see if it was as conversely silky and hard as her memory insisted it was.

Her leg wrapped around his hips, and Hermione used her foot to shove his trousers and pants down, freeing Snape’s member from its confines. Deftly, she took him in her fist, running her thumb over the tip and spreading the moisture that had gathered there. It was hot and slick, and more immediately rushed to the crown to replace it.

A sharp nip answered her action as Snape’s teeth briefly grazed her neck. Tiny prickles from a day’s worth of beard growth tickled along her collar bone, scraping lightly.

“Ah,” she gasped, tipping her head back against the sheets, silently requesting he do it again.

He didn’t. Instead, he kissed along the delicate wing of her collarbone, stopping only when it met her shoulder, his hooked nose nudging her bra strap out of the way as he went.

Her hand stroked over his length twice more, not having stopped fondling him while he kissed her, before he lifted himself. Hermione tightened her legs, digging the heel of her foot into his bum to hold him in place when he made to move, and she protested, “But–”

“I want you naked,” he explained, bending to whisper the needy words close to her ear. The fan of his warm breath made her shiver. “I want to taste you again, Granger.”

With that simple declaration, her limbs went limp, and Snape easily extracted himself. Eager to resume and allow him to taste her as he’d suggested, Hermione quickly shed her clothes, shrugging out of the blouse Snape had apparently undone without her notice, and lifting her hips to wriggle out of her trousers.

They were barely off before Snape had buried his face between her legs, his hands holding her thighs spread for him. His tongue dipped into her briefly, then traced back up her seam to focus on her clit. He feasted on the tiny button, lashing it with flicks fast as a striking asp.

“Oh. Oh! Oh,” she moaned, all substance fleeing her mind.

He didn’t tease her, and he wasn’t gentle. No. He destroyed her.

She was nothing more than a strangled plea. Awareness of anything beyond the fluttering jolts of electricity radiating from her centre was impossible. A craving took over, insatiable. She begged and pleaded for more in her mind, but failed to form the words. Not that it mattered. Snape understood anyway. And he gladly, skillfully, gave her what her body demanded.

Her climax came fast. Sharp and sudden. Steamrolling her with its sudden and consuming arrival. A rubbed band stretched to the point of snapping with a final, irreparable crack!

Hermione’s hands fisted in her hair, and she cried out, “Ugh, yes!”

On and on it continued. A lightning storm erupted in her veins, sizzling and crackling. Light and heat coursed between her cells, connecting them on such a basic level that Hermione felt more invigorated and alive than she ever had in her life. She was lost in the sea of energy rippling through her.

Reality returned slowly when she felt the head of Snape’s shaft beginning to sink steadily into her. He was unhurried, careful, and Hermione was better prepared for the tight fit than she had been before. Gossip had nothing on experience. Now, she welcomed the slight burn that came from the stretching that accompanied their joining.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she promised, voice husky and unfamiliar after her earlier shouting. Not at all the bossy, know-it-all tone she used most of the time.

“Good,” he acknowledged, seating the last bit of himself snuggly within her. “I wasn’t sure if it would,” he admitted.

Hermione felt her lips curl slightly. Had Snape ever acknowledged not knowing something? It was a rarity, to be sure. And Hermione felt a tenderness towards him for being on the receiving end – particularly when he was taking such care with her, just in case.

“It’s good,” she promised, fighting a blush. It was a bit embarrassing to discuss in their current positions, his weight pinning her to the bed, her hands wrapped around his naked back.

“Only good?” he questioned, deliberately rocking his hips, withdrawing slightly only to swiftly fill her back up.

“Fuck,” she gasped, eyes rolling up at the exciting sensations his movement inspired. Good had definitely been an understatement.

“That is the intention,” he assured her, clearly amused.

“Then stop being a prat and do it already,” she encouraged, her prompt coming out more cross than she’d intended, so she added a pointed wriggle of her hips to emphasise her meaning.

With a deep chuckle, he listened, moving easily, and she realised how ridiculously wet she was from having his mouth licking her earlier. No wonder he’d entered her so easily.

Snape kept his strokes lazy, knowing she was still adjusting to the foreign invasion, despite her words. One hand grazed along her arm, lightly caressing. Hermione took advantage and kissed his chin, then his cheek, and finally his lips when he turned his face to meet her.

She was about to say something, wanting more, when he rolled, leaving Hermione gasping in surprise and draped across his chest, her long tresses spreading around them. She’d barely a second to see her honey curls mix with his obsidian strands before he spoke.

“Let me see you,” he requested, helping her to sit up astride him. “Ride me,” he challenged, running his hands up to span her rib cage, fingers just brushing the swells of her breasts.

Ride him? As if she knew how. What if she did it wrong? Or—

Anticipation lightened his features, transforming the rough sternness or bitter stress she typically saw etched into the plains of his face. It pushed her to ignore her immediate misgivings and resentment over her inexperience.

Uncertainly, Hermione rotated her hips, groaning at the glorious feel of her clit rubbing against his pelvis when she did. Experimentally, she did it again, “Like this?”

“Yes. Do that again,” he encouraged, easing his hands up to fully cup her breasts, shaping them with his dexterous fingers. “Hmm, yes,” he repeated, lifting his hips to push deeper, “just like that.” She saw his smile before her eyes fluttered shut, relishing the delicious tendrils unfurling from her core, a plant seeking sunlight.

Hermione braced her hands on his chest, her thumbs brushing his nipples as he explored her curves, alternating between guiding her hips over him and tweaking her pebbled nipples.

She could have stayed like this for days, the rest of the world ceasing to exist as she let Snape consume her and provide this escape. There was no war. No Horcruxes. No struggling friends. No hurt children. No imprisoned Muggleborns. No monsters.

Only the distraction of Snape. His hands. His mouth. His words. His cock.

Black spots appeared in her vision, leaving dancing red afterimages behind when her heavy eyelids slid closed, weighed down by the spell of lightheadedness that came over her when his shaft hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her. It was just right, and her nails scraped down his chest while her head fell back in ecstasy.

Hands abruptly gripped her hips, fingers digging into the rounded curve of her bum, holding tight enough to have Hermione wondering if Snape would leave marks. Then she was bouncing roughly on his dick, moaning and gasping at the sudden urgency.

Over and over again he hit that tender spot, turning her mind to mush.

“Snape!” she cried, teetering on the brink of oblivion.

So close. She was so close.

“Open your eyes, Granger,” he ordered, deep baritone a rasp along her spine like the touch of fur. As soon as her eyes snapped open, she was caught in his penetrating gaze, sinking into the inky pools like quicksand. Her mouth went dry and her breath snagged in her chest. “Say it again.”

Snape’s hands reached to cup her face, staring even more intently. Hermione felt exposed. Every hidden truth of her laid bare. He truly saw her.

Hermione had the impression, though she didn’t know why, that he was reminding himself of who he was with as much as he was ensuring she was aware as well. Though who he thought she’d envision instead eluded her.

Then Snape was leaning up, letting her feel the way the muscles in his abdomen clenched with the movement. When he was close enough, he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. He tasted of decadence and sin. The promise of fulfilling dark desires and wicked fantasies.

“Say it,” he repeated, his lips moving against hers as he spoke.

The pressure in her chest tightened, but try as she might, she could hardly draw more than a shallow breath. He’d captured her entirely, demanding she do as he said.

“Ah…uh, Snape,” she gasped, exhaling the last of her air.

It was like the moment of drowning. The pressure had been building and building, mounting until she thought she’d explode from the compressed weight of fighting against the need to breathe. Then she finally opened her mouth to inhale a rush of water and make it stop. To release the pressure.

Only it wasn’t death that greeted her.

It was the crest of an orgasm washing over her. A storm surge with the strength to carry her for miles along the peak of the wave.

Every joint in her body came undone like an untied bow, the ribbon pieces left dangling and unless. She was little more than a ragdoll as she slumped forward, not entirely sure, but thinking he said, “Hang on.”

Then he had her on her back with her legs lifted over his thighs, and he was thrusting rapidly into her. Hermione’s hands fisted in the sheets, clawing and grabbing at the fabrics in a bid to hang on as he’d recommended while he pounded into her, unrestrained.

He looked fierce and wild. A sheen of sweat glistened on his skin in the flickering candlelight that illuminated the room. His hips bucked frantically, possessing her, claiming her.

It was almost too intense. She was still sensitive with her muscles spasming and her chest heaving. He’d let her take what she needed from him before, and now he was doing the same. But a second before it became too much, Snape released into her in hot bursts, a strained, “Granger,” falling from his lips before collapsing forward.

He lay panting and sweaty beside her as they both caught their breath. It was not nearly as awkward as when he’d feigned being unaffected in order to set about collecting the potion ingredient and escape the evidence of what he’d been coerced into doing.

It occurred to her that he’d treated her as a willing woman, not a nervous virgin from the moment she’d assured him she was all right. That knowledge brought with it a different sort of satisfaction from the physical kind he’d just gifted her with.

His fingers ghosted over her hip then, and she shivered, feeling him involuntarily slip from her swollen channel as she moved. Her skin felt sticky and she could feel his semi-hardness as it came to rest on her thigh.

A second later the arm across her waist tensed slightly. Guess things had officially come to an end. Hermione swallowed a sigh, but couldn’t resist dropping a kiss on the hollow of his throat before she sat up.

Ginny’s recent brave actions came to mind, including how they’d set the tone for things to come. Hermione decided to take a page out of her book. And for the first time in a very long while, she felt like could think clearly.

“I should get back before I’m missed, but I’ll come by tomorrow,” Hermione ventured, noting how breathy she still sounded as she spoke a desire she wasn’t even entirely certain she had. But as soon as she said it, she knew it was the truth. She didn’t want this to be a one off.

Her words were a statement, but also a question. Ultimately, it was his decision. But now he knew where she stood.

The vein in his neck fluttered, ticking faster beneath the reddened mark she’d accidentally left. Had she bitten him? She’d been so wrapped up in the moment that it’d been an unconscious act.

The barest touch of his fingers grazed her thigh, so fleeting she’d have missed it if the touch hadn’t thrilled her senses. Then, in a carefully neutral and far too controlled voice, eyes fixed securely on the ceiling, he replied, “I hardly care what you do.”

He’d said similarly in the past. And it was never the truth.

She took a chance that the same could be said for now. “I don’t believe you.”

His head tipped then, and he shifted to prop himself up and take her in. Slowly, like the most sinful and leisurely of caresses, he let his gaze rove over her tousled and flushed silhouette, lingering on her jutting breasts and the evidence of their release still smeared near the juncture between her legs.

“My staff meeting should be over by nine. The office will be empty after that,” he declared, making his wishes known.

Hermione gave a jerky nod, not trusting her voice not to squeak if she dared to say anything else. Hurriedly, she dressed, aware of his eyes on her the entire time – and the way her hands trembled, making her fingers clumsy until multiple attempts were required to clasp her bra. She dreaded how he might interpret the sight.

To be honest, she didn’t know the cause. Was it nerves regarding this new understanding that they’d be continuing an intimate relationship? Or was it the lingering lethargy that her limbs weren’t used to in the aftermath of their shagging?

But, Merlin, that had been incredible!

As she shut the door behind her, she just barely caught him saying, “I will definitely burn in hell for this.”

Hermione rested her forehead against the aged wood of the closed door. It was cool and smooth after enduring for centuries. Concentrating on those miniscule details calmed and centred her.

She could hardly believe that had just happened. She’d come to this office with her emotions out-of-control. She’d been ready to throw everything she believed in away. Until Snape stopped her. He brought her back to herself. Reminded her of who she was and what she stood for. Then cleared her head of all the rioting chaos…for a time.

The countless challenges and obstacles she had to face seemed much more manageable now than they had earlier. Already a list was forming in her mind, the items reshuffling themselves as their relevance became clearer.

She’d hardly turned when a flash of brilliant blue caught her eye. Instantly, Hermione froze, staring in horror at Dumbledore’s likewise frozen form.

The former headmaster appeared too stunned to move or speak as he made the connection between her wild hair, barely fastened clothes – a button was missing from her top, just over her breasts – and the room she’d just exited.

There was no misinterpreting what she’d been doing.

Immediately, she felt the urge to make excuses or stammer out an explanation since she’d not expected to see him. It had been over a week since she’d seen him visit the office. Awkwardly, she attempted to tame her curls, patting them down, then used her wand to magic her shirt properly closed. She’d been too unsteady to try in front of Snape.

But then the urge to justify her actions passed as the full extent of the situation came to mind. They’d not done anything wrong. They were both consenting adults. Dumbledore had no right to look so startled and affronted. As if he’d not had a hand in orchestrating the first time! He was in no position to sit in judgement now for what he’d set in motion.

Bearing that in mind, Hermione left the office without a word, only just remembering to grab Harry’s cloak and throw it over her head before she left. At least that would account for her messy hair.

“Oh, good. I’m glad you’re back before I fell asleep,” Ron greeted, making her jump.

The urge to look around was strong, and she had to force it away lest she look as guilty as she suddenly felt. Of all the people to run into. Had he noticed the flush still heating her cheeks? Could he smell the musky scent of sandalwood that lingered on her skin, or did the bite of salt mask it?

“Right,” she responded, rushing on to blurt, “the book I was looking for was already checked out.”

Ron nodded along, though she didn’t think he was truly listening to her. It was a habit he regularly fell back on when he wasn’t really interested, too engrossed in his own thoughts. She was torn between relief and annoyance. The research she did was to help Harry, so he should care more, but for once his laziness meant he didn’t suspect anything about her.

“Look, we need to talk about us,” Ron announced without warning.

“Us?” she squeaked, looking for Harry.

He was already in bed asleep. Of course. How late was it? She’d not been with Snape that long, had she?

Only then did she notice all of the Halloween decorations. Apparently, she’d missed an impromptu party while she’d been out. No wonder Harry was already abed. He’d not seemed in the mood to celebrate when she’d left just before supper.

“Yeah,” Ron said nervously, taking a seat, then jumping right back up before sitting again. Hermione fought back a groan when he surreptitiously wiped his palms on his pants. Hadn’t they already done this? She could have sworn Ron was paying attention when they’d had this conversation. “I’ve been thinking…we’re been getting on all right now, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” she agreed tentatively, disliking the direction this seemed to be going.

“It’s been so much better, and how we worked together in the Ministry, and what you did to take care of me… We’ve been through so much. It’s always us. It was always supposed to be – Harry reminded me, and…and then I wondered… Did we make a mistake? Did we call us off too soon?”

This could not be happening. Not tonight. Not when each shift of her limbs generated a twinge between her legs and she could feel the way the fabric of her trousers was sticking uncomfortably to the moisture she had yet to wash away.

Ron was studying her intently, leaning closer as he did, almost as though preparing to kiss her. All she saw were the things that didn’t make him Snape. His smile was too wide and came too easily. His emotions were always too close to the surface, straightforward and without an ounce of challenge. His disdain for books and learning. His perpetual laziness. His loose tongue. His ready laughter and more traditional good looks. The only thing right was the rather prominent nose, so like Snape’s….

Hermione was abruptly back in the moment with that last thought.

She leaned away quickly, pulling her hair forward to shield her neck and part of her face. Had he seen the red rash Snape’s scruff had marked her neck with, or how puffy her kiss-swollen lips were? Was she putting off pheromones or something in the wake of her recent activities?

He looked abruptly mortified, and shifted quickly away, crossing his arms.

Stiffly, Hermione demanded, “Ron, what brought this on?”

“Harry was talking, and it got me thinking. Guess I should have known better,” he grumbled.

“You think?” Hermione snapped.

“Because you’re the only smart one?” Ron countered swiftly, apparently itching for a fight after her reaction to his advance.

“Ron.” The harshness she infused his name with had him gritting his teeth. “What really brought this on?” she pressed.

“I was starting to think I might fancy Luna, but couldn’t be sure because of you. I should have known better. I guess we’re really over,” he said roughly, the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment.

“Oh, it’s safe to say we’re over,” Hermione muttered. Ron’s flush spread, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, and she realised she’d been a bit too adamant. It was hard not to when her already tender muscles longed for nothing more than a shower, not the landmine that was soothing Ron’s pride. “I only meant I’d noticed you moving on. I think it’s good.”

She hadn’t, having enough going on that claimed her focus, but she’d pretend otherwise if it meant avoiding another hammering out of all the reasons they didn’t belong together. And it did make sense, him and Luna. They were spending an awful lot of time together lately – usually when Hermione was with Snape and Harry was occupied with Ginny.

“You mean you’d rather be all alone than with me.” She heard what he was really saying: You don’t think I’m good enough for you.

“I never said anything like that,” Hermione denied incredulously.

Her seat put her in the perfect position to see that their conversation had woken Harry. He was watching them, though his eyes were squinting in an effort to bring them into focus without his glasses. Noticing he had her attention, he immediately closed his eyes. Nice try. He was going to get an earful from her tomorrow.

“But it’s the truth. You say you’ve noticed me moving on, but you’re doing the opposite,” Ron said, obliquely acknowledging the way she’d taken to researching when the others were gathered together – for all intents and purposes, avoiding the others.

Oh, if he only knew what she was really getting up to.

“Are you sure you don’t fancy any of the blokes in the D.A.?”

“I don’t need the distraction. There’s enough on my mind. Not to mention rather limited options,” Hermione said honestly, unable to imagine one of her former classmates being able to keep her on her toes the way Snape always managed to. Knowing how Ron would take her evaluation, she quickly tacked on, “Since we’re already figured out how much better we are as friends. You know it’s true.”

“Yeah. Harry just got in my head earlier. I just had to check.” Ron shook his head, banishing whatever was plaguing him. She’d have to remember to thank Harry for stirring this all up again. Some friend. Ron still looked slightly peeved, but for once he let it go at that to ask a different question. “What do you think about the other bit? I mean, can you really picture me with Luna? You don’t think people will talk, what with her being a bit…loony?”

Now Hermione was the one offended.

“I think, as our friend, Luna deserves better than to be insulted – especially by someone claiming to fancy her!”

“Geez, Hermione, lay off. You were always the first to discount her before, and I was only saying,” Ron muttered, scowling.

“Oh, I know what you were saying,” she said darkly, narrowing her eyes as she seethed, ignoring the reference to the remarks she’d once made herself about Luna – remarks she’d not once made after becoming friends with the girl. “It was the same as it was with me in fourth year. All you cared about were looks.”

“Obviously I got better about that – I fancied you, didn’t I? I was even willing to try again with you tonight!”

As his words registered, she was unaccountably hurt by what he was suggesting. She was not particularly vain, but until this moment, she’d truly believed she’d grown into her features. And so long as it wasn’t humid, even her hair looked rather nice. All right, perhaps it was just passable, but still, it was definitely better. Yet in a couple sentences, Ron managed to make her feel like a troll.

Had Snape minded? He’d certainly not looked at her with anything approaching disgust or even indifference.

Gah! She didn’t need this. She was not defined by what a wizard saw when he looked at her.

Still, she couldn’t help but lash out, sneering, “With compliments like that, it’s really no wonder we didn’t work out.”

Hermione was struck by how much she’d sounded as though she were mimicking Snape, while Ron blanched as he realised what he’d said.

“Hermione—”

“It’s fine, really,” she sighed, though his comments still smarted enough to dull some of her previous sense of contentment. At least Snape hadn’t made it seem a chore to shag her. And it wasn’t like she wanted Ron to fancy her anymore anyways. “But I would like to point out that Luna has changed a bit in the last few years. She’s been there when we needed her. She’s proven herself. And since Harry dated her, she’s not considered a joke.”

“Oh, right. I’d forgotten about that,” Ron said, frowning. He shot a furtive look in the direction of Harry’s stiff form, their friend doing a rotten job at feigning sleep.

“It shouldn’t matter regardless,” Hermione insisted, pursing her lips in disapproval. Perhaps Ron would always get hung up on public approval, but it was one trait Hermione sincerely hoped he outgrew. And the sooner, the better.

“I know. It’s just hard for me, I guess.” That hint of vulnerability he displayed now was once something she craved. Now, she felt a bit like a Muggle shrink as she analysed him, searching for the right words.

“You went from being in your brothers’ shadows to Harry’s.” He smiled weakly, recognizing that she really got him.

Too bad she didn’t have the same, as their spat aptly demonstrated.

“With the right witch, you’ll always come first. You’re worth it, so don’t settle,” she said sincerely, letting go of their earlier tiff.

Ron blinked at her, looking hopeful all over again. “Hermione—”

“It’s getting late, and I have a few ideas to run past Harry in the morning,” she hinted, cutting him off.

Ron nodded, not saying a word as she jumped up to grab her beaded purse, ignoring the protest her overworked thighs gave in response. All she wanted right then was a bit of privacy to shower and take the remaining dose of Contraception Potion that she’d thankfully kept after brewing it in her hotel room over the summer.

When she’d brewed the potion, she’d only had enough stoneseed root for two doses worth. For some reason she’d gone ahead and made the extra, which she swallowed quickly now. Luckily, each dose lasted a month, so she had a while before she would need to ask Snape for a restock and have that particular conversation. It would probably be a good idea to wait, and not remind Snape of the potential consequences of their actions if she wanted to continue shagging him.

Too bad she couldn’t have a repeat this very moment. She could do with it in the wake of Ron’s unintentionally hurtful remarks.

The bathroom door wasn’t even closed before she heard Ron ask, “You heard?”

“Sorry. At least you know now,” Harry said weakly.

“Yeah. I think I’ll talk to Luna tomorrow,” Ron replied, tone sharpening as he added, “since you’re with my sister and not interested in Luna.”

“Ron—”

“Night, Harry,” he muttered.

Jealousy was another pesky trait she wouldn’t mind Ron getting a handle on, if she were honest.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 16: Surrender

“I’ve had an idea, Harry,” Hermione announced, joining Ron and Harry where they were pouring over the notes she’d taken the day before, searching for a clue she’d overlooked. A noticeable tension sat heavily between the two boys, but they both seemed intent on ignoring it as they carried out what had become their regular routine this last month.

Glancing furtively at the eight other students who’d skipped breakfast in the Great Hall to eat there instead, Harry lowered his voice to prompt, “Well, go on then.”

“The Riddle House,” she said meaningfully, conveying as much as possible without words.

Ron’s face pinched as he puzzled it out, but Harry caught on at once. He was adamantly shaking his head as he argued, “No. He hated them.”

Hermione huffed, preparing the defence that had come to her the night before as she meandered along the familiar path connecting the Head office and the Room of Requirement. “He hated the orphanage too, but he hid one in the cave.”

“Because that was a place where he demonstrated his power over Muggles,” Harry said loudly, only to get an elbow in the side from Ron when a few Ravenclaws looked over at them.

“Muffliato!” Hermione cast discreetly.

“What makes you think he’d hide one at his dad’s house?” Ron asked churlishly, and she noticed he didn’t look at her directly when he spoke.

Guess he was still a bit peeved with her as well. Typical.

“It’s where he destroyed the last ties to his Muggle heritage,” she reasoned, crossing her arms over her fluffy jumper as she silently dared Harry to discount her latest theory.

“She’s got a point,” Ron said thoughtfully, brow pinching the way it did when he studied a chess board. “Like you said, ‘Demonstrated his power.’ Killing them off certainly did that. And he was there just a couple years ago. He might have been checking on one or hiding a different Horcrux.”

“Could be the cup,” Hermione suggested, referring to the only other item they were aware of, but had yet to locate.

Harry considered the idea, weighing what he knew against the odds. She could guess at his thoughts. Dumbledore probably already checked, given his visit to the village and the incident that had occurred at the home of his magical relatives. Not up to his usual thoroughness if he’d not investigated both locations… Then again, his injury might have sufficiently distracted him.

“We already know one was in the Gaunt house. I don’t think he’d keep them so close together,” Harry acknowledged, voicing a close approximation to her thoughts.

“Yeah, but maybe that’s why he would,” Ron reasoned, appearing to favour the idea more the longer he considered it.

“It wouldn’t hurt to check it out. We’ve followed weaker leads than this,” Hermione tried, silently beseeching Harry. If nothing else, they could add then cross it off the list they’d begun compiling.

Harry distractedly pushed his glasses up his nose and hopefully asked, “Like Godric’s Hollow?” Of course he’d see this as an opportunity to bargain for an investigation into a place that he so desperately wished to visit.

“Harry, we’ve been over this. He knows how connected you are to that place,” Hermione said gently. She hated being the voice of reason when it meant denying him something he so clearly craved, particularly in light of everything else going on in his life. But someone had to do it, and she was used to being the logical one.

“Just as connected as him,” Harry insisted stubbornly. Seeing the set of his jaw and hearing that all too familiar tone, which always seemed to be followed by a bout of danger and poor choices, made it significantly easier to firm her resolve against visiting the cursed place.

“He’s not going to hide something where he was nearly killed,” Ron scoffed, surprising Hermione by siding with her. But really, it was only rational to conclude as much.

“Unless he’s proving to himself that he succeeded in cheating death,” Harry countered, crossing his arms and staring mutinously at them.

“Death… I knew that’s what going there was really about. Your parents.” An ache throbbed in her chest as she suddenly missed her own. But at least hers were safe and alive – even if they were eternally out of research now.

“Mate, there’ll be time to check all that out later,” Ron said dismissively. It was easy for him to brush the desire aside. His situation was vastly different to theirs.

“You don’t get it,” Harry sighed, running a hand through his dark hair and making it stick up every which way like he’d just hopped off a broom.

“I know it’s hard—”

“I’ve already waited so long. What if there isn’t a later for me?” Harry demanded hotly, staring Ron down.

“Rubbish,” Ron said, waving a hand to dispel the idea like so much vanishing smoke.

But Hermione’s breath lodged painfully in her throat, making it impossible to breathe. Why would Harry say such a thing? Of course he was going to survive. After all the close calls, the near-death moments. Surely he didn’t think Voldemort was going to win? They couldn’t let that happen. They just couldn’t. Not after everything.

Hermione closed her eyes, but instantly regretted it. Because there, imposed behind her lids like a candid photograph, was an image of Harry splayed lifeless on the ground, dull verdant eyes staring vacantly from a slack face, broken glasses tossed nearby, no longer needed. Foreboding spread along her skin to form a solid layer of crystalline frost, sharp and stinging.

Never had she given serious credence to divination. It was all hogwash. Unreliable. Silly guesswork and self-fulfilling predictions. But there was something disturbingly vivid and piercing about the scene.

Blinking did nothing to eliminate the horror. It lingered, a negative afterimage stubbornly clinging to her vision, blocking reality.

Shakily, a coldness lingering within her at the dark notions, Hermione ignored the obscuring picture and suggested, “Let’s hold off on Godric’s Hollow until we’ve exhausted all other possibilities.”

“And if we do?” Harry pushed.

“Then we go,” she reluctantly agreed, ignoring Harry’s triumphant grin as the image of his dead body finally dissolved, blurring and fading from sight. Having it vanish, unfortunately, did not allow her to forget it.

“Ron, I think you should stay here this time,” Harry said, assuming his typical leadership role. Hermione had to admit he was very good at giving out orders and having them obeyed with minimal protest. “We need to keep the Room available, and students asked too many questions last time we all went.”

“Why me and not Hermione?” Ron huffed, seeming to recall that he was angry at the pair of them. Minimal protest? Well, unless Ron was involved, apparently.

“She’s better at Detection Charms,” Harry readily admitted, making Hermione wince. There was no way that was going to go over well. Ron might be better at performing Defensive Spells, but she had him when it came to a versatile range of knowledge on all things from detection to wards to jinxes and curses.

“‘Course she is.” His glower said everything.

The pair exchanged a look, then determinedly ignored Ron as they gathered a couple of hairs from two volunteers, doled out Polyjuice Potion, and swiftly left the castle under Harry’s cloak for additional protection. She’d need to start a new batch since they were nearly out and would need it to continue moving in and out of the castle in relative safety.

“Why here?” she asked when they appeared on the side of the road outside a shabby cottage with nothing else in sight as far as she could see.

“This was the closest I could get. I’ve only seen this place in the memory Dumbledore shared, and the inside of the Riddle Manor, which we can’t Apparate directly to. We’ll have to go on foot to get there.” This was the Gaunt House? It was so depressing that she thought she understood Merope’s choices a bit more, even if she still didn’t agree with them.

She and Harry walked for a few minutes in silence before she couldn’t resist accusing, “You know it’s your fault he’s raging against both of us.”

“How was I to guess he’d ever take a shine to Luna, given their history? You really think I’d have asked her to Slughorn’s party last year if I had? She’s not at all his usual type.” Meaning she wasn’t part Veela or a famous Quidditch player or stunningly beautiful.

“I know how much you hate that Ron envies you. Trust me, I get that your life isn’t the picnic he sometimes assumes it is. I know that your fame doesn’t necessarily mean things are easier, nor does it make the rest worth it,” Hermione stated, aware Harry had likely been letting this fester within him since he’d overheard their conversation the night before.

“Exactly!”

“But,” Hermione emphasised, recalling her own annoyance with his meddling. “I was actually referring to the bit involving me. Why’d you have to go and put ideas like that in his head again?”

“I thought I was looking out for you,” Harry said quietly. At her incredulous look, he explained, “I remember how torn up you were last year when he kissed Lavender. Lately, it seems like things have changed. The two of you don’t really fight anymore.”

“That isn’t because we’re secretly snogging!”

Harry flushed, grimacing a little as he no doubt pictured his mates embracing passionately. But then he levelled her with a serious expression. Hermione immediately braced herself. “Did you know he made arrangements with Bill and Charlie to get you to Romania if we lose, but you survive?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked quietly, barely able to push the words past the lump in her throat.

“He did it over the summer, when we were staying at the Burrow. You’re Muggleborn. He did what he could to make sure his brothers would look after you and get you out of the country before anyone could arrest you and throw you in Azkaban,” Harry explained.

Just when she thought she knew all there was to know about Ron, he managed to surprise her. Someday he really was going to be one of the most remarkable of men. Here was proof that he was well on his way. Again, she felt a little twinge of guilt for picking Snape over him, both over the summer and again the night before.

“I thought you should know…in case it made you change your mind before Luna complicated things,” Harry said awkwardly, giving her a half shrug at the end.

At once Hermione understood. Harry believed this would be her last chance with Ron. He was probably right. If Ron and Luna managed to get together, there was a very good chance they’d work out. She could easily see it.

Did it bother her?

The earlier guilt tickled her conscience. As did the internal clock steadily counting down the minutes until nine that night when she could be with Snape again.

That told her all she needed to know.

“I don’t want to be with Ron romantically. Ever,” she admitted, searching Harry’s face for condemnation. There was none, though he did truly look surprised, despite all that had been said and happened in the last few months.

“Aren’t you lonely? You helped me sort things with Ginny. Don’t you want the same for yourself?” Harry pressed.

Yes, but what was she going to do? Cut things off with Snape just as they were starting, only to end up bored with Neville’s ignorance of academic knowledge, beyond botany, or annoyed with Ernie’s pompous mouth boasting of his superiority? Those were her options, and neither were appealing.

Sighing, Hermione said, “Not all of us are so lucky.”

“Maybe you would be if you didn’t fancy unattainable blokes,” Harry countered, shocking her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Lockhart was your professor,” he said, distaste for the man twisting his face into a grimace.

“I was thirteen!” she protested.

“You couldn’t get enough of his blinding smiles and obnoxious boasting,” Harry persisted, making her wish she could crawl in a hole and hide from her younger self’s bad choices and obvious crush. She’d only just thrown away a permission slip he’d signed that she’d kept when she was cleaning out her room in her parents’ house.

“There is nothing wrong with appreciating someone accomplished,” Hermione insisted defensively, sniffing and trying to maintain her dignity even as her face flamed, the heat radiating like pavement on a hot summer day. Crack an egg on her cheeks and they could have a second breakfast.

“Only if it’s true,” Harry mocked, “and he’s not old enough to be your parent. Pretty sure you fancied Lupin too, and he—” Harry abruptly stopped and quickly held up his hands in surrender when he caught her glare. That last hit a bit too close, considering Snape technically was old enough, having been in Lupin’s class at school. Doggedly, Harry continued, asking, “What about Krum then? He didn’t even live in the same country. And he’s so famous, witches are constantly after him.”

“He was the first bloke to see me as a girl,” Hermione mused, recalling how flattered she’d been when Viktor had begun pursuing her over all the other girls seeking him out.

“Didn’t you tell Ron not to settle?”

“I knew you were listening,” she muttered, pursing her lips. Still, she felt defensive. If Harry was criticising her taste in wizards, Viktor was far from the worst she could have done. “He was really intelligent too. Wouldn’t have been picked for Triwizard Champion if he wasn’t.”

“Still can’t be with someone you never see and always have to compete for… Sort of like Ron last year.”

Hermione wished she could shut him up by mentioning Snape. There was no competition there. But that was not a real relationship either – and it was Snape. Harry had already mentioned at least one issue he’d have with that choice, and she knew he’d have a dozen more – each more adamant than the previous. But for her, Snape had all the qualities she was apparently attracted to. Accomplished. Admired. Authoritative. Academic. And most of all, attracted to her and accessible.

“What’s your point, Harry?”

“You’re self-sabotaging,” he accused.

Hermione disagreed. Vehemently. Scowling, she retorted, “Since that won’t prevent me from helping you locate and destroy Horcruxes, perhaps we can table this discussion until after the war is over? Unless you want to talk about you and Ginny, that is.”

Fair was fair, after all.

“Fine. I just worry about you spending so much time alone. You’re the only family I have left,” he said, sincerity shining a new light on the conversation. A second later, Harry pointed at a large white house with massive columns and decorative windows that hinted at significant wealth, despite its current state of disrepair. “There.”

When they reached the door, Hermione ran through a series of spells to check for traps, the presence of humans, and other security measures. There was nothing.

She was just about to unlock the door when she couldn’t resist saying, “Harry, I’m not spending more time alone now than I used to be.” Seeing his immediate confusion, she explained, “I never spent as much time with you guys as you and Ron spent together. I took different classes. Studied longer in the library, for what we had in common and my extra courses. You guys had Quidditch practice. I wasn’t with you at night in the dorms, and I certainly wasn’t gossiping with Lavender and Parvati.

“Disappearing to the library now suits me – probably because I’m an only child and my house was very quiet growing up. Sometimes I just need a break to maintain my sanity.”

“I won’t bring it up again unless you do,” he promised, smiling sheepishly.

“Thanks,” she said, unable to hide her relief.

Methodically, they searched room after room, performing every spell she could think of. But it was abundantly clear that nothing was there to detect. Not a trace of magic remained within the house.

“Wormtail stayed here…before…with him,” Harry said, stopping in the doorway to the family room as they were preparing to leave. Only an antique armchair occupied the formerly luxurious space. It looked like an abandoned throne in a forgotten kingdom. The musty scent of stale air, dust and mildew hovered in the air, thick and heavy.

“I’m sorry this reminded you of what he did, Harry. I really hoped we’d find something here,” Hermione said softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, noting the faraway look on his face. Wormtail. No wonder he brought up Godric’s Hollow.

“It’s fine. They’ve just been on my mind since yesterday,” Harry said, shaking off whatever memory had temporarily enthralled him. “You were right that we should at least try.”

They each sipped more Polyjuice, their disguises having worn off part way through their search, and quickly snuck back into the castle.

Ron was sitting with Luna when they returned, but given the two fourth year Hufflepuffs also with them, Hermione guessed Ron hadn’t had a chance to discuss his feelings with the blonde yet. She had a feeling he wasn’t going to have any problems when he did, though, judging by the way Luna was laughing, unrestrained, at a joke Ron had just made. She’d been doing that more and more of late.

When Ron noticed Hermione watching, he shrugged, grinning at her. It was not a real apology, but she rolled her eyes, knowing it was as close as she was going to get.

Other students came and went throughout the rest of the day, all seeking Harry’s attention at some point or another, but Hermione was left in relative peace to comb through yet another book with oblique references to the Hogwarts Founders.

The time dragged. She was impatient to see Snape and discover if he actually did intend to continue with her. He’d have every reason not to. Their emotion-fueled encounter certainly wasn’t anyone’s definition of logical. But that had been the point. A necessary release.

What if he didn’t need or desire another? Or what if he just didn’t want it with her. She knew her lack of experience didn’t exactly recommend her, and he’d not been precisely enthused by her suggestion that she’d be back.

She swore the second hand of the clock was deliberately trudging through a bog. It left her plenty of time to wallow in self-pity and wade through an endless sea of doubts. The conversations she’d had with Harry and Ron only made it worse. If Snape insisted the night before had been a mistake, Hermione had no doubt her self-confidence would be wounded, possibly permanently.

When she finally left the Room of Requirement, it was just after the D.A. training ended, and she had to force herself to dawdle in the library since it was too early to join Snape.

By the time she allowed herself to invade his office, it was to find him staring pensively at something small enough to be shielded by his cupped hand. Was it the same thing she’d seen him peering at before? He set it down abruptly, and curiosity had her cautiously approaching, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious object. His raised brow, as he moved a sheet of parchment to cover the item, had her stopping in her tracks.

His actions practically screamed private – mind your own business. It only made her more curious and determined.

But later. She was currently here for another reason.

Assessingly, Snape looked her over, gaze lingering on her empty hands. Ordinarily, they were laden with a stack of books when she arrived. Today, she hadn’t bothered, leaving the disappointing tomes in the library before coming here.

Hermione shifted nervously, not sure what to say. He’d initiated things yesterday, then not given her time to “overanalyze” as he liked to accuse her of doing. She’d certainly done enough of it in the last few hours. He’d have a time of it, raking her over the coals if he knew. It only made his silence today more ominous. He was giving her ample time – just when she wished he wouldn’t.

Her fingers began fidgeting. Still he hesitated, not moving from his seat. He’d clearly not been working when she arrived. Surreptitiously, Hermione glanced at the door to his room. Should she wait for him inside?

She’d been properly distracted yesterday, so much so that she’d not taken any notice of his living space. Was it as sparse and uninviting as his room in the dungeons had been? Was it precisely as Dumbledore left it, like the office? She couldn’t decide which would be worse.

“Uh,” she began, fumbling and falling silent when words frustratingly eluded her.

Snape shook his head, one side of his lips curling up reluctantly. She could practically hear the accusation sliding off his tongue to caress her inner thighs. She was thinking too much.

But when he cleared his throat and spoke, what he said was, “It’s not yet curfew. I should remain reachable until it is…just in case.”

“Oh,” she said dumbly. That was all she could get out.

He was watching her, almost willing her to say something. Did he want her to wait? Or protest? If Ron hadn’t implied she was little more than a troll, perhaps…but then, this was Snape. How was she expected to read him? How had she succeeded in their past interactions?

It was too surreal.

His eyes closed. Again, she waited to see what he would do. To see how he would guide them through this tumultuous situation. His voice was deep and pained when he finally asked, “Do you believe the dead judge our actions from the grave?”

What? Had Dumbledore’s portrait said something to him after seeing her? Was that the real reason he was hesitating now? Not some fault or deficiency of hers, but something Dumbledore had done? Had Dumbledore made him rethink this arrangement? He must have.

Snape touched the object again, his fingers absently stroking over the parchment in a way that told her the hidden item held great sentimental value to him. If only she could see it. Whatever it was would probably shed light on the enigma that was Severus Snape.

But as for his question….

“No, I don’t,” she said firmly. Enough people in this world had opinions. It wasn’t fair to allow those incapable of making different decisions or offering advice to have a say as well. Perhaps the wizarding world wouldn’t be so shrouded in antiquated practices if they did let go of their deceased relatives’ bigoted ideals. Unfortunately, ghosts and portraits made that impossible. “Every person is flawed, not just the living. I think the only thing the dead desire, or at least all they should wish for us, is for those left behind to find what happiness we can while we are able, and to have fewer regrets when we die than they possessed.”

“You don’t think they wish us to pay for the hurts we…intentionally and unintentionally dealt them?”

“No. I think we probably punish ourselves plenty. More than they could, definitely.”

“Hmph.” With that sound, Snape turned, glancing at the back wall of blank portraits. Every former Head was out, as they usually were these days. When he resumed his previous position of studying her, he intoned, “We’re alone in here.”

Her mouth was suddenly dry as a desert. Did he mean….

“Granger?”

It wasn’t a no. It wasn’t a retraction. It wasn’t him giving voice to her insecure worries.

Yes, he was far less certain that this should be happening today when emotions weren’t running as high. But he wasn’t truly against it or he’d have said.

With that in mind, Hermione took the initiative and walked towards him. Before she’d reached him, he scooted his chair back, giving her room. Drawing on her Gryffindor courage, Hermione straddled his lap, wedging her knees on either side of his hips in the large chair.

His hands cupped her bum, pulling her forward so that her core was flush against the thickening bulge in his trousers. It was only then that she noticed he wasn’t wearing robes. Instead, it was a button down and trousers, both the shade of a dark, moonless night.

“Will you know if any of the staff decide on returning?” Hermione asked, biting her lip and casting a furtive glance towards the closed door.

Snape’s thumb freed her lip, brushing over the abused surface faintly. Then his hand splayed to cup her cheek tenderly.

“When you first began visiting, I instructed the gargoyles to remain sealed when you were here – regardless of the password,” he informed her, leaving her stunned by the revelation.

Snape would probably never come straight out and say he wanted her around, but to know that he had taken steps to protect her and facilitate her visits... It said everything.

With that, she slid her hands up his chest and he tipped his head back in response, presenting his mouth, the lips curled with just the barest hint of enjoyment.

Leaning in, bumping his hooked nose deliberately, teasingly, Hermione initiated a feather light pass of her lips over his. The hands on her bum gripped her more firmly, kneading the globes. She kissed him more fully, opening to him. As their kiss deepened, her hips undulated, seeking friction against her core.

She shifted, trying to find the right spot. “Hff,” she groaned, frustrated as she tried to move again and it still wasn’t right. The seam of her trousers was digging into her, and it was more uncomfortable than anything.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, nibbling on the column of her neck. Hermione wondered if he meant right then or in general, but decided to be honest about her most pressing desire and leave the rest to contemplate later.

“Put your mouth on me,” she requested, feeling hot just thinking about his tongue on her clit the night before. Snape raised an eyebrow at her boldness, but his pounding heart let her know that he liked this side of her. “Please, Snape,” she begged, splaying her fingers over the telling organ. It beat strong and fast against her palm.

Swiftly, Snape stood up, depositing her on the edge of his desk. His hands were at her waist, unfastening her trousers as her head spun from the abrupt change. But she braced her hands on the desk, lifting her hips to help as he yanked the snug fabric off her.

Snape sat back in his chair, admiring her as she pulled her pale grey jumper over her head and unhooked her bra, discarding the last of her clothing. Those sinful lips, so skilled at delivering the barbs that cut a person to ribbons, curled in anticipation as they prepared to annihilate her senses in a vastly different way.

“Put your feet on the armrests,” he instructed smoothly, scooting between her naked thighs as she did.

His hands lightly grazed her knees, snaking down her calves to encircle her ankles, nudging her to open wider for him. Hermione’s mouth went dry as she did, exposing herself to his assessing gaze. It felt different in a way she couldn’t properly describe, except to think that she couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. Ever.

Then her senses evaporated when he laid a barely-there kiss on her shin. Their eyes met. After a deliberate pause, he turned and kissed the other leg, only higher up, near her knee.

Fingers tickled softly, drifting over her feet, then up to the crease in the back of her knees. His eyes never left hers. They kept her pinned as effectively as a length of rope would have.

“Was that where you wanted my mouth?”

“N-no,” she stammered, chest aching as she realised she’d stopped breathing.

A kiss to the top of her knee. Her legs trembled.

Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Again. Again. She had to remind herself, since she’d nearly forgotten the necessity of oxygen.

“Here?” he drawled, hands continuing to draw lazy patterns over her lower legs.

“No,” she whispered.

Another kiss, just inside her thighs. Her legs parted farther as though encouraging and guiding him where she most craved his touch.

Her core clenched around nothing, the muscles tensing and grabbing, but she was empty. Hermione ached to be filled or stimulated. A peculiar warmth settled over her, nearly uncomfortable. It was almost itchy, like ants marching up her arms. This was torture. And yet, she never wanted it to end. Because it was the very best kind.

She expected his question, but instead his hand moved, reaching up to cup her breast, a fingertip circling the peak with the faintest of pressure. Round and round it traced the outline of her areola.

“Here?” he asked, nail snagging the pebbled bud.

“No – yes, but…hmmm,” she answered nonsensically, struggling when he dropped another kiss on the middle of her inner thigh, his free hand gliding along the juncture of her hip. Her skin felt heated, too hot and tight, like a fresh sunburn.

“My, my, someone is certainly struggling to use their words tonight. Don’t you know what you want?”

His barely concealed humour made her groan and push him in the chest with her foot. He was having fun at the expense of her sanity.

He caught her easily, squeezing her toes and replacing her foot where he’d told her to place it earlier, but didn’t return to teasing her. Instead, he waited, staring at her expectantly.

“Snape,” she breathed, swallowing. That trademark brow rose again, a dark, inquiring slash across his forehead, demanding she confess her desires. “Will you lick me again, like yesterday?”

He pressed his lips together, and Hermione had the vague impression that he was almost disappointed by her mild phrasing, but she simply could not bring herself to use the words she’d overheard the twins use when Mrs. Weasley wasn’t around. Not that it mattered. Because he gave her precisely what she asked for a second later.

His thumbnail scraped over her clit just hard enough to make her jerk and hiss, “Merlin!”

“Actually, I prefer when you shout ‘Snape’,” he said, breath fanning over her core.

A startled laugh escaped her, and her hand slid across the surface of the desk, inadvertently making her recline back. The sound abruptly cut off as Snape’s finger traced around her entrance, once, twice, before plunging in. An instant later, his mouth descended to cover the tiny pearl of pleasure at the apex of her thighs.

“Yes! Uh, yes. That’s what I want,” Hermione said quickly, afraid he’d stop if she didn’t confirm he’d finally settled on the right spot.

It wasn’t rushed, like yesterday when he’d been determined to make her orgasm as quickly as possible, but he was clearly finished teasing her.

His fingers and mouth worked in tandem, each seeking to drive her wild. Butterflies erupted in her belly, swarming and fluttering with rapid beats of their soft wings. Faster and faster.

Then he stopped. Snape pulled away seconds before she came.

“Fuck,” she hissed, frustrated and wanting.

Hermione sat upright, about to demand an explanation, but he invaded her space, stepping into the V of her legs as he roughly agreed, “Indeed.”

Without giving her time to process, Snape’s arms went around her, reaching to grip her shoulders. His cock was jutting forward, freed from the confines of his pants as he pleasured her, and now it found her unerringly.

With a swift push, he was inside her, easily engulfed in her slick heat. Eagerly, Hermione hooked her legs about his waist and grabbed onto the edge of the desk with one hand. It was just in time too.

Snape set a steady rhythm, and her body welcomed him, taking all he had to give and begging for more. As the fabric of his shirt roughly abraded her nipples, Hermione snaked a hand beneath to feel his flushed skin, her nails pricking his back as she held on while he rode her.

Before long, Snape’s mouth found hers, his tongue plundering her mouth in time with his thrusts. She could taste herself on him, and it was both passionate and exciting. Never had she surrendered herself to such hedonistic pursuits.

The world spun out of control, and she was lost. Sensations mounted, building and exploding, rippling through every cell.

“Snape!” she cried, screaming his name as her climax rushed through her, harder for being prolonged.

“Yes,” he growled, pumping twice more, rough and hard before he spilled.

His arms were slow to unwind from the deathlock he had her in. Not that she minded, needing his support to keep from turning into a puddle of goo.

Hermione’s legs were rubbery and unsteady as she pulled her trousers back on, idly watching as Snape sank back onto his discarded chair. She jumped and wiggled a bit, trying to get the material over her hips, and finding it unusually difficult thanks to the sheen of sweat covering her limbs. A pleased hum had her glancing at Snape, and only then did she realise she’d been fully naked while he hadn’t.

Snape caught her hand before she could fasten her trousers. “I thought you wanted my mouth on your breasts?” he inquired softly, words a seductive caress ghosting over her. Her memory had no problem recalling how decadent and exquisite his tongue felt against her skin.

“Yes,” she answered, only just realising that hadn’t happened.

With a tug, Snape pulled her onto his lap. Hermione sprawled ungracefully, but didn’t have time to do more than gasp before Snape caught her hands and brought them up to cup her breasts, holding them out like an offering for him.

“I got distracted earlier, but it would be a shame for you to leave before I did as you so politely asked.”

“You don’t have to. I mean…we’ve already…,” Hermione tried uncertainly, closing her eyes when his fingers began pinching and tugging expertly at her nipples.

Was it normal to fool around afterwards? She thought foreplay was just that – play before the main event. But did normal really matter when his fingers felt sublime, and his mouth was certain to surpass that?

“Perhaps this is about what I want. Considering I’ve already surrendered to this, I might as well enjoy it thoroughly. No regrets. No enduring punishments. Nothing outside these walls plaguing us, right, Granger?”

That was an interesting way—

Her thoughts stopped, leaving her mind as blank as a sheet of copy paper when his dark head bent to capture a peak in the wet heat of his mouth.

By the time she left, they’d shagged again, and she’d needed a potion to relieve her sore muscles, unfamiliar as they were to this sort of activity.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

Sorry for the long delay, I spent the last month moving from Italy to Romania and making a bit of a vacation out of it along the way. This chapter does mention rape (not involving Hermione), so please be advised. That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 17: Trust

Hermione’s tongue swirled, circling the crown of Snape’s thick cock like she was enjoying a lolly. In a way, she was. Except instead of a sugar rush, she was bingeing on the little noises filling the room that he couldn’t quite smother while she pleasured him.

One of her hands gripped the base of his length while the other cradled his balls, gently massaging their hefty weight. He twitched in her grasp, and Hermione sensed he was straining to remain still while she worked him over. Already he’d bucked quickly into her mouth a few times, the tip bumping the back of her throat. She could tell he wanted to let go and use her mouth freely, but she appreciated his restraint, still being relatively new to this sort of thing.

“Ugh,” he groaned, threading his fingers lightly through her curls, hips shifting just enough to indicate his increasing desire to be encased inside the wet heat of her mouth.

She readily complied, swallowing him further and pressing her tongue against a vein protruding along his shaft, rubbing over it enticingly. Hollowing her cheeks, she sucked, pulling on him unrelentingly. He tasted musky and clean and so very Snape that her senses spun as though on a vibrant carousel with flashing lights, constant movement, and a riot of brilliant colour.

“Granger, ah, so…umm good,” he moaned, as inarticulate as he usually gave her a hard time for becoming when they were together.

It was getting easier to take him deeper. Practice over the last month had lent her confidence, and she had familiarised her facial muscles with stretching in such a way to accommodate his wide girth and impressive length.

Her fist squeezed the base harder, following her retreating mouth to stroke him firmly while her tongue lapped at the tip. The muscles in her throat worked, swallowing the salty precum leaking from the slit before she sucked him down again, taking even more of him than she previously had.

“Ah,” he gasped, his length twitching and his hips jerking helplessly at the suddenness of her actions.

Hermione stared up at Snape, revelling in the way his head fell back and tendons stood out taunt as bowstrings in his neck. His hands shook as they carded through her hair, returning to cup her head gently. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to seeing him come undone like this, or the knowledge she was the one unravelling him.

The knowledge left her aching and needy. Her own body responded, readying automatically for a welcome invasion. Her thighs quivered, and she pressed them together in a vain attempt to apply pressure where she most craved it.

“I’m close.” The warning was raspy with barely suppressed desire. Hermione felt the way his balls tightened in preparation, so she hummed her approval, noticing that he shuddered at the feel of the vibrations surrounding him.

Easing back to suck only the head, Hermione used her fist to pump his shaft, holding him tighter than before. He didn’t stop her as he usually did at this point. Rather, he released her head to grip the armrests of his chair and lifted his hips, releasing jets of salty seed that filled her mouth, splashing hotly against the back of her throat.

Hermione took it all, swallowing quickly and continuing to stroke him until after he finished, his member softening slightly, and his hands returning to stroking through her curls, brushing them back from her flushed face. Only then did she let him slip from her mouth, and she realised how breathless she was.

For the last several weeks, she’d frequently taken Snape into her mouth, but this was the first time he’d let her go to his completion, usually preferring to pull her up and slam home before his release. Not that she minded. But this had been interesting, and something she planned to insist he allow her to do again in the future.

Not a day had gone by since Halloween that they had not been intimate, apart from the night before, but there had been far more pressing concerns happening then and reasons why it hadn’t been appropriate. Each time had varied in some way, making it exciting and new. Snape truly was an extraordinary teacher – and Hermione was his star pupil.

“You didn’t have to,” he murmured, echoing the conversation they’d had the night before. “You owe me nothing.”

She disagreed about owing him, but understood he meant she didn’t owe him sex as payment for his previous and continued help. It was very important to him that she acknowledge this. Especially now.

“I know. You can always say no too,” she replied, appreciating the frankness of this dialogue. After yesterday, it felt necessary.

“I won’t say no to you,” he answered quietly, letting emotion paint a wide stroke across the words in such a vivid colour that it was impossible to miss.

But she blinked, internally chastising herself for reading more than the obvious. It was just sex. For both of them. A welcome outlet when one was most necessary. She repeated that as she sat further back on her heels, slightly dizzy from her still rapid pulse and quick breathes, and bumped her head against the underside of his desk in the process.

“Ow,” she whined, reaching to rub the spot, but Snape’s hand was already there, tenderly probing it as he chuckled softly. “You rarely ever laugh,” she commented, accepting the hand he held out to help her stand.

“You should try being amusing and perhaps I would,” he countered dryly.

Hermione froze for an instant, half crouching between Snape and the Headmaster’s desk. Then it dawned on her that he was teasing in that acerbic way of his that most people mistook for ridicule.

The realisation had her laughing openly as well as she moved to perch on the edge of his desk, propping her feet on the armrests of his chair, the position one she’d taken to assuming whenever possible. He seemed to like admiring her and having free access to touch her wherever he desired. At once, as though reading her mind – without Legilimency – his hands began tracing over her calves lazily.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she drawled, mimicking his infamous tone.

“Indeed.” A relaxed smile curled his lips, transforming him.

When she’d arrived not even twenty minutes ago, he’d been seething. Still furious, actually – more furious – with a few of the sixth year Slytherins over their appalling physical abuse of a younger Ravenclaw witch during a detention the night before when they’d taken licence to use the Imperius Curse much too far.

The witch had been raped.

Hermione had been in the office when Snape was informed by a portrait, and he’d immediately rushed out to oversee the situation. He’d been gone for several hours, and she’d waited for him, needing to check on him because she’d known he would blame himself. Which he had done.

He’d refrained from touching her as he explained what had occurred, then asked point blank if he was taking advantage of her in a similar way. They’d spoken in excruciating detail that left both of them acutely aware that they were both willing participants in whatever it was they were doing with one another. Then he’d asked her to leave so that he could handle the situation. Meaning he needed to speak with other members of staff, and couldn’t with her around.

Hermione felt as though she should have predicted the natural progression that would eventually occur. It was the inevitable next step when physical violence was being not only condoned, but encouraged. Humans had a tendency to devolve into primal beasts in times of war, believing that allowing baser instincts to rule their actions was acceptable. This was not the first time she’d heard of otherwise rational and decent men taking advantage of women with their superior strength during times of unrest – and no one could say those following Voldemort were either rational or decent. The proof was right there in the fact that they were having teenagers use Unforgivables on one another. What did they expect to happen?

The fifth year Ravenclaw was still in the hospital wing, and both Harry and Ron had been fussing over Ginny and Luna, respectively. A number of students had been discussing what happened in the Room throughout the day, word having gotten around during breakfast. The staff spent the whole day shutting down gossip and refusing to say more than an announcement would be made the following morning.

Curiosity over the announcement had sent Hermione to Snape’s office earlier than normal, and when she’d arrived, he’d been so worked up, saying little more than the staff were coming for an emergency meeting in an hour to discuss new school policies and to reiterate that she was under no obligation to shag him.

She’d realised then that he didn’t plan on touching her again until after she initiated some form of contact. But given his agitation and the time constraint, she’d done the first thing she’d thought of to try and help sooth him and reassure him that their situation was vastly different. A blow job. Apparently, it’d worked – so long as he wasn’t thinking about the other incident.

She could tell the second he remembered. His expression crumpled like a used tissue folding in on itself.

“Thank you,” he said gravely, giving her calves a meaningful squeeze.

“You never have to thank me. I get just as much from this as I give,” she replied honestly. She leaned back on her hands a bit, making her chest jut out temptingly, hoping the sight would distract him even if only for a moment.

November had just faded into early winter as it shed its browned leaves and light snow began to fall. The end of the war was no closer than it had been a month ago, and yet, she was hanging in there – in large part, due to Snape. She could only hope she was doing as much for him. The fact he’d actually said as much during their talk the night before was rather strong evidence to confirm she was.

The days had blurred together, blending into one like ink dripped into a glass of water, fingers reaching out and spreading throughout until the liquid was a uniform colour. They’d all been kept so busy she’d hardly noticed the days becoming weeks. And always, Hermione looked forward to the nights she spent in this office or Snape’s actual bed.

“Any news on your end?” he asked as he did every night, the events of the day prompting him to grasp at whatever hope he could find for a resolution.

“No, and there’s only a few shops left in Diagon Alley – apart from Gringotts,” Hermione answered reluctantly, sighing wearily, as she wished she bore different tidings. “They took today off, for obvious reasons, but they’ll finish by the end of the week.”

Harry had finally convinced Hermione that Voldemort’s upbringing meant he would have been drawn to Diagon Alley in the same way Harry had been. So Harry and Ron had begun systematically searching the shops, thanks to the Weasley twins. The two boys had gone to WWW, under the guise of Polyjuice Potion, and convinced them to help.

Since then, they discretely searched a shop or two each day while impersonating the twins. Ron’s older brothers took advantage of this time to work on inventing new products or resupplying their current stock while they hid out in their apartment. No one suspected a thing, since the twins were the only ones brash enough to still be going about Diagon Alley as usual.

She hated being the one left behind, but she understood the reasoning. She had no desire to become one of the twins, that’d just be too weird to discover firsthand what was going on beneath their robes, given her history with Ron, and she was the only one capable of making more Polyjuice. So she brewed while they searched. It also ensured that if something happened to them, there was still someone left that knew what needed to be done to take out Voldemort.

Not that she didn’t suspect Harry had confessed everything to Ginny. The two seemed closer than ever, and Hermione doubted that would’ve happened if Harry was still keeping secrets. Though it could have been for another reason.

Twice in the last week she’d had to wait before visiting Snape because Harry had already taken the cloak. Each time he swore he was just getting a bit of air, but Hermione had a feeling he was really sneaking into the Gryffindor Tower with Ginny so they could have some time away from Ron’s ever-watchful gaze.

It helped that Ron was now officially with Luna, and the Ravenclaw was doing a truly admirable job of distracting Ron when he and Harry weren’t searching Diagon Alley. If only that search was proving as fortunate as the boys’ love lives.

Except, they were nearly out of places to look. And Bill had flat out refused to help them search Gringotts. Probably because Harry had refused to disclose the reason he wanted Bill’s help to look when they’d first approached the eldest Weasley sibling.

“And, of course, Knockturn Alley,” Hermione added, not actually believing one would be there. As Ron had pointed out, it’d be too easy to accidentally get sold were it in Borgin and Burkes. “They’ve not even started looking there.”

“Hold off on letting them visit Knockturn Alley. They’d need better disguises to venture through the darker shops,” he instructed. “A great many Death Eaters loiter there these days.”

“Speaking of,” Hermione began, inhaling sharply and forcing herself to plough ahead when Snape’s hand trailed up to touch along her inner thighs, renewing her earlier desire for him, “I meant to ask ages ago, but got derailed… Who is the most trusted Death Eater?”

“None. The Dark Lord trusts no one,” Snape answered flatly, not even pausing to consider.

“Who would he favour with a treasured possession meant to be kept safe?”

“Once, I would have said the Malfoys, but that’s no longer the case. Usually, it is myself or Bella, but I can tell you now he’s given me no Horcrux to protect.”

Snape sounded so certain. Yet hadn’t Harry insisted that Voldemort thought of Hogwarts as his home? And hadn’t he trusted the place into Snape’s keeping? Was Harry right all along?

Hermione considered his words. Harry was convinced Voldemort would try to hide something here at the castle. Could there really be one that Dumbledore never found? The idea suddenly held more merit.

“Can Potter think of anywhere else? If not….” He left the sentence unfinished. Hermione didn’t need him to voice the outcome. They were both all too aware of what would happen if Harry failed to locate all of the Horcruxes before Voldemort caught up with him.

“We’re running out of ideas. The only place Harry can think of that we haven’t searched at all is Godric’s Hollow,” Hermione said, letting her frustration leak into her voice.

Snape’s hands stilled. “Potter, for once, is correct. There is a Horcrux there.”

“What? How long have you known about this? Why—” she demanded, staring at him incredulously. He knew the location of a Horcrux, but kept the information to himself? Why? There had to be a reason.

He watched her, lips pursed. His silence gave her time to recall all the times he’d proven that she could trust him. Nothing had changed that. So why—

“For me. For my sake…because…because of Harry. Because…you didn’t want me to have to lie to him,” she mused, slowly puzzling out his logic in sitting on the information. It was rather thoughtful, but then, she’d discovered a number of similar secret traits about Snape in recent months. “Thank you.”

Snape exhaled loudly. Had he expected a different reaction from her? A few months ago, maybe. But she’d always been practical, seeing the logic behind decisions, not just the choices themselves.

“The Dark Lord knows Potter wishes to go there. Nagini is waiting for him in disguise to catch him unawares,” Snape answered smoothly, relaxing infinitesimally, though not returning to where he’d been immediately after she’d sucked him off.

“A trap. That makes sense.” Of course he was trying to capture Harry. He’d not been seen since their break-in at the Ministry, and that had been two months ago. Harry’s continued success in evading Voldemort couldn’t be sending the right message to the vile wizard’s followers.

“I also didn’t tell you because Dumbledore indicated that you already knew the snake needed to be saved for the end, once the others were destroyed,” Snape continued, still relatively tense for some reason. “It might have seemed tempting to seek whatever success was possible when the rest of the search wasn’t going as planned.”

“Yes, that’s right – on both counts,” she agreed. Killing the snake would alert Voldemort to what they were up to. “I’ll talk Harry out of it until the last minute.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near that cursed place. Ever,” Snape said stiffly, shocking her from her thoughts.

“What? But we’ll have to go eventually. Nagini has to die,” Hermione argued, confused.

“Please, Granger. Promise me. I will help you figure something else out, just don’t go there while he yet lives,” Snape demanded, startling her with the depth of his insistence and his touch, because his hands had snapped out to frame her face, forcing her to look only at him and see how serious he was.

“All…all right. I promise,” she agreed, finding his vehemence incomprehensible. Searching his face for motivations proved a fruitless endeavour. His thoughts were as opaque as ever, guarded more solidly than treasure in a bank vault.

Then Snape was kissing her, pouring every baffling emotion he was apparently feeling just then into her. His hands cradled her face as he stood. Hermione spread her legs wider for him, allowing him into the V. As his mouth pressed harder, she opened to him, granting him the access his actions demanded.

Her arms had just gone around his shoulders, using the broad expanse to anchor herself when his fingers ghosted down to find the button of her pants. He fumbled with it, too distracted by spearing his tongue deeper into her mouth, when a pointed cough sounded from a portrait.

Snape straightened at once, tearing his mouth away so swiftly that it left her bereft of more than just oxygen. She was less capable of shutting down her rioting emotions, and she had to stifle a disappointed groan as she let her head drop forward to rest against his chest while she caught her breath.

The deliberate cough came again, and this time Snape ran his fingers along her arms, silently requesting that she relinquish her hold and allow him to tidy his appearance.

Ah yes. Part of the reason he’d let her finish him quickly with only a hasty blow job earlier. There wasn’t time for more tonight.

“The staff meeting. If the matter weren’t so pressing…but it can’t wait,” he added apologetically.

“I know,” she sighed, easing off the desk and putting a bit of space between them. “I’m sure you already plan to, but use the Carrows’ and Slytherins’ arrogance against them as support for your reasoning when you forbid it from happening again.”

“You’re so certain that I will take a stand in this when I haven’t in the other matters?”

“Yes,” she answered simply. Snape would not condone another female student to be at the mercy of his Slytherins – or any student – ever again. He was far too honourable.

“I will never allow anything like that to happen again,” he vowed.

“I believe you.”

Hermione had just reached the door when he spoke again, saying, “You’ve your pick of wizards if you’re in need of release yourself.”

He didn’t really mean it. He couldn’t truly be suggesting she sleep with someone else merely because he was busy tonight, as if she couldn’t handle going a few days without. Did he want her to find someone else? Not that it mattered, since she wasn’t interested. But was he getting tired of her, or did he think she was getting tired of him? Or was this just his subtle, sly way of asking her that very thing? Or, quite possibly, this was again a reference to her feeling pressured to sleep with him. Was he still worried? Did he honestly not—

“Hmph.”

The sound prompted her to blink, realising she’d been overthinking as she was prone to do. Her thoughts were a crisscross of cables forming a web that often trapped her within, but this time she slipped from their confines, guided by Snape’s intangible, yet powerful hold on her.

“I’m having sex with you because that’s precisely what I need and want. Release, not frustration,” she said pointedly, hoping that made her stance on the matter crystal clear. For her, it was him or no one at all – at least for now. “Besides, none of them are interested. They don’t see me as a witch. And certainly not one they wish to shag.” She wasn’t sure why she added the last, apart from it being the truth.

“Further proof to support my ongoing assertion that they are all, every last one of them, dunderheads,” Snape remarked casually.

She just barely caught a glimpse of his smirk before he turned his head so that his long hair concealed most of it.

Rather than ask why he’d mentioned others, considering she already knew he’d only give her some sarcastic retort – one she wouldn’t believe – she murmured, “Good luck with your meeting.”

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 18: Revelation

“Hermione, will you look my potions essay over? Please?” The earnest question came from a second year Hufflepuff girl, her strawberry blonde curls in messy, lopsided pigtails and a spattering of freckles dusted her nose.

“Is it due in the morning?” she asked hesitantly, already having delayed her departure this evening because she’d been talking Harry and Ron out of visiting Knockturn Alley, citing the danger they’d bring down on the twins if they did. That had been all she’d needed to convince Ron, though Ginny had butted-in and tried to argue that the troublemakers were up for the challenge.

Eventually, Hermione had won, persuading them to see things her way. But now she needed to come up with a new place to search or they’d fall back on going to Knockturn Alley just so they could continue being productive.

“Nope,” the girl confirmed, though she looked worried, “not until Friday, but I need time to correct it.”

At least three hours a day, Hermione had taken to tutoring the younger students, reading over homework, adding examples, or offering suggestions on books they could research to find the correct information. It was amazing how much time she had to help now that she wasn’t focusing on her own work and was stuck in the Room for several hours a day – she could only spend so much time reading without getting a headache. But the more she helped, the more she found herself sympathising with Snape and appreciating his annoyance when they failed to grasp a relatively simple topic. More than once she’d lost her patience after already explaining the same thing four times, only to realise the student wasn’t even listening, too busy watching a friend chase a practice snitch around the Room or the fire dwelling salamanders eating flames.

“Then I promise to look at it and help you fix anything you’ve missed tomorrow after lunch,” she offered with a reassuring smile.

“Thanks!” the girl, Emma, Hermione thought she was called, gushed, then skipped back over to the table where her friends were sitting.

Hermione shook her head, glancing over the Room-turned-dormitory before she slipped out. Tables littered the ever growing space, many with students gathered around frantically scribbling answers to homework assignments. There were overstuffed armchairs and sofas forming a circle clustered in the very centre of the room around a group on the floor playing gobstones. Along the edges of the room were rows of bunk beds, most already occupied by now, like the kind you’d find in a hostel. Each of three corners were decorated with House flags depicting the trademark mascots and wall hangings in vibrant House colours, but the students had long since stopped only spending time or sleeping in their designated areas. Instead, they mixed and mingled to form a single, unified House.

Part of her still worried about how this would impact Slytherin House in the future, particularly when she saw Snape and recalled his struggles, but she’d not had any inspiration. Then again, not every problem was hers alone to tackle. Perhaps she should simply focus on the heaping pile currently overflowing her plate and leave the others to tackle on another day.

When she entered the Head office, Snape was fiddling with the mystery item on his desk again. He did that a lot, particularly when they spoke of anything personal or he was deep in contemplation as he seemed to be this evening.

“Ah, I was beginning to wonder if you were going to join me tonight.”

“Sorry, more students than ever are staying in the Room of Requirement. Got held up by one.”

“Writing an essay for the student to pass off as their own?”

“Do I want to know?” she asked hesitantly, certain he was about to give her a set down.

“Several staff have remarked on students seeming to channel your intelligence this week,” he warned, lips pressed tightly in disapproval.

“I’ve just been helping out while the boys are gone,” she explained, already rethinking the advice she planned to give Emma the next day. Perhaps she had been going a bit overboard lately, but it was hard to refuse when so many were seeking her advice and seemed so eager to learn.

“Try toning it down. It’s rare to have a student of your calibre, and now we have a dozen or more. It’s suspicious,” he said crisply.

“My calibre? That very nearly sounded like a compliment,” Hermione teased, valiantly trying to ignore the warmth radiating off her cheeks.

“I never denied your research skills. It was your critical thinking and innovation that was lacking.” Just like that the heat fizzled, the fire snuffed out by a bucket of ice water.

The frank assessment of her intelligence, delivered without an ounce of fanfare or remorse, annoyed her to no end. More than anything, she wished she could refute his words, but the truth was, Snape was correct.

Hermione had thought about this very thing a great deal in recent months, and had ultimately come to the conclusion that she’d been far too focused on being right in her classes. She’d not taken risks. She’d not pushed herself to delve deeper than what the texts said. She’d not made any intuitive leaps of logic.

And he was willing to point that out, despite the fact she went above and beyond in the work she did, which was more than enough to impress the other staff.

“Snape, please. Flattery like that will get you in my pants in a few seconds flat,” she huffed tersely, rolling her eyes as she did and crossing her arms. “Don’t know why I ever stopped expecting you to disparage my flaws.”

His hand closed into a fist, the skin turning white around the object he still clutched. That small signal practically screamed that she’d struck a nerve.

“I thought you appreciated my honesty,” he countered with just the barest hint of uncertainty creeping into his impassive voice. No, not uncertainty. Fear. He looked genuinely afraid. It was even more apparent as he asked, “Or must I offer lies and platitudes to entice you into my bed, Granger?”

“Not necessary. I wouldn’t keep showing up at your door if I didn’t want to be with you,” Hermione said sincerely. The events of earlier in the week were still too fresh to let him think for a second that she was an unwilling participant in their nightly rendezvous.

“You cried and ran away the last time I inadvertently insulted you,” he accused.

Cried? When had she—

“I was fifteen, and you insulted my teeth in front of Ron!” she exclaimed, throwing up her arms. She couldn’t believe he even remembered that. Did he honestly think one of his careless barbs would chase her off now that things had changed so drastically between them?

His fist tightened, flexing around his hidden talisman. “I am not used to watching my words.”

Hermione pursed her lips, having the unmistakable and distinct impression that she’d missed something. Something important.

“I don’t expect you to. My skin is not so thin as it once was.”

Snape cleared his throat awkwardly, appearing for all the world like a frightened rabbit preparing to bolt. What had happened in his past to make him think everyone would abandon him? It must have been something major, for it to still be influencing his behaviour. Hermione resisted asking, noting the tension drawing his body tight as a bow string.

“I’ve marked a passage for you. Came across it this morning,” he said stiffly, nodding at a book on his desk as he continued to sit rigidly in his seat.

Hermione propped her hip against his desk as she opened to the bookmarked page and began scanning the text. It was in reference to Rowena Ravenclaw and her family. There was nothing concrete in the lengthy passage, but the author hinted that Hogwarts held the secrets to why her line ended with her, and therefore, ended at Hogwarts itself.

It was vague, to be sure, but if something about the castle could somehow explain why one of the most powerful witches had died without issue, perhaps there were also bits from her life, relics, here that Voldemort had managed to discover while he attended Hogwarts. Maybe she’d willed her possessions to the school upon her death as Dumbledore had. Many of the former Heads were known to have done so when they didn’t leave behind a family. Voldemort probably knew that and went searching. He was supposedly quite clever and manipulative, as evidenced by his ability to gain followers and alter their morals. The Ravenclaw common room was the most obvious place to look. Or she might have had a secret room like—

Her thoughts broke off as she realised that Snape was studying her intently. He’d been scrutinising her more than ever in the last few days since she’d practically declared he was the only wizard she wanted sharing her bed. Then there had been that earlier remark. Was he bothered by…whatever it was they were doing? Or was this something else?

Uncertain, Hermione ducked her head further, pretending to reexamine the last paragraph she’d read, though her mind was too distracted to regain her previous line of reasoning. From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of crimson. His trinket. He must have set it down while she’d been engrossed in the book.

For the first time, she could see it clearly. Sitting all alone on the corner of his desk was a miniature blown glass lily, no bigger than a paperclip, and as she’d already discovered, easily concealed in the palm of a hand. The petals were a deep shade of red, dark as the heart of a ruby. It was a colour she recognized, one she’d seen before – in the pictures Hagrid had given Harry of his parents. It perfectly matched Lily’s hair.

She wasn’t sure she’d have made the connection, except for the delicate, beautiful shape the figurine had been moulded into.

Suddenly, more realisations were illuminated, her synapses firing at an accelerated rate that lit up her mind in a mimicry of a police suspect board with strings connecting pictures and clues and a timeline. Mrs. Dursley’s comments about Snape and Lily being friends, Dumbledore’s reminders about a vow and amends, plus Snape’s own devoted efforts to protect Harry all these years. It all suddenly made sense. Even the first night they’d been together voluntarily – the anniversary of her death. He’d been emotionally vulnerable, even if Hermione had been unaware of the fact.

Then there was earlier in the week. He’d made her promise not to go to Godric’s Hollow. No wonder, really.

“If you concentrate any harder, I believe you might go permanently cross-eyed,” Snape remarked dryly, but noticeably less easily than he usually sounded when he spoke to her.

“What?” she gasped, startled from her revelation as she jerked to see Snape again. His face was pinched and pale. “Snape?”

“You can’t always force your brain to make leaps in logic. You will sort out the answer in time. I apologise for my…careless remark before. It was unnecessarily rude. I did not intend to…hurt your feelings,” he struggled to express the quiet sentiments.

Snape was…apologising. To her. Would wonders never cease?

This whole evening had been surreal. Still she felt like she was missing something. Part of Hermione felt like they were having multiple conversations at once, each speaking a different language. That was the only way to make sense of how strange each of their reactions to things had been. They were working on different puzzles, the pieces randomly intermingling and forcing strange, complicated interactions.

But his discomfort prompted her to respond, not wanting him to revert to guarding his thoughts around her. “My pride, more like. But it’s fine. I was only raging because you made a valid point. Apparently I could stand to work on self-reflecting a bit.” Her chin dropped back to her chest, hair swinging forward to conceal her face as she examined the lily again. “I don’t typically hold grudges over things that happened years ago.”

“Some people do,” he countered. “Some… Most…people never forgive.”

“I’m not most people,” she replied quickly, disliking being lumped into a predetermined mould. She’d never been the type to just go along with everyone else. She formed her own opinions and liked to believe she could take the true measure of a person.

And seeing physical proof of the type of man Snape had spent the last nearly two decades being did more to influence her than any single thoughtless remark made years ago ever could. The candlelight in the room wavered, sparking off the glass petals and making them glow with life. They seemed to be affirming her conclusion.

“No, you certainly are unique,” he finally allowed, quickly dropping the prickly subject. “This is probably only a small clue, and possibly not even relevant, but it made me think you might want to consider searching the castle over the Christmas Hols.”

Hermione’s eyes shifted back to the book she held, trying to make sense of his words. Oh. He was talking about Ravenclaw again. He thought that was what had consumed her thoughts. Well, that or lingering hurt feelings.

“Yes, thanks,” she finally managed. “I think this was just the clue I needed to figure something out.”

Clue, indeed.

Snape had been in love with Lily when Voldemort killed her. No wonder he was willing to do literally anything to destroy the wizard. Hermione and Dumbledore were proof.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes,” she hummed, gliding her fingers over the page as though she really was concentrating on Horcruxes. As if there was even room in her head right then for the topic.

She was rather awed by the significance of her revelation – one she knew he’d be horrified to discover she’d learned of. He was too private for it to be otherwise. Not to mention that he’d likely jump to conclusions and assume she pitied him, considering Hermione was well aware that Lily had chosen James.

Lily had chosen James, and still Snape risked his life to protect her son.

The door to his apartment opened, the sound alerting Hermione to the fact Snape had gotten up, and probably expected her to follow him. Quickly, she replaced the bookmark then schooled her features before facing him.

He was a remarkable man, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the level of loyalty he demonstrated to those he chose to bestow it on. Hermione didn’t need to ask to know she’d become one of those people.

“Coming, Granger?” he inquired, tilting his head slightly towards the open doorway. A shiver danced down her spine at the inherent promise in the simple question. “I doubt there is more for you to learn tonight.”

“Probably not,” she agreed.

When she reached his side, Hermione threaded her hands through his soft hair and pulled his head down for a sweet kiss.

“It was only a passing reference, nothing definitive,” he commented, a crease forming in his brow at her unusual reaction, not having detected the epiphany she’d had. “And certainly not a trite falsehood.”

Oh. He thought she was accepting his apology. They really were on different wavelengths tonight.

Part of her wanted to be surprised that he didn’t know her thoughts, but then again, he’d not used Legilimency on her apart from those two occasions when he’d felt driven to assure himself that she truly was consenting. A sure sign of respect, given his occupation as a spy, which made it all the more amazing.

She knew he didn’t love her, anymore than she loved him. But they were partners of a sort, and honestly, given the precarious positions they were in, that was infinitely better. Not to mention far less confusing, with a significantly less chance of getting her heart broken when it inevitably ended.

“As I said, no lies necessary to tempt me. You’re a good man, Snape,” she said, cupping his cheek. “But right now, I could do with a bit of wickedness.” It was a silent request that he help her stop thinking as only he seemed capable of doing.

“I believe I have just the right thing in mind for you then,” he said huskily, one side of his lips tipping up.

With a gesture for her to enter first, Hermione stepped into the devil’s lair. As soon as she did, an arm wrapped around her from behind, and his hand cupped between her legs, purposely rubbing. His mouth sucked at the sensitive column of her neck as he walked them forward, Hermione gripping his arm to steady herself, so as not to collapse from the assault on her senses.

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered as they stepped into the bathroom. She was a bit surprised by the commanding tone he’d used, but readily obeyed, hands moving to unfasten her blouse.

Her legs felt about as sturdy as a string when he released her to start the bath and rummage in a cabinet. A hum of approval sounded when he moved to set a bottle on the ledge of the filling tub. Then Snape was undressing as well.

She slowed her movements, enjoying the way he stared at her hungrily, eyes caressing each freshly exposed patch of skin. Boldly, encouraged by his reaction, she cupped her own breasts, massaging them and taunting him.

As he stepped forward, drawn by her actions, like magnets, Hermione stepped back. Again, he took a deliberate step, and she retreated one as well. She felt like a mouse as he stalked her across the room, backing her all the way until the back of her knees bumped into the lip of the porcelain tub, though he didn’t stop.

By then, she had nowhere to go and could hardly drag in a full breath, the air catching when he leaned against her to reach and shut off the water. It was only a little more than half full, but as he helped her in, then slid in behind her, the water rose to lap at her chest, tiny waves that crested gently over the heavy skin like exploring hands.

“What’s in the bottle?” she asked, relaxing against his chest, and noticing how the tips of her pebbled nipples broke the surface of the water, poking up proudly.

“Massage oil,” he replied, pouring an overly generous amount into his palm and rubbing his hands together.

“In the bath? Won’t the water sort of—” she broke off abruptly as he cupped her breasts, squeezing and shaping the mounds.

“Doesn’t seem to be a problem for me. What do you think?” he asked right by her ear, tongue tracing the sensitive shell.

“Snape,” she moaned, gasping as he pinched and tugged her nipples.

“Well?”

“Don’t stop,” she all but begged, seeing the shiny substance forming a shimmering layer over her chest and shoulders. Tendrils of her honey locks floated along the surface, fanning out and shifting restlessly like pieces of seaweed caught in a current.

“Hadn’t planned to,” he assured, sucking lightly on the place where her neck and shoulder met. Her head fell back to grant him greater access.

He teased and stroked her until she was writhing between his legs. She’d tried to brace her hands on his thighs but they kept slipping thanks to the water and the oil. The feel of him hardening, his length nestled against the crease of her bum, had her reaching to stroke and play with him as he continued toying with her.

The waves within the tub increased in tandem with their ministrations. When her untouched core, aching with need, couldn’t stand another minute of neglect, Hermione twisted around, heedless of the water splashing over the edge as she sought stimulation and more. Snape lifted her easily, manoeuvring her legs until she straddled his lap and could take his cock.

Hands slipped and slid over each other, the remnants of the oil making it impossible to get into a proper rhythm as she rolled her hips over him, grinding on his lap. More water sprayed over the sides, making a mess, and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh.

Snape’s hands skated down her arms, dropping beneath the water to grip her waist, but Hermione couldn’t stop giggling as more water sloshed out of the tub.

“Up,” he commanded.

“Giving up already?” she joked, burying her head in his neck to smother her persistent laughter.

“Granger,” he all but growled, nudging deeper into her. “Now.”

That serious tone made her shiver, but also had her carefully leveraging herself from the tub. She’d barely gotten to her feet before Snape clambered out and scooped her into his arms, hauling her into his bedroom.

“Wait! I’m soaked,” Hermione protested, squirming briefly, at least until he tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed. “Omph!”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, urging her to roll to her belly. She did, drawing her knees beneath her as he climbed behind her to kneel.

As soon as they were in position, he plunged into her, picking up right where they’d left off before. He reached around her, fingering her clit as he set a galloping pace.

Her nipples were almost sore from being manipulated so much, but she didn’t try to lift up to stop them from scraping roughly against the sheets as she rocked back to meet his frenzied pounding. The extra sensation set her ablaze.

Once before, Snape had shagged her this way, and Hermione again noticed the way this position caused him to hit a particularly sensitive spot over and over again until she saw stars. The constant bombardment left her ridiculously slick and wet for Snape to move within her – and it had nothing to do with the bath or lingering oil, most of which had already been absorbed by the sheets.

Every time they were together, it was incredible. Snape had a way of making each experience both unique and pleasurable. It was exciting. Thrilling. Life-altering.

His hands squeezed her bum, easing across her hips to hold her cheeks, smacking one lightly, just enough to make her gasp. The surface flamed hotter, making her insides clench tightly around his length, and she tilted her hips further towards him again.

“Are you close?” he breathed, reaching to stroke a hand down her spine.

“Mmm,” she hummed nonsensically, lost to the swirl of emotions raging around her.

Her knees had spread just enough that his balls repeatedly hit her clit each time he plunged into her. The steady tapping made her dizzy in a way she relished, the blood rushing to her head in her crouched position.

Another smack, just a touch harder landed on her other cheek. “Granger,” he growled, demanding a proper response to his question. Judging by the way he’d increased his tempo, he was seconds away from coming himself.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, Snape, please,” she begged, needing just a bit more to reach the ultimate pinnacle herself.

As if he’d merely been waiting for her signal, Snape began manipulating her clit, sending her careening over the edge and into a freefall.

Her belly bottomed out, dropping like a weighted stone as she rushed to meet the ground. Nerves fired and endorphins surged, pouring through her like water from a collapsing dam.

Idly, she felt Snape draped over her back for a few heartbeats before he eased out to lie beside her.

Hermione relaxed, stretching out lazily, like a cat after waking in a patch of afternoon sun. As her head lolled, she noticed the rumpled bedding, with wet spots from her dripping hair and limbs, as well as the trail of puddles on the floor where Snape had walked.

Well, she’d asked for wickedness.

She’d just smiled at how aptly that described things when she felt the first brush of Snape’s fingers languidly tracing her curves. Snape was not a cuddler. Last year, Hermione had listened to Parvati complaining that Terry Boot didn’t hold her afterwards, but would fall straight to sleep after they had sex. Snape didn’t do that either. Instead, he spent long minutes touching her gently, seeking places that made her quiver.

The first time they’d had sex, he’d been perfunctory, collecting the potion ingredient that had prompted their union. The next time she’d left before he could. But every time since, he had been like this. He didn’t speak, just caressed, almost petting and soothing her. She relished these moments. They very nearly felt more intimate than the act of sex, considering the way he’d look at her, a mix between wondering disbelief and opaque intensity, and it always guaranteed she was relaxed and lethargic by the time she left.

Part of her hated to disturb the lull that had settled over them, but she needed to ask before she forgot again like she had the last few days. Already, she should have taken the potion, so she couldn’t risk putting it off any longer.

“Can you get me more stoneseed root?” she asked quickly, setting her jaw and trying to appear unaffected. The blush creeping into her cheeks, blooming like a pesky dandelion, wasn’t helping.

“Why would you need…more…,” he trailed off, eyes closing in understanding and his expression became particularly strained. “Have you been taking anything?” he asked carefully, still not looking at her.

“Yes, although I can’t make another batch without replenishing my ingredients. I’d rather not have to stop sleeping with you, but we can’t again until I’ve taken a Birth Control Potion,” she confirmed, keeping her tone level. Neutral. Clinical. Precise. Because they were two consenting adults who could handle this maturely. No problem… Really.

“Granger, I owe you an apology. It is unacceptable of me to have put you in such a position. I wasn’t thinking clearly, obviously,” Snape said candidly, shaking his head slightly as though mystified that the issue of birth control hadn’t occurred to him sooner. Given his skill, he was likely used to significantly more experienced partners who naturally took precautions and didn’t require his help to procure them. “I’ll have Dobby deliver a potion and additional ingredients discreetly later tonight.”

Honestly, Hermione didn’t blame him in the least. He was already doing so much to help her. And she was independent enough to take care of this herself, but with the current circumstances, she actually did need a bit of assistance in this, which he’d given without complaint.

“It truly is all right. I would get it myself, but I can’t visit an apothecary just now. I know neither of us want to bring a child into this war,” she said, relaxing a bit now that he hadn’t overreacted as she’d feared he might.

Snape took her in, and she felt his fingers inch close enough to just barely touch her hand on the mattress between them. “I am grateful that you are…you.”

Considering the many and varied insults he’d previously dealt her, and her current position in his bed, Hermione honestly couldn’t imagine a greater compliment.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 19: Intimate

“I’ve found something…or, well, I think I have,” Hermione announced, shoving the book Snape had given her into Harry’s lap. “You might have been right. There could be a Horcrux here.”

Things had become stagnant in the castle, but reports from Potterwatch, a radio show the twins had created to keep people informed about the true happenings in the war, made it clear things were getting worse everywhere else. The pressure to end things quickly was at an all time high.

That was the reason Hermione was showing Harry this book now. Originally, she’d planned to wait until the Christmas Hols when they’d have a bit more freedom to do something about it. But since he and Ron had finished searching Diagon Alley, he’d been getting more and more insistent about visiting Godric’s Hollow. So this book, and focusing on Hogwarts, was the best distraction she could come up with.

“The cup. Hufflepuff’s cup,” Ron said excitedly, looking at Hermione’s hands as though the decorative goblet would suddenly appear.

“And if it isn’t the cup?” Harry asked, and only then did Ron frown, beginning to realise she didn’t already have a Horcrux in her possession.

“You haven’t found it, then?”

“No,” Hermione confirmed, voice clipped with annoyance.

“Then you’re just assuming something is here,” Ron said, a hint of pink staining his cheeks and blending in with his abundant freckles.

“It is. I knew it!” Harry gasped, rubbing his scar as though erasing a phantom pain.

“How?” Ron demanded.

“He’s been thinking about visiting a lot lately. It’s probably so he can check on it!”

“And you’re only telling us this now?” Hermione railed, pursing her lips and gritting her teeth. But she only gave herself a moment to fume because Harry looked ready to defend himself. So she headed him off, saying, “Oh, never mind! It’s not the cup, at least I don’t think it is. I think he might have found something of Ravenclaw’s here at Hogwarts, and probably stashed it here after turning it into a Horcrux.”

Hermione gestured at the book, but neither made to read it. Sighing, Hermione flipped to one particular passage, stabbing a finger at it as she rolled her eyes. Neither of her friends so much as glanced at it.

“What was that about You-Know-Who coming here?” Ron questioned, not as ready to brush that particular piece of news aside. “You’re just guessing about that, right? Or do you know, know, he is?”

Hermione huffed, irritated by Harry’s continued disregard for the danger he was bringing on them. He simply ignored her, pretending he didn’t notice her fuming as he answered. “It’s fine. He just wants to, but probably won’t for a while. He’s out of the country looking for someone. I wish I knew who the guy was. He thinks about him all the time.”

It was too much. She couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “Harry! You have to stop that. Block him. It’s too dangerous!” What if he accidentally revealed that they were staying in the castle?

“Sounds like it’s a bit late to start worrying about that now. And now we know he’s away, so we’re safe for a spell. Anyways, what makes you think that something of Ravenclaw’s is here?” Ron asked, probably hoping to distract her so that he didn’t have to listen to a tired rant yet again.

“It says so in the book,” Hermione said crisply, reaching over to pointedly tap the still unopened book in Harry’s lap. “Well, it implies Ravenclaw may still have things here, at least.”

“You really think You-Know-Who left it here? But didn’t Dumbledore already check the castle?” Ron asked sceptically.

“Yeah, I think he would. This was his first true home,” Harry replied quietly, glancing fondly at the students mingling and laughing throughout the room.

“Sentimentality aside,” Hermione pushed, sharing her opinion, “he thinks it’s safe here. He gave the Malfoys a Horcrux to guard, and I’ve been thinking…what if he wanted Hogwarts so badly, and he wanted Snape to be Headmaster, because he wanted his loyal Death Eater in place to guard it?”

“That actually makes sense,” Ron said, blinking at her.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Hermione griped, glaring at her friend and crossing her arms.

Ron flushed, and quickly added, “I only meant it’s a better reason than Harry’s for something being hidden here.”

“Does this mention what the object is?” Harry asked, brushing her hand aside to flip through the pages she’d marked while he ignored the usual bickering occurring between his friends.

“Well, no. Not exactly,” Hermione hedged, unwilling to be discouraged. It’d been some time since they’d caught a break like this. “It doesn’t even say for certain that Ravenclaw had any possessions, but she was still living here when she died, and she didn’t have any living family at the time of her death.”

“So you’re guessing she did like Dumbledore,” Harry sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It could be anything, anywhere… If there even is something to find.”

“We’re getting nowhere with this. We can’t come up with what we don’t know,” Ron complained, standing up swifting to look around, and making Harry and Hermione exchange equally baffled looks. “Have either of you ever heard of any famous relics related to Ravenclaw? Is there, I don’t know…like…a shrine to her in the common room or something similar?” Ron called, directing the overly loud question to the two youngest students in the room.

They each shook their heads, looking wide-eyed and timid for having suddenly been put on the spot by one of the Golden Trio.

“They’re Hufflepuffs, Ron,” Hermione said dryly, though she could relate with his feelings of frustration that had prompted him to seek outside help from the readily available sources.

“I knew that,” he muttered to Harry, lying through his teeth.

Luna tilted her head, drifting away from Neville to join the trio as the question triggered something in her memory. Hermione braced herself for what would come out of her friend’s mouth. Hermione genuinely liked Luna, but she was still rational enough to take most of what she said with a grain of salt.

“Well, there’s Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost diadem,” Luna suggested slowly, forming the words carefully.

“Yeah, but that’s lost,” the shorter of the two boys, an edge of roundness puffing his rosy cheeks, inserted, still paying attention to what they were discussing. Almost arrogantly, he elbowed his friend and loudly explained, “It’s in the name.”

Ron glared at them, wrapping a possessive arm about Luna’s waist where she’d daintily perched on the arm of his chair. Privately, Hermione thought the boy had made a valid point, though she didn’t much care for his patronising tone. Then there was the fact that Hermione had never heard of any such diadem – and she’d been searching for references of that very nature for months now. All in all, the diadem seemed highly unlikely to be the Horcrux.

“Just because it was lost, doesn’t mean someone can’t find it,” Luna said airily, unbothered by the disdain her idea had garnered. “People have been searching for centuries.”

Nothing stays lost or hidden forever.

How many times had her father said that when he’d taken Hermione to history museums growing up? He’d originally wanted to study archeology, but his parents had convinced him it was too dicey of a career, so he’d taken the practical route of becoming a dentist instead. But he’d never stopped being excited by new discoveries or encouraging her to read history books.

“Surely time would have destroyed it,” Harry said, but Hermione could already see him making connections in his mind. Probably, he’d recognized how much Voldemort would have relished being the one to locate something lost for ages, and proving his superiority by outwitting all others.

“It was goblin-made, then enchanted by Rowena herself,” Luna said knowingly.

The trio glanced meaningfully amongst themselves. The pieces fit neatly together. If anyone was determined enough, it’d have been Voldemort. He’d certainly demonstrated that much with the other relics.

“Luna,” Harry began cautiously, not wanting to betray his interest too much given the number of ears listening in, “do you know what the diadem looks like?”

“My mum spent years trying to recreate it before she died. I’ll take a picture when I get home for break,” Luna offered, beaming at Ron.

“I’m sure that will be really helpful,” Harry said awkwardly, a wrinkle in his brow betraying his true thoughts. Whatever Luna’s mum had been trying to make, there was a very strong likelihood that it in no way actually resembled the founder’s original diadem.

At least they had something to go on, even if it was a slim, blind chance. Actually, this lead was even better than she’d hoped for when bringing the matter up with Harry.

They all let the subject drop after that. Particularly considering they couldn’t exactly investigate right now. But at least they knew what to look for, so they had a much better shot of finding the blasted thing. Assuming Voldemort had succeeded where no one else had.

Just one more week. One more week, then nearly every single student and teacher would be leaving the castle, and they’d be able to do a proper search.

~

“You’re despicable. We’d all be better off if Dumbledore had let you rot in Azkaban years ago,” McGonagall said brusquely. “He never should have vouched for you.”

Hermione halted mid-step. Not just because the vast majority of students had left for the Christmas Hols that morning, so she’d not anticipated encountering anyone on her trek. There’d certainly been no one around when they’d visited the Ravenclaw Tower that afternoon and searched every dorm room from year one all the way to year seven. No, this was much more than that. Never had she ever heard Professor McGonagall’s voice so filled with disdain and vitriol. Not even when she spoke of Sirius’s supposed betrayal of the Potters that time in The Three Broomsticks.

Carefully, she crept closer to the hallway intersection, grateful that Harry’s cloak concealed her as she poked her head around to see who the unlucky recipient of her wrath was.

Snape. Of course.

She could clearly see him. Every line in his body was stiff, with only the shallowest of breaths moving his frame. Especially his face. It was a carefully controlled mask, appearing carved from polished stone.

Hermione wondered if McGonagall’s current upset with the Headmaster had anything to do with the updated list of students for the following year. Snape had discussed it with Hermione the night before at length, and she knew he’d be proposing his suggestion to Voldemort at some point in the next few days.

It was going to be a dangerous gamble. But Hermione sincerely hoped—

“Minerva—”

“I never should have given Death Eater scum like you a second chance. Once vile, always so,” she hissed, her feline Animagus form never more apparent than in that moment. “You were always such a malicious child.”

Snape recovered quickly and sneered at her, somehow refraining from remarking. After all, there was nothing he could say without giving himself away – not that she’d believe him anyways. McGonagall had clearly already written him off.

It was so unbelievable to Hermione. This woman, a witch Hermione had admired and looked up to for years, had known Snape even longer than she had. Most of his life. Yet she was treating him like scum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

Yes, Snape had killed Dumbledore. But McGonagall wasn’t even questioning it. She’d latched onto the worst depiction of him and forgotten everything else she knew.

But the instant McGonagall gave Snape her back, turning away in disgust, Snape’s face crumpled and his shoulders curled in until he was hunched nearly double, the barbed words hitting their mark and slicing him to ribbons. Hermione was moving before she had a chance to think better of it, only pausing to press against the wall when McGonagall swooped past her.

“Come with me,” she murmured, reaching out to catch Snape’s clammy hand, the tips cold as ice.

He didn’t resist, letting her invisible form guide him away and towards his office where she’d been heading before stumbling upon the unfortunate scene. As they walked, Snape turned his face away, relying on his hair to shield his features and the tears she’d detected in the flickering torchlight.

They didn’t stop until Hermione had led them into his bedroom. He didn’t speak. Barely breathed.

He ducked his chin further, a valiant attempt to keep her from seeing the pain etched into the rough, devastated groves that marred his face. If she had to guess, he was internally flagellating himself for allowing her to see him in such a state. He hated appearing anything less than totally in control.

Uncertain how to help, Hermione went up on her toes to fuse her lips to his and tasted the salt of the tears he’d been unable to swallow down. This was the basis of their interactions, after all. Physical comfort and stress relief. Nothing more intimate than that.

She kept it soft, but his response was perfunctory at best. Attempting to stir a familiar response, Hermione went about removing his shirt, dropping light kisses across his torso as her hands ran delicately up and down his back.

Snape didn’t stop her, but nor did he react as she tried to arouse him. He also didn’t actively touch her, not that she expected him to – right now was about him. But he did step out of his trousers when they pooled around his ankles.

He was soft when she cupped him, wrapping her fingers around his shaft through the silk of his underpants. Never before had he not been at least partially stiff by the time they got to this point.

“She was like family. A friend…one of my—” he broke off, inhaling raggedly, the sound of it catching in his throat painful to hear. “I have no one. Everyone in the world despises me,” he finished weakly.

She released him at once, instantly recognizing that sex might not be what he needed most from her right then, despite the silent restrictions defining the terms of their interactions. Hermione’s hands fluttered, wanting to touch him, but afraid at the same time.

He didn’t look directly at her, still keeping his eyes downcast. She’d not expected him to take McGonagall’s words to heart this much. If anything, she’d expected him to be furious and bitter.

“I don’t. I couldn’t. Snape, you’re basically the only reason I have any hope at all,” she insisted, willing him to believe her. After all, it was the truth.

Harry would be dead ten times over if not for him. Ron would be mangled and useless. Without Snape, the Order would have been in the dark and many more would have likely died over the years. He was the one keeping her sane and offering crucial advice. Hogwarts would have already descended into depravity and despair if not for him. Every one of them was better off for having Snape do the things the others couldn’t or wouldn’t.

But he only shook his head, so she shared just a few of her reasons, explaining, “You stopped me from making a horrible decision last month. You’re the reason I didn’t accidentally mangle my best mate. You’re the reason Harry will win. It means everything – even if no one else is aware.”

His hands came up to rub his face roughly, shielding himself from her. He must hate allowing her to see him so vulnerable. It thoroughly amazed her that he allowed her past his impenetrable walls and near enough to witness him in this state.

A new tenderness for the man washed over her, prompting her to catch his hands and reveal his face. Then she kissed him lightly, giving him the softness he seemed to deny himself much of the time.

He kept his forehead pressed to hers as their lips parted. A warm, wet tear hit her face, but she ignored it, knowing he didn’t wish for her to acknowledge the fact he was crying. Merlin, he’d probably banish her forever if she said a single word about it.

“Can I stay? Not for sex, but can I stay with you tonight? Please?” she asked, unwilling to leave him on his own when he was like this. “I want to be with you. Please, let me. I need this.”

“Yes,” he breathed shakily, relief and gratitude nearly palpable.

Getting ready for bed was a little awkward. She’d never even shared a bed with a girlfriend growing up, let alone a man. But she tried not to let it show as Snape wordlessly offered her a shirt to sleep in while he wore only silk bottoms. At first, as she climbed into bed, she wasn’t sure what to do, but Snape pulled her close, holding her so that her head rested on his chest, his hand absently fiddling with one of her honey-brown curls. The steady drumming of his heartbeat lulled her to sleep, and within minutes, she was lost to a world of dreams and the deepest sleep she’d had in months.

The scratchy prickling on her inner thighs woke her what seemed only minutes later. A grogginess clung to her, preventing her from processing anything clearly. She tried to stretch as she got her bearings, but the press of hands on her thighs pinned her in place. Then a wet tongue was lapping at her sex. The gentle strokes coaxed her to full wakefulness.

As she blinked the haze of sleep from her mind, she caught sight of Snape’s dark head nestled between her splayed thighs, the bedding having been thrown aside to reveal her entirely. His lips fastened around her clit, his tongue lazily stimulating the little button as he steadily aroused her.

Hermione felt the scrape of his unshaved jaw against her legs and reached to brush his hair behind his ear, wanting to see him. Dark eyes darted to hers before he gave a more deliberate swipe against her.

“Snape, that feels really good, but I want to feel you inside me. Please,” she urged, idly noting how sleep-roughened her voice sounded. And that there was just something about waking up all warm and surrounded by another’s scent and presence, as though you were more one being than two separate individuals.

His answer was to insert two fingers deep in her channel, pumping with all the haste of a turtle crossing the road.

She groaned in frustration, rolling her hips helplessly, but he simply continued worshipping her. Long, slow licks with the flat of his tongue against her clit followed by the blunt pressure of his teeth. He was clearly in no hurry at all, ignorant of her throbbing core.

Hermione impatiently tugged up her borrowed top, dark as a starless midnight, to fondle her own breasts. That was finally enough to capture his attention, and Snape sat back on his heels to watch her. As he did, Hermione saw that he was naked as well, having already discarded his bottoms, though the sheet had concealed him before. But now it was obvious with his cock standing proudly, pointing straight up from his lap.

“I want you,” Hermione gasped. “Snape.”

Briefly, he closed his eyes, visibly inhaling as his nostrils flared. Probably, he could scent her blatant arousal. It usually didn’t take much more than the sight of him these days for her to get turned on, given the fact that this was how they always ended up before too long when they were in the same room.

Snape moved easily to lean against the headboard and reached for Hermione, helping her climb onto his lap. She accepted him easily, and he fit perfectly in her ready sheath.

“Keep touching your breasts,” he urged, running his hands along her back in sure, greedy strokes.

For him, when he asked like that – like he was dying of thirst and this was the glass of water that would save him – she would do anything.

Her head fell back as she shaped and pinched her nipples, manipulating the sensitive nubs. Her inner walls quivered in response, and she clenched tighter around his length. Then the wet heat of Snape’s mouth surrounded her left nipple, strands of his silky hair trailing down to tickle her belly and make her squirm. He sucked and nipped, tugging with his teeth until he released her with an audible pop.

Arms came up to wrap around her, tracing her spine and ribs, before hooking on her shoulders. She was only barely rocking on him, but it was still better to have him filling and stretching her than any other feeling she’d ever experienced.

Hermione cupped his face with both of her hands, letting her fingers just barely tangle in his hair as she pushed it back to see him clearly.

“What do you want? Tell me and it’s yours,” she offered, seeing him anew after the way he’d held her close all night long.

She wanted to give him something in return for that new experience. She wanted to help him forget the awful way McGonagall had spoken to him. She wanted to make him feel as alive and incredible as he made her feel.

With him, it was always good. He made her want to be adventurous and try everything. She trusted him completely with her body. And after the night before, she felt driven to reassure him of that fact. So she would do whatever he asked of her.

“Kiss me, Granger,” he requested softly, his fingers ghosting across the back of her neck.

Such a simple request. And one that was in no way a hardship.

The kiss was passionate and consuming, alternating between soft presses of lips and plunging swipes of tongues. Time stopped, or at least it seemed to, until the need for air forced Hermione to break away and gasp, burying her face against his neck while their fused bodies continued an ancient dance.

Hermione clung to him, feeling a bit like an octopus with her arms and legs behaving like tentacles permanently suckered around Snape. She seriously doubted anything was strong enough to pry her away – not that he seemed to mind.

“Granger,” he groaned, kissing her temple. His breath fanned over her ear, stirring a curl so that it tickled her back.

“Mhh.” It was all she could manage, words having long since lost meaning.

It was rather unexpected when her climax flooded her system. She’d been oblivious to the approaching pinnacle since there was nothing hurried or deliberate in either of their actions.

Reluctant wasn’t a sufficient enough word to describe how she felt about relaxing her hold on Snape afterwards, so she was immensely grateful that he was still gripping her and pushing his hips up to meet hers for another minute before he came, filling her with the familiar heat of his release.

They stayed locked together for far longer than normal, and only the beginning of cramping muscles prompted Hermione to leave Snape’s lap and get dressed. Well, that and the sound of portraits talking in his office. They wouldn’t be making such a racket if they didn’t have something new to report.

Not for the first time, Hermione was grateful Snape didn’t have any in his private rooms that could interrupt them. It was bad enough when they popped into the office, but if they’d seen Hermione sleeping—

Sleeping. Morning. It was morning. Hermione had been out all night.

“I have to get back,” she burst out, scrambling to get her shoes on and go.

When she’d proposed staying, it had been with the intention of returning before Harry and Ron woke to notice how long she’d been gone. But she’d completely lost track of time after waking to Snape’s mouth pleasuring her.

“Yes. I should see what they want as well,” he said, avoiding looking directly at her.

Hermione swallowed, hesitating for a second. A nagging thought said staying had been a bad idea, and that she needed to talk to Snape about what had just transpired. Somehow, she had the sense that the last twelve hours hadn’t been the wisest move, though she couldn’t quite place her finger on why.

This whole encounter was far more intimate than what they usually got up to. They’d each been very clear so far that what they were getting up to was merely physical, a necessary outlet in order to keep functioning as needed.

They were each others’ confidants. They were co-conspirators. They were…friends. That was all. It wasn’t like they were really in a relationship. Snape had never indicated that he wanted something like that from her. And unless they talked, she wouldn’t know if that had changed.

Did she want anything to change? It was such a loaded question. One more stressful puzzle to go with all the rest. The very last thing needed right now.

Hermione opened her mouth, the words she thought she should say on the tip of her tongue.

But the second passed, and Hermione talked herself out of bringing the topic up. Besides, she needed to get back as soon as possible.

“See you tonight,” she said instead, receiving Snape’s customary nod in response.

She rushed back to the Room of Requirement, only to meet Harry and Ron waiting for her just inside the door with matching expressions of worry infused with fury. Half a second was all it took for her to understand why. Because there, clenched in the fist at Harry’s side, was the Marauder’s Map. The Map they’d used to get in and out of Ravenclaw’s Tower, and the Map Hermione had forgotten to take with her afterwards. The Map that surely showed she’d just come from the Head office where Snape had been as well.

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I don’t have a beta, so please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

So I always have a theme song that inspires my stories, and I usually listen while writing a chapter. For this story, there are two songs. They won’t make complete sense until the story is over, but I figured I’d go ahead and share them with you guys in case anyone wants to listen while reading. The first is I Found by Amber Run. The second is Little Did I Know by Julia Michaels. I hope you give them a listen and see if you think they fit up to this point :)

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 20: Need

“Where have you been? We thought you’d been caught!” Harry yelled, starting to pace agitatedly in front of her.

“Harry was about to storm Snape’s office,” Ron added, crossing his arms and staring her down.

Timidly, Hermione tried, “I-I had the cloak. I wasn’t caught.” All technically true, if a bit liberal.
“You’d—”

“We woke up and realised you weren’t back yet. You left the office about a minute after we found your name. Otherwise…,” Ron trailed off, leaving her to imagine worst case scenarios of Harry being discovered by the wrong people.

It wasn’t the first time she’d forgotten to take the Map, thanks to Neville having the idea to use it to monitor detentions and the Carrows’ movements, but it was the first time she’d been gone long enough to give the boys cause for alarm and a reason to look for her. A mistake she couldn’t afford to make again. She’d have to be significantly more careful from here on out.

“What were you doing there?” Harry demanded, pausing long enough for her to catch how pinched and concerned he looked.

“I went to speak to Dumbledore,” she said, thinking quickly, but she winced when she noticed how squeaky her lie sounded. Clearing her throat, Hermione tried again, recalling everything that had been going on the other time she’d gone to him as she sought a valid reason to take such a risk. “His portrait, that is.”

“Why?” Harry asked, but at least he sounded more intrigued than angry this time.

“You said he’d already searched the castle. I was hoping to ask where he looked so that we don’t waste time looking in the same places. I also wondered if he knew more about the diadem,” Hermione answered quickly, hoping they’d attribute the wavering thread to nerves. They both claimed she was a terrible liar.

“What’d he say?” Ron asked eagerly, apparently thinking this was actually rather clever of her.

“I didn’t get to ask. Snape was there.” She shrugged, hoping that’d be the end since she obviously hadn’t been “caught”.

“I can’t believe you took the chance of running into him,” Harry muttered, raking a hand through his messy hair.

“I thought he’d stay in Hogsmeade after escorting the students,” Hermione said defensively. “The teachers always did that in the past.”

“Well they aren’t exactly best buds with Snape since he killed Dumbledore,” Ron stated bluntly with all the tact of a sledgehammer pounding a nail.

“Clearly,” Hermione remarked dryly, pursing her lips.

“Why didn’t you just slip out after he went to bed?” Harry asked, still stuck on what he perceived to be a close call.

For the first time, Hermione appreciated the size of the Map. It was too small to know where people were standing relative to one another when they were in the same room. And, if more than five people were in the same room, the names would all overlap and become illegible. Even better, she’d already figured out the Marauders hadn’t known enough about the Head office to include the Headmaster’s apartment, so when she visited it, it just looked like she was still in the office on the Map.

“He was up all night working. I stood in a corner the whole time just hoping not to get caught,” she answered, fighting a blush as thoughts over what she’d really been up to threatened to intrude her mind.

“What was he working on?” Harry asked suspiciously.

Here was perhaps a chance to sway Harry about Snape or at least plant some seeds of doubt over his allegiance to Voldemort. Hermione wouldn’t dare try if not for McGonagall yesterday. But Snape needed this. He deserved it.

Hermione hesitated, carefully calculating her words, shaping them from the truth, even if altering when the event occurred by a couple days. “I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Nothing he does would surprise me,” Harry insisted, a scowl pinching his face.

“He was removing the names of the incoming Muggleborn first years from the list of students attending next year,” Hermione said carefully.

Snape had met with the Heads of Houses to give out the names of the incoming Muggleborn students a few days ago. Typically, the families were contacted by one of the Heads of Houses over the Christmas Hols and again over the Easter Hols to give them time to adjust to the idea of their child having magical abilities and give them multiple opportunities to ask questions before deciding if they wanted to send their child to Hogwarts. It was different from the procedure for Pureblood and Half-blood children, who got their letters by owl over the summer before the first term since they already knew all about the wizarding world.

This year, however, Snape had refused to give out the names, stating he needed to talk to the Dark Lord about what to do first. He’d not said any more than that, which was probably why McGonagall was so furious. Truthfully, Snape had confessed to Hermione that he planned to remove all of the names and tell Voldemort that this was proof that his campaign to purify the wizarding world was working, since even Hogwarts no longer recognized those born outside of established families.

He’d insisted this was a necessary precaution. As he’d pointed out, they still had three Horcruxes to destroy. At this rate, it was going to take years to accomplish. They had to start thinking about long term plans that would preserve something of the wizarding world that would provide a foundation worth rebuilding on.

It was a gamble, but Snape was confident he could spin it in a way that would play to Voldemort’s ego and not have him question it – especially if he did it in front of an audience of Death Eaters.

Privately, Hermione was terrified for him. But she also couldn’t justify arguing against the idea. Not when it could mean exchanging one life for nearly three dozen innocent children – even if that one life was Snape’s and losing him would leave Hogwarts in limbo.

“Why would he do that?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Perhaps he doesn’t want to see more children get sent to Azkaban?” Hermione quipped, the bite of sarcasm sharpening the edge of her words until they nearly visibly pricked her friend.

“Right. Because he’s always shown such an affinity to the students here at Hogwarts,” Harry argued, dislike for the man carved across his features and glinting in his emerald gaze.

“Not coddling first years and actively taking part in sending them to prison are two very different things,” Hermione persisted, not backing down.

This was a familiar position for her. How many times over the years had Harry rushed to judgement, ready to condemn those he disliked for every imagined transgression he could heap upon them? For such a natural leader, it wasn’t one of his finer qualities. Fortunately, he had fairly good instincts and didn’t often misjudge people.

Harry’s incredulous look and gaping mouth prompted her to add, “Snape was never needlessly cruel. Apart from you and Neville, and no offence, but I think Neville was more a result of worrying for everyone else’s safety.”

“Because bullying him was going to help him make a potion,” Harry huffed.

“Well, no,” Hermione allowed, pursing her lips as she recalled all of her own issues with Snape’s teaching tactics. Not that she wasn’t experiencing the effects of her own vanishing patience as she tried to help students this year. Years of the same was probably enough to make anyone cranky when faced with a student who displayed zero progress and accidentally endangered his peers on a regular basis. “He didn’t use the most productive or appropriate approach with Neville, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t doing anything to try and protect the other students here at Hogwarts.”

“I’m sure the detentions we’ve heard about mean nothing. Just like I’m sure the Muggleborns in Azkaban this year have a lot to say about how he tried to help them,” Ron pointed out, ever helpful.

“Maybe he didn’t know it was going to happen in time to do anything about it,” she tried valiantly, feeling her grasp on this opportunity slipping through her fingers like poorly cupped water.

“He’s Headmaster,” Harry stated flatly, viewing her as they would one of Hagrid’s “beloved” pets. Bewildering with a high probability of losing a limb.

“That doesn’t mean anything. We all know who’s actually in charge,” she reminded, willing them to recognize that what she was saying wasn’t as far-fetched as they were acting like it was.

“Look, Hermione, I know you don’t like to think of any of your professors as the bad guy, but—”

“I’m not oblivious, Ron. I’m just suggesting we might not be seeing the full picture here. Dumbledore kept a lot of secrets… Maybe—”

“Maybe his murderer isn’t evil?” Harry interrupted nastily.

“Never mind,” she sighed, dropping into a seat. She hated giving up, but they weren’t going to hear her without some sort of proof, and that was something she didn’t currently have. “Any idea where we should look today?”

The boys exchanged looks, but fortunately didn’t push, and Harry finally suggested, “I was thinking Flitwick’s office. I’ve never actually been in there, but he might have something on display?”

“I was always more focused on discussing my exam results. It’s worth a look,” Hermione agreed, keeping her voice carefully neutral and bracing herself for more disappointment.

Display? Really? As if nobody would have noticed a “lost” diadem sitting on the Head of Ravenclaw’s shelves all these years.

But while neither Harry nor Ron seemed inclined to give Snape the benefit of the doubt, at least they both seemed to have forgotten that she’d been out all night – in Snape’s office.

~

Hermione frowned. Snape wasn’t there. It was nearly two in the morning, and he wasn’t in his office or the adjoining apartment. The solitary spaces were more desolate and vacant than ever.

Studying the Map, Hermione discovered he wasn’t in the castle at all.

Worry slammed into her chest, knocking into her ribcage like a trapped bird desperately struggling to escape. She could hardly breathe as possibilities bombarded her.

The list of Muggleborn students. He had to be meeting with Voldemort about it. She’d known he would be soon, and Harry mentioned Voldemort had returned just that afternoon. Apparently, he didn’t waste any time in gathering his followers.

Since nearly getting caught by Harry and Ron, she’d been waiting until they fell asleep to slip out, and then staying out just long enough to give Snape an update on their progress searching the castle and share a quick moment. He’d been more closed off and remote than usual, deliberately reestablishing some emotional distance between them this week. Not that she minded.

She’d been right to question whether or not she should have stayed the other night. And she was immensely glad she’d not tried to talk to him about it. Nothing between them needed to change, so there was no sense in upsetting the balance between them unnecessarily.

When he was around, things were easier, more natural, than she ever could have imagined – especially given her only frame of reference being Viktor and Ron. With each of them, communication had been a constantly frustrating and unfulfilling challenge. The last thing she wanted was to complicate the best thing in her life by giving Snape the impression she’d developed a bit of a crush on him. He’d—

“I hadn’t expected the two of you to become involved beyond what was necessary.”

Hermione’s heart leapt at the sound of the soft, grandfatherly voice. Dumbledore. She’d not seen him in Snape’s office for a few weeks. But he was here now, examining her like a pinned butterfly with its wings on display.

How long had he been there? Was it as easy to decipher her fear for Snape as she guessed it was?

She hated feeling so vulnerable. Every thought she’d just had scribbled across her forehead more boldly than her SNEAK curse. If she wasn’t prepared to discuss the intricacies of her relationship with Snape directly, then she certainly had no wish to speak with Dumbledore about the man in question.

“But then…war often provides a backdrop for heightened emotions and unusual relationships.”

“I wouldn’t describe it as a relationship,” Hermione replied stiffly.

One of the other portraits tittered, the primly-dressed, white-haired occupant covering her mouth like a schoolgirl caught gossiping in the back of the classroom as Hermione glared at her.

A number of the frames were filled tonight, many more than she’d grown accustomed to seeing. Probably, it was because the castle was nearly empty and there was no need to monitor the halls, so they’d returned to their usual routines. This conversation was quite likely what they considered ordinary entertainment.

“Wouldn’t you?” he mused, raising a snowy brow that resembled a puff of cotton. “Hmmm. My mistake. I should have known.”

Why? Because he was aware of Snape’s feelings for Lily?

Or because he was as aware as Hermione that the current adrenaline-fueled circumstances were hopefully temporary. She’d read countless books where the couple got together while trying to defeat the bad guy, but the story always ended when the threat was eliminated. It had to. Otherwise, you’d see the couple fall apart when they tried to transition into a normal life. Without the adrenaline and danger, the couples didn’t have enough in common to sustain anything long term.

Not that it mattered. None of that applied to her and Snape. They were just helping each other stay alive and figure out a way to defeat Voldemort. Afterwards… Well….

“I doubt he would appreciate you discussing your opinion on the matter with me,” Hermione said, knowing how correct she was. Snape would be furious if he thought Dumbledore was meddling in what they were doing. Already, Dumbledore had done enough where they were concerned.

“No. No, he certainly would not take kindly to that,” Dumbledore sighed, ducking his head like a little boy with chocolate smears on his face after being told no dessert.

He was silent after that, content to watch her fidget and glance repeatedly at the clock as two a.m. turned into three a.m. Minutes marked the passage of time as the night sky tracked the approaching dawn through the window. Several times she was tempted to ask if he knew anything, but he spoke before she could gather her courage.

“I had wondered if he’d still be able to help after he broke from the Order.”

“He helps as much as he can,” she murmured, resisting correcting him. Snape didn’t break from the Order, Dumbledore forced him to become their enemy.

“Yes.”

“Do you ever regret putting him in the position he is now?” The question was out before she could stop it.

“Severus is a very complicated man. He is also extremely capable and intelligent. He makes his own decisions and does not do anything he is unwilling to do,” Dumbledore said carefully, with no small measure of pride. “He chose this path to redemption.”

It was easy to be angry with the wizard when she watched Harry struggle to shoulder a burden even fully trained wizards weren’t capable of carrying, or when she saw Snape slam his fist into a wall in helpless frustration because he had to maintain his cover despite the astronomical costs. But for the first time, she actually sympathised with Dumbledore. He truly cared about both of those wizards, and believed they could pull off the impossible, so he trusted them to handle it, and helped as much as he could. Were Hermione’s actions truly all that different?

The realisation loosened her tongue enough to remark, “I’m not so certain I agree regarding his…willingness. His honour seems to frequently demand he do more than he wishes.”

Snape was deeply lonely and seriously invested in trying to follow Dumbledore’s orders. Hermione thought it was probably because of Lily. Or maybe it had started because of her, but Snape was the type to see something through to the end. He knew right from wrong. Whatever had initially prompted him to turn from Voldemort, he believed in stopping him for his own reasons now.

“So it does.” The piercing blue of Dumbledore’s eyes wasn’t dimmed in the slightest as they peered at her from behind his half-moon spectacles. They saw far too much. For the first time, she wondered if he was still capable of performing Legilimency as a portrait. It was an irrational thought, she knew. He was just more perceptive than most. His next question confirmed as much as he cocked his head, slowly asking, “Miss Granger, how much has he shared of his history?”

The probing reminded her of how betrayed Snape would feel if he learned she’d discussed him behind his back, so instead she said, “We think You-Know-Who found Ravenclaw’s diadem and that it’s here in the castle. We’re having trouble locating it, however, and the break is nearly over.”

She could hardly believe the three weeks had gone by so quickly. It was nearly the middle of January. The students were returning this weekend with classes resuming the following Monday.

“Ravenclaw’s diadem,” Dumbledore repeated slowly, puzzling the idea over.

“Did she leave it to Hogwarts?”

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head. “It vanished with her daughter, but… I wonder… Hmm.”

“Her daughter?” This was the first Hermione had heard of Rowena having a daughter.

“Helena died prior to Rowena. Perhaps, you should check—”

The opening door stopped him from saying more, and they both watched as Snape slowly entered the room, each step deliberate and tense. The first thing she noted was his ashen pallor and the pain-etched brackets framing his grimace. Then the rest of him registered. His balky robes shrouded him, swallowing the light illuminating the room like a black hole greedy to consume everything within the vicinity. By his side was his terrifying mask, the symbol of the Death Eaters, crumpled in his fist, and his long hair was damp with sweat, several strands clinging to his forehead.

She’d guessed he was meeting with Voldemort, but now she knew for certain he had been.

“You’re here,” he breathed, the words barely audible, and yet she heard the surprise regardless as he swiftly looked towards Dumbledore.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, approaching him cautiously.

“Anything to report?” Dumbledore inquired calmly, not letting the concern Hermione was now positive he felt, as much as a portrait was capable of feeling, at least, show as he maintained a practical, commanding position.

“His trip did not produce the desired results, and we were all treated to the Dark Lord’s favourite form of motivation when he was told that Potter’s whereabouts are as yet unknown,” Snape relayed, unbuttoning his robes deftly as he sneered his displeasure. His shirt was unfastened next, and he twisted, displaying his back to her as he finished speaking.

“You’re bleeding. Here, let me,” Hermione instructed needlessly, moving to inspect the damage marring the pale canvas that he was already trusting her to tend to. Cuts and scrapes and bruises, all superficial, as though acquired in a fall or from roughhousing, were the extent of the damage, but given his rigid stance, he had to be in pain from the sheer quantity.

“Draco got the brunt of it,” he added, lips thinning until they nearly disappeared when he faced Dumbledore.

Snape was clearly very upset over this, and she wondered at the show of concern for the boy who’d long been her rival. She’d always just assumed he favoured Malfoy because he was Head of Slytherin and doing so protected his cover. But this was more than that. He really cared about Malfoy.

“Vulnera Sanentur,” she murmured, repeating the spell as she traced along each cut across the expanse of his shoulders. Only one was still oozing, tiny glistening drops of crimson like faceted rubies.

“Severus,” Dumbledore began, but Snape held up a hand to stall him.

Gently, he touched Hermione’s arm, softly requesting, “Could you get a bruise salve from my bathroom and a Pain Relief Potion?”

“Yes,” she agreed, giving the two a moment to speak, though their voices chased her from the room, enlightening her more than they probably intended.

“He made his choices.”

“He chose not to kill you.”

“I’m no longer in a position to offer protection, and neither are you.”

“I know my position without you reminding me of what I am and am not capable of.” The last was hissed in unmistakable frustration, his acerbic side full out.

“Severus, there is too much at stake to take unnecessary risks. We’re too close for you to break your vow now. You know what I’m referring to. She died because—”

“How dare you!”

Hermione’s hand stilled as she reached for the precisely labelled jar holding the bruise salve, already having collected the potion, but Snape’s enraged response had her rushing back into the room, the cool surface quickly warming in her clenched fist.

Several times she’d seen Snape angry over the years, but this was different. He was seconds from blasting Dumbledore’s portrait into oblivion.

She was by his side before anymore was said and he downed the potion she offered in a single gulp.

The salve was clear and oily on her fingers, and Snape didn’t protest as she began applying the thick cream. Crisp peppermint scented the air as the red smudges vanished, as though erased with each pass of her hand over his alabaster skin, but the tension continued to linger, a coiled spring barely confined within his rangy build.

“You’re teetering, Severus. Things have drastically – unexpectedly – changed in recent months. A reminder of what’s at stake didn’t seem amiss,” Dumbledore finally tried, an apology or explanation, Hermione couldn’t tell. Possibly it was meant as both, in some language known only to them, born from necessity and years of camaraderie.

“I do not need a reminder to behave like a bastard. It’s who I am and who I’ve always been.” The bitter conclusion unsettled Hermione. She longed to refute it, to weigh in, but this was between them. Dumbledore needed to repair the demand he’d inadvertently done to the man he relied on.

Hermione was so used to defending others, of giving voice to those who were incapable of speaking for themselves, that it took all of her willpower to stay silent now. But she had to. Snape was more than capable of speaking for himself, and he would not appreciate her tramping over him to air her thoughts. It would be the height of disrespect in his viewpoint.

Private.

All she could do was voice her differing opinions privately and strive to convince him. It would be up to him then if he chose to believe her and decide how he’d like to handle it.

For him, she could withhold her natural instincts and do what he needed instead of ploughing ahead in a personal situation that didn’t actually involve her at all. It spoke volumes, it was incredible, really, that he was even allowing her to witness this interaction.

But he was. Because they were a team. And beyond all reasoning, he trusted her.

“Try Ravenclaw Tower. You’ll find what you need there,” Dumbledore said wearily, startling Hermione. She’d not expected to be addressed so frankly, seeing as everyone had been doing an annoyingly admirable job of ignoring her up to this point.

But when she glanced up from Snape to inform Dumbledore that they’d already checked the Tower, it was to find he’d hastily departed. So had the other former Heads for that matter.

Hermione returned her attention to Snape, scanning his torso for any injuries that she may have missed. Only two minor bruises lingered, and she set about applying the fresh-scented paste at once. “This was all because he can’t find Harry?”

“He…didn’t appreciate my news of the incoming students,” Snape admitted, staring enigmatically at the recently vacated canvas behind his desk.

Her voice trembled in fear as she forced out the question she’d been dreading hearing the answer to since they’d initially devised the plan. “Then he’s going to send them to Azkaban?”

“No,” he denied at once, shaking his head before confirming, “no. He didn’t publicly question my announcement, but he did keep me behind. He made it abundantly clear that I am not to overstep in such a way again or the school will be looking for a new Headmaster.

“It was only because his followers were so elated by the sign of their superiority that he let it stand. A victory is still a victory.”

“He hurt you because it wasn’t his idea,” Hermione guessed, carefully replacing the lid on the ceramic jar she held to give her hands something to do lest she embrace the man before her with an overly theatrical hug in some vain attempt to offer comfort.

“I’ll survive,” he said, brushing off the physical ordeal he’d just endured.

But she knew it was still weighing on him. Probably equally as much as the verbal and emotional ordeal he’d just experienced with Dumbledore.

“And so will they,” she pointed out, studying him closely. He was so closed off just then, but some small part of him was screaming for help. It was a part she couldn’t, and didn’t want, to ignore. “Can I do anything?”

“You can let me shag you raw,” he quipped, finally turning his head to truly look at her for the first time since returning.

“All right,” she said simply, though her heart had already begun racing in anticipation.

Severus released a gruff laugh without a trace of genuine humour. “Granger, I don’t think you understand. I don’t have a shred of gentleness or patience in me right now,” he warned.

“This arrangement is about helping each other for exactly this reason,” she answered, dropping the jar heedlessly and tracing her hands down his flat abdomen then hooking her fingers into the waist of his pants. But he caught her hands, stilling them before she could undress him further. His uncertainty, because of his current emotional state or because Dumbledore got into his head, as he assessed her prompted her to add, “This is what you need right now, and I said yes.”

“Mutually beneficial agreement,” he stated flatly.

“Yes,” she agreed, a thrill of anticipation for what he had in store for her sent her already racing heart galloping. It pounded steadily in her core, her body immediately responding and aching for him.

With a fleeting glance at the wall over his desk to ensure they were alone, he stepped towards her, nudging her until she’d walked far enough to have her back flush against the door to the office. Then he paused, a single brow lifting in silent question.

“Snape, fuck me,” she commanded, and was rewarded by the sight of his pupils dilating until the black swallowed the barely fainter irises.

Gently, he lifted her arms, pinning them above her head with one hand while the other lifted his wand to secure them with magic. Hermione’s breath caught at the unexpected move, and she tugged experimentally, but the restraints held. Excitement was a raging fire in her blood, setting it to boil and igniting her passion.

Snape watched her carefully, giving her the opportunity to protest or change her mind, but she met his gaze and very deliberately remained quiet. This was so different from how they’d always done things. And she was far too curious and hot at this point not to want to see where this would take them.

He made short work of her jeans, shoving them down as he claimed her mouth, feasting on her. Hermione kicked her foot, freeing one leg from the confining fabric, and the second it was gone, Snape’s hand hooked the back of her knee and had it up around his hip. Then he was inside her with a sure thrust that seated him fully within her slick channel without preamble or hesitation.

“Oh!” she gasped, startled by the swift joining that pressed her harder against the door.

With her arms suspended, her full weight came down on Snape and he felt like he was deeper than he’d ever been before. He filled her completely.

The thought was lost an instant later as his hips began rocking, riding her hard and fast. Knowing up from down ceased to be possible. Her entire body became a giant electrified nerve. One Snape was setting aflame.

His hand found her breast, and he kneaded it roughly through her jumper until she was panting and gasping, her back arching into his palm. Seeming to sense she needed more, he tugged the stretchy cotton down, exposing her chest. Bending forward, he nipped her, just hard enough to leave a mark and make her whimper.

Her inner walls clenched, squeezing his length, and she dug her heels into his bum, urging him to continue. If it was possible, he did, both of his hands finding her hips to hold her as he poured himself into this moment. Into her.

She tugged on her wrists, wanting to touch him, but they remained locked above her. The frustration in being denied made her desire spike, and she rolled her hips, meeting him as he bucked into her. The movement rubbed her clit, stimulating the bundle of nerves until black spots danced across her eyes like puffs of dandelion fluff floating in the breeze.

“Bloody hell,” she groaned, knowing she’d be walking bow legged after this, and not caring in the least. And that was if she’d even be able to stand at all.

“Yes,” he groaned in agreement.

Quick and powerful, he claimed her entirely. A cathartic release and reaffirmation of having some control in at least one area of life. And a part of her relished being able to give him this opportunity, tonight in particular. She was in his corner, even when it seemed like no one else was and nothing else was going right in the world.

As soon as she had the thought, he kissed her. It was hungry and wild, their harsh breaths mingling as they came undone together, his hot seed filling her and her limbs quivering from the strength of her release.

“Fuck, Snape,” she gasped, breathless, head lolling back against the paneled surface of the wooden door.

Her hands dropped to his shoulders moments later, freed from their invisible confines, and her fingers immediately wove through his hair to cradle his head. His response was to press fully against her, his face burying itself in her neck, and his arms wrapping tightly around her.

He was obviously still wound up from the events of the evening and the less than encouraging talk with Dumbledore. She could take a minute and be there for him.

“I could probably stay another half hour,” she offered a few minutes later.

“You don’t have to return immediately?” The question was disturbingly tentative. She hated how unsure he sounded, so unlike himself.

The truth was she probably did need to go. They’d not spent extra time together since she was almost caught, but she could probably risk it. She had the Map – never again would she forget it.

Hermione straightened her clothes while Snape enlarged one of the purple poofy armchairs Dumbledore had favoured in front of his desk until it resembled a loveseat. As soon as they sat down, Snape leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he stared off into space. Hermione placed a hand on his back, letting him know she was there when he was ready to talk.

“I know you and your friends don’t care for him, but I am worried for Draco,” Snape admitted a few minutes later.

“What’s happened?”

“The Dark Lord is frustrated, and he took it out on Draco… Rather, Draco insisted on sparing Narcissa, and not for the first time either. He only took the Mark to protect her,” Snape explained, unconsciously confirming several of Harry’s theories from the last year.

She’d also not missed the way Snape had mentioned Narcissa’s name. Combined with the knowledge that Snape was the person Narcissa had turned to for help the previous year, Hermione was sufficiently intrigued.

And as for Malfoy, she could believe he was more interested in protecting his mum than he was in furthering Voldemort’s cause. The fact that he didn’t kill Dumbledore when he had the chance spoke volumes. Though one could argue that he simply didn’t have the stomach for cold-blooded murder. But when added with some of the things Neville, Ginny, and Luna had shared about Malfoy not participating in detentions or the Carrows’ antics, it was all rather telling.

Her thoughts scattered when Snape turned his arm, revealing his own Mark for the two of them to see. The inky image glared up at them, taunting and vile. They were each careful to not ever let her touch it. The dark stain, on display as it currently was, advertised the very worst of him.

She knew he expected her to look away or leave, condemning him as everyone else had. Instead, she leaned in to wrap her hand around the bicep of his marked arm and prop her chin on his shoulder. He relaxed noticeably, a silent acknowledgement of her acceptance.

“Malfoy clearly loves his mum. A person can’t be all bad if he’d endure torture to spare someone he loves,” Hermione mused, realising it was quite possibly the truth.

“I watched him grow up. He’s practically family,” Snape said haltingly. “She….”

Hermione felt him tense where their bodies touched, and when he swallowed thickly, she understood.

“Because you’re close to Narcissa?” she asked meaningfully. Snape raised an imperious brow at her, but she appreciated that he didn’t attempt to prevaricate or mistake what she’d sussed out.

“Once…before she was married…yes,” he admitted frankly, fascinating Hermione to no end on how a sexual relationship between the two could have ever come about. “She’s very different from Lucius, though she’d never reveal her true self to a stranger.”

And Snape was no stranger to her. Hermione was captivated by the glimpse into Snape’s mysterious past. She had about a dozen questions for him, more, if she were honest, but it didn’t feel like the appropriate time to pry.

Yet one thought slipped out despite her resolve.

“She’s older than you.”

An ironic snort escaped Snape before he drolly asked, “Because you’re in a position to judge?”

“Touche,” she allowed, chuckling softly. But it didn’t last. Sobering quickly, she ventured, “After the holidays…,” Hermione paused, biting her lip, really thinking about what she was considering suggesting before bracing herself and asking, “do you want me to reach out to Malfoy? The Room is meant to provide a safe haven to any in need, not all except the Slytherins.”

“No. Under different circumstances… But no,” he refused, shaking his head, “he’s still Marked. I won’t risk you. Not for anyone.”

Hermione was startled by the distinctly possessive way he was speaking and the unqualified statement.

“Snape—”

A slight smile crossed his face and he nudged her, cutting her off. “You best get going.” When she hesitated, he more pointedly said, “Our time is up, and I need to rest after tonight’s toll.”

She was only partially down the spiral stone staircase, the door to the office slightly ajar behind her, when she heard Phineas Black, his sly voice unmistakable, say, “You could have said yes. She cares enough to help if you asked her to.”

“I know…but I won’t ask,” Snape replied tersely.

“My, my…you are letting yourself get in deep. How utterly unsurprising after—”

“If you don’t wish to be forever silenced, then—”

But as for the end of Snape’s threat, Hermione couldn’t make it out. She was already too far away for even his deep baritone to reverberate off the ancient walls. But one thing was for sure, Phineas was correct. Snape was taking an awfully big risk trying to play Voldemort.

Chapter Text

Author's Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

~

Ch 21: Hidden

“Harry?” Hermione tentatively called, noticing the light shining from under the loo door as she returned to the Room of Requirement.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” he mumbled weakly, voice strained and raspy. Concern had her opening the door before he could protest, particularly since he’d not even noticed she wasn’t there to wake before he’d entered the room.

Harry was curled up in the corner, the side of his clammy face resting against the cool stone wall with the heel of his hand pressed tightly against his forehead so that only the edge of the angry, red lightning bolt marking him was visible, and the acrid scent of vomit permeating the air. He was in a right state, to be sure.

“I really can’t handle a lecture right now, Hermione,” he muttered, rubbing the mark as though additional pressure might ease the pain or erase what he’d learned from it.

As much as she wanted to do precisely what he’d just requested she refrain from, because Harry’s connection with the dark wizard troubled her greatly – more than she cared to admit, truthfully – but Snape’s earlier condition was still too fresh in her mind. And Harry had probably witnessed the whole thing. He’d likely experienced Voldemort’s emotions. Yes, that connection was more than troubling.

“How bad was it?” she asked, taking a seat beside him, careful to avoid the dip where a small puddle of water had collected from the leaking pipe and slanting floor. The rough edges of the chilly stone walls bit into her back, but she ignored the discomfort of the dank toilet.

This room held none of the charm and festiveness that the main room boasted of. It likely hadn’t occurred to anyone to will the room to be more modern and inviting. Not that Hermione was complaining. Lavender and Parvati already spent enough time primping, and several of the other younger girls had joined them.

“Bad enough,” he said darkly, closing his eyes and swallowing so thickly his Adam's apple bobbed.

“We should check Ravenclaw Tower again in case we missed something.” Dumbledore wouldn’t have made the suggestion if he didn’t think it was relevant. It was unfortunate that they’d not discussed the matter further, particularly the bit about Ravenclaw’s mysterious daughter, but she could always try to catch up with him again that evening if they didn’t have any luck.

“Yeah, all right,” Harry agreed, probably only half listening and not up to arguing anything at the moment.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Toothbrush.”

With as many people as had taken to residing in the Room, they’d all begun storing their belongings at their bunks, lest they get mixed up or lost among the other students’ things. Even now, when the trio were the only three around, they’d continued the habit. Hermione wasn’t sure she was ready to have all the noise and chaos resume, preferring the quieter environment, even if it did make sneaking around more difficult.

A clock showed it was only a little after five in the morning when she retrieved Harry’s toothbrush, but he just continued to sit there, holding his forehead. She debated leaving him, the promise of her soft blankets and cosy bed beckoning, but she couldn’t abandon Harry when he looked so beaten and vulnerable – even if she was so exhausted her eyelids were drooping and her head was lolling when she sat back down. Hopefully she could at least steal a nap that afternoon after they checked the Tower again.

“Did I miss something?” Ron asked from the open doorway as he blinked sleepily, taking them in, his bright hair sticking up on the left side from how he’d slept on it. Hermione bit her lip, wondering if she’d woken him when she’d gotten Harry’s toothbrush, or if it had been the light from the toilet when she left the door open to air the pungent scent of sick out.

“We’re going to double check Ravenclaw Tower,” she announced, skipping the part about Harry being in Voldemort’s head.

“Right, because doing the same thing again and expecting different results isn’t the definition of insanity,” Ron griped.

Great. He was in a mood. And she was equally cranky after not sleeping herself. Perfect.

“You’re welcome to wait here,” she snapped, jutting out her jaw and hearing her teeth click as she did. Just because he didn’t know it was Dumbledore’s suggestion, not hers, didn’t mean he needed to be so difficult and unhelpful.

“Since we’re all up, we might as well get to it,” Harry sighed, heaving himself up and collecting the cloak Hermione had dropped as he left the room.

They’d barely entered the Tower, the boys content to let Hermione puzzle out the entry riddle by herself, when Ron said, “Don’t see why we’re in such a hurry we couldn’t have had breakfast first. We already know this is pointless.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to come!” Hermione fired back, throwing up her arms as she shoved off the cloak.

Luckily, no one in Ravenclaw had stuck around over Christmas. Only three Slytherins and one Hufflepuff had. Hermione couldn’t remember there ever being a holiday with so few people around ever happening.

“I just don’t see the point,” Ron countered, giving her a mulish expression.

Were they seriously bickering over food? How utterly ridiculous! There were times Ron infuriated her so much she could just scream!

Worse, Harry wasn’t even weighing in or trying to put a stop to it. He’d just tossed himself onto the sofa and appeared content to wait them out before they began combing through the Tower for a second time. Probably, he was appreciating how similar of a set up this room was to the Gryffindor common room, apart from the extra bookshelves and designated study areas. Hermione guessed Harry missed the scarlet and gold tower he’d come to think of as his first real home, particularly after the rough night he’d had.

Not that she could ask him about it. Not with Ron’s petulant glare aimed her way.

“The point? We’re nearly out of time, Ronald. People are counting on us, and we won’t have our run of the castle for that much longer. We could find a lead here and need to check other places out too,” Hermione explained stiffly, willing her tone not to turn shrill as it was wont to do when they argued.

“Guys,” Harry called.

“Other places. That’s exactly my point,” Ron declared smugly, crossing his arms as he ignored Harry.

“Ha! Where do you think it is? You’re obviously so clever, you must have a better idea,” Hermione taunted, crossing her own arms to keep from physically knocking the mulish look off Ron’s freckled face.

“He was in Slytherin. We’re better off checking that common room than we are trying here again,” Ron suggested. As though they could simply walk right into one of the few houses with students milling about, and particularly the ones after Harry.

“Guys,” Harry repeated. Hermione grit her teeth, not acknowledging Harry’s vain attempt to play referee. Not right now, at least.

“We can’t check there. Besides, it’s not going to be out in the open. He’ll have protected it, and given the Slytherin House’s reputation, I doubt he’d trust it so close to that many with similar inclinations to his own,” Hermione reasoned, pointing out just a few of the numerous holes in Ron’s idea.

So much for his vaunted strategic skills.

“Guys!”

“You just don’t want to admit you’re wrong,” Ron accused, flushing a brilliant shade of red. He hated when she called him out and made him feel like an idiot. It wasn’t like that had been her intention, he’d just made it so bloody easy.

“GUYS!” Harry cried, much more insistently than before.

“WHAT?” Hermione and Ron both yelled.

“I know where it is,” Harry answered, awe stretching his face into a wondrous grin as he nodded towards the tall marble statue tucked just inside a small alcove in the corner, almost hidden in the shadows cast by the spiral staircase leading to the dorm rooms. There, atop the imposing witch’s head, was an intricately carved tiara with a raven centred just above the forehead on the otherwise thin band.

It was smaller than Hermione had envisioned. So much so, in fact, that she’d not even noticed it the last time they’d been here. She’d barely glanced at the statue then. And even now, it blended with how the sculptor had styled Ravenclaw’s hair. You wouldn’t notice it unless you were specifically looking – or you were bored by your friends’ antics.

“The Horcrux really is the diadem, and I’ve seen it before,” Harry added.

“You have?” Ron asked incredulously.

“It’s in the Room of Requirement. It’s been with us this whole time,” Harry explained, almost laughing at the irony. “It’s where I hid the Half-Blood Prince’s book.”

Then it was Hermione’s turn to laugh at the irony, though she tried to mask it with a gasping cough. The diadem they’d all been searching for was with Snape’s book. Guess she’d been more correct than even she’d realised in assuming Voldemort would want him looking out for it, even unknowingly.

The cough lodged in her throat as she caught sight of the Grey Lady. Ravenclaw’s ghost hovered beside the empty fireplace, watching them avidly. For a second, Hermione wondered if she should say something. Perhaps beg the spirit to keep quiet about encountering them, but the castle ghosts, particularly the House ones, were loyal to Hogwarts, and given her nearly entirely transparent state, Hermione suspected she didn’t actually wish to be seen.

Seeing her here reminded Hermione that Nearly-Headless Nick frequently loitered in Gryffindor Tower during breaks. She wondered if Dumbledore had been suggesting she visit here to question the Grey Lady directly. Her clothing certainly suggested she’d been around the castle long enough to have seen things.

Not that it mattered now.

Within a minute, they were racing as fast as they dared under the cloak to get back to the point where they started. Then they impatiently waited for Harry to call the correct room into existence, traipsing back and forth three times in front of the blank stone wall while muttering under his breath about hidden objects.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ron declared, stumbling to an abrupt halt not two steps into the room.

Hermione was just behind him, and even she let out a squeak of surprise at the sight before them.

The room was an absolute wreck. Chaos, piled on top of chaos.

Rows stretched out before them, almost as far as she could see, before twisting and merging. The sides of the paths were formed out of broken and discarded bits stacked so high even Hagrid wouldn’t be able to see over them. Demolished desks perched on empty cages like the ones used in Transfiguration were beside an upended frame of a dormitory bed, one post rotted away as though eaten through with acid.

It was all like that too. Most of the items requiring magic to keep them in their place. It honestly looked like a giant had trampled through the castle, and instead of repairing the damage, it’d all been shoved in here instead.

“It’s down this aisle… I think,” Harry said uncertainly, selecting a row at random. Hermione didn’t note anything distinguishing about this path that set it apart from the other three leading from the entrance, but she stayed silent.

They’d just passed a leaning tower of books that Hermione had to resist stopping to investigate when the row split yet again, forking into three new directions. And that was after they’d hit two dead ends that required them to backtrack and try a different branch.

Harry was getting visibly more inpatient by the second, and with this he ran a hand through his shaggy hair, making it stand on end while he looked about frantically, turning in a full circle. No immediate clues appeared to guide him.

“Go over it again, Harry. What are we looking for?” Hermione prompted, hoping to centre him. It was here. Somewhere. And panicking wouldn’t help them locate it any sooner.

“It’s on a bust of an old guy with a wig. It’s on top of the cupboard I hid the Prince’s Potion book in,” Harry recited, repeating his description from when they’d first started their search. “I don’t remember going this far in before.”

That was easy enough to explain. Each time, they’d retraced their steps and picked a new path or veered left instead of right. The result was that Hermione was beginning to notice items she’d already seen.

“We’re going in circles,” Ron said gruffly, unconsciously echoing Hermione’s conclusion.

“It’s here. We’ve just got to keep looking,” Harry insisted, brow pinching as he tried to determine which of the new paths they should try.

“It’ll be faster if we split up. We’ve all seen the diadem now,” Hermione pointed out practically, figuring they’d be at this for a few more hours if they didn’t try something new. Ron caught her eye, and it was easy to see the relief that she’d been the one to make the suggestion he was moments away from voicing as well.

They each took a path and began the tedious task of scanning the mounds of partially transformed teacups, dented suits of armour, torn and empty canvases, barely hovering snitches, mismatched mittens, and cracked sneakoscopes. Hermione wondered if everything lost, hidden, or damaged within the castle ultimately ended up here. Or maybe this is where everything vanished with Evanesco was stored. It seemed distinctly possible.

“Any luck?” Harry called for the fifth time. They were at least trying to stay relatively close while they worked their way through the maze.

“What do you think? There’s more junk packed in here than Fred and George managed to stuff in their room at the Burrow,” Ron quipped. Though she’d seen the twins' room before they started packing up to move to the apartment over their new shop, and it was a pretty fair assessment.

“Keep looking,” Harry encouraged, if a bit desperate and automated, sounding more like a mantra he was saying for his own benefit than actually addressing them.

Hermione rolled her eyes. As if they had any intention of stopping when they were this close.

It took nearly another hour of walking through piles of broken junk. Hermione had practically bitten through her lip as she resisted the urge to insist they head back to the beginning and try from there, assuming they’d accidentally passed the bloody thing when Harry cried, “I’ve got it!”

“Finally,” Ron sighed, “I’ll be right over…assuming I can.”

“Accio diadem!” Harry called, summoning the Horcrux. His laugh indicated it worked, and she wished he’d tried the simple spell sooner to have saved them the intensive search.

It was still several more minutes, and a number of Marco Polo calls for her and Ron to make their way to the spot Harry was standing in. Ron got there first, of course.

“All that for this?” Ron asked as she was jogging over to them. He was turning the tiara over in his hands, studying it from various angles as though mystified by the idea it could contain any worth to anybody.

But then, it had nothing to do with Quidditch, so of course Ron didn’t get it.

“Apparently. But you feel it, right?”

They were so focused on the diadem they didn’t pay her any mind. Hermione opened the door of the cupboard just enough to peer in. The book was right there. Right where Harry said he’d left it.

The year before, she’d hated that book. Truly despised it. She resented that the author possessed more talent and intelligence than she did. And she hated that Harry was taking credit for accomplishments that weren’t really his. Accomplishments that meant he bested her unfairly.

But it was Snape who’d altered the book. And not just with potions. There were other bits in the book as well. Small insights into who’d he’d been at her age – before he’d become a Death Eater. And knowing that altered her opinion of the book, though she wasn’t entirely certain how she felt about it now. It’d be nice to take a quick peak. Or a proper look.

Discovering some of the hidden aspects of his life was a temptation too impossible to ignore.

Quickly, without giving herself time to second guess, she stuffed it in her beaded purse, then blinked, arrested by the sight of the Grey Lady.

Twice in one day. That was some sort of record, considering the Grey Lady was the most remote of all the dead residents in Hogwarts.

Had she followed them here? Why?

Hermione couldn’t understand the anguished look on her face, but it was enough to prompt her to rummage about in her purse for the potion she’d prepared with Snape, eager to have this part over with. At that moment, she was immensely grateful that she’d thought ahead and been optimistic enough to bring the supplies along with her.

“Yeah. It’s strange,” Ron acknowledged, appearing puzzled.

“The locket was like this,” Harry said meaningfully.

Of course. Ron had been bleeding to death and unconscious when they’d destroyed it, so he’d not known.

“Harry? I’ve got the poison,” Hermione offered, carefully extending the phial of dark liquid and keeping the cork pointed up. She didn’t like the strange and unsettling sensations that had begun to weave a vice grip around her heart. “You should destroy it quickly.”

“Stay back. I’m not sure what it’ll try,” he warned, positioning himself between his friends and the ancient circlet that Ron had set down while Harry accepted the potion.

Seeing the spectacle once didn’t truly prepare Hermione for it to happen again. She’d guessed it wouldn’t be Dumbledore again, but she wasn’t truly prepared for the spectre that formed from the diadem as Harry slowly approached it.

Ginny, as Hermione had first met the youngest Weasley years ago, swiftly emerged in a billowing swirl of smoke. The mist shifted and condensed to create her likeness, if a bit blurry around the edges. She looked so incredibly small and weak, her skin nearly translucent and her brown eyes dull and lifeless. Death had the child-like figure in its clutches.

It was enough to stop Harry in his tracks.

“You’re not any closer,” she mocked, sneering.

This Ginny looked cruel in a way Hermione had never seen the real Ginny be. What was even more disturbing was that it wasn’t completely foreign, despite that. It was an expression she’d seen Fred wear a number of times. It didn’t bode well, and it lent the image a startling degree of authenticity.

“Destroying this does nothing. You’ll never find the cup. And even if you did, the Dark Lord will destroy you when you face him,” the false Ginny taunted, sinking to kneel before the silver crown. Her face turned pleading and desolate as she added, “But probably not until after you get me killed.”

“No,” Harry denied automatically, his head shaking, physically attempting to dispel the notion.

“You’re too weak. Too pathetic. You’re destined to fail. How many others will die with me when that happens?” the eerie Ginny continued, raising a hand towards Harry and mockingly begged, “Please. Save me, Harry.”

But he didn’t move. And her bleak features twisted in rage that her efforts to draw him in had failed. Hermione wasn’t sure why, or what would have happened if Harry had touched the mirage. Probably, it would have possessed him. It seemed the most likely aim, or perhaps she was only assuming that because of what happened with Ginny and the diary.

“There’s a reason I’ve never told you that I love you. It would be too hard. We all know you’re going to die. There’s no other way for this to play out. It was always going to end that way,” Ginny hissed viciously. “No one wants to love a dead man.”

Harry approached it, head held high, and slowly poured the toxic poison onto the tiara, ignoring the writhing and cowering figure as it contorted like the potion was actually bathing it, when in reality, Harry was aiming it just behind the tortured girl.

“Better me than Ginny,” he stated clearly, determination steadying his hand as the dying Horcrux released a final wailing screech.

Ron looked nearly as shaken as Harry, and when she laid a hand on his shoulder, lending him strength, he immediately moved to cover it, palm clammy and skin icy. Hermione couldn’t imagine how difficult it was for them to see Ginny like that and essentially ignore her distress.

“Harry,” Hermione beseeched, but words failed her. She didn’t know how to comfort him after that. But Ron could.

Hermione turned a pleading look on him. He was still struggling, but one good thing about him, he usually came through when he was needed.

“Mate, she’s my sister. I know you’d do anything to protect her. Just like I know she loves you. Even when I told her not to, she did,” Ron quipped, using inappropriately timed humour to try and lighten the situation. All tact, that one. “You’re going to win, and I’m going to give the best man speech at your wedding.”

“Which hopefully won’t include anything about how you didn’t want them together,” Hermione chastised, pursing her lips as she saw Harry still staring at the ruined diadem, unmoved.

“What? It’s not like I want to see anyone snogging her. I’m her older brother,” he said defensively, not catching her sarcasm or impatience. “It’s my job to look out for her!”

“You really think I can beat him?”

“I’ve always believed in you,” Hermione insisted sincerely.

“We both have. We wouldn’t have stuck by you for all of this if we didn’t.”

Harry’s stoic expression unsettled Hermione. She didn’t like the idea of him accepting whatever conclusion he’d apparently come to with this latest Horcrux encounter.

“Then we need to find that cup.”

Destroying the diadem seemed to have renewed Harry’s determination to see this finished as quickly as possible. This, at least, was a goal Hermione could get behind and support completely, unlike the other things Harry had a habit of letting himself get sidetracked by or whatever bleak outcome he’d decided to meet head on.

“Has,” Ron paused to glance at Hermione, before asking, “has he thought about it at all?” Of course he’d been worried about how she’d react to the idea of Harry being inside Voldemort’s head.

And he didn’t even know about the night before.

“No,” Harry sighed, studying the twisted lump of silver that had once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw.

It reminded Hermione that the Grey Lady had been here just minutes ago. But as she glanced around, the pale woman was nowhere to be seen.

“I wish I could talk to Dumbledore. I’m out of ideas,” Harry admitted, ignorant that they’d ever had an audience, or that they were now, apparently, alone. “I really need his help.”

“Maybe you can,” Hermione ventured cautiously, wringing her hands as she mentally calculated all of the dangers involved as quickly as possible.

“We can’t know when Snape will be out of his office,” Ron argued, giving her a look that clearly said he believed she’d gone mental.

“He’ll be in the Great Hall when the students return from break. He’ll be busy for hours overseeing the feast,” she explained. With all of the students gathered in one place, there was a strong possibility that Dumbledore would be in the Head office since he wouldn’t be needed around the castle.

“Two days,” Harry grinned, anticipation lightening his mood. “We can talk to Dumbledore then.”

Chapter Text

`Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 22: Eavesdrop

“I didn’t think he’d ever move on,” the unmistakably cunning voice belonging to Phineas Black said through the door to the Head office.

Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm, stopping him on the last step. He gave her a curious look under the cloak, but she just held a finger to her lips, willing him to be silent and listen.

Who was Phineas talking to? They’d checked the Map before leaving the Room of Requirement since it was too unwieldy under the cloak now that they were taller, and Snape had been in the entrance hall greeting the returning students. Had he forgotten something and come back?

She was quite aware of how lucky she’d already been in terms of keeping her alliance with Snape from her friends. The last thing she wanted was for it to have all been for nothing if they were to barge in and find Snape here now. Harry would likely react before Snape had a chance to convince him that he was on his side. Then Hermione would feel compelled to admit how she’d been seeking his council all year, and Harry would be furious with her.

Dumbledore seemed quite keen on Harry remaining in the dark about certain things for as long as possible. Hermione didn’t understand his reasoning, possibly for Harry’s sake or perhaps Snape’s, but she did think he might be right if he was basing his decision on how to best help Harry achieve his goal of destroying all of the Horcruxes. Harry was easily side tracked by personal vendettas, and Hermione couldn’t help him if they were fighting.

Maybe if she’d been upfront in the beginning, but it had been right after Dumbledore’s death, and he’d never been exactly rational where Snape was concerned. It was easy to look back and wish she’d done things differently, but there didn’t seem to be another way now. If Harry got upset enough to take off, she’d have no hope of finding him.

No matter what, she came to the same conclusion. Harry couldn’t know anything about her and Snape. So they needed to make sure he wasn’t currently in the office.

“The timing could be better,” Dumbledore countered wearily.

“Says the man notorious for spouting off about the power of love,” Phineas sneered, making it clear he adamantly disagreed with the notion of love being capable of anything significant. A romantic, he was not. “You should be celebrating, even if he is not.”

So it was only the portraits, not Snape. There was no way they’d be gossiping so freely if he were there. She had no doubt he’d have immediately shut down their inane banter if he’d been forced to listen to it for even a short period of time.

“Yes, I believe it has caught him rather off guard, I know I never expected a true attachment to form,” Dumbledore mused softly, threads of trepidation and wonder warred in his revelation.

What in the world were they discussing? Hermione could hazard a guess, but surely—

“Glad to see you acknowledging it,” Phineas preened, chuckling deeply. In her mind, he was stroking the point of his black beard like a trite villain from a black and white nickelodeon standing over a girl bound to a set of railroad tracks.

“Bit difficult to ignore with the way you constantly goad him,” Dumbledore huffed, projecting his critique.

“That’s Dumbledore!” Harry gasped excitedly, finally placing the voice.

In a second, he’d thrown off the cloak and swung open the door.

“Harry!” she hissed, but he was already rushing inside, eager to finally have the answers he sought. At least they’d left Ron back in the Room, so she only had one impulsive wizard to worry about.

“Harry, I did not expect to see you in here,” Dumbledore remarked calmly, though his eyes did a quick scan of the room, belying his concern.

The act was like confirmation for her earlier thoughts. Even if she’d not been told explicitly, she knew Dumbledore wanted Harry ignorant of Snape’s true ties for as long as possible. It was the reason she’d been lying to her friends this whole time, after all.

Hermione let the cloak fall back to reveal her face, so Dumbledore would know she was there watching Harry’s back. Though she did move to the corner of the room, giving Harry some space and the illusion of privacy.

“Sir, I…,” Harry paused to swallow, and still he struggled, sounding hoarse as he relayed, “I destroyed two Horcruxes.”

“Of course you did. I am so proud of you, my boy.” And there was pride in his words, but a confusing sadness as well. Why wasn’t Dumbledore celebrating? Yes, he’d already known about Harry’s success from Snape, but he should still be elated that they were this much closer to the end.

A crease formed in Harry’s brow, and Hermione thought he’d noticed the discrepancy in Dumbledore’s reaction as well. A second later he turned away, coming to the window beside Hermione, as though unable to bear seeing Dumbledore’s face.

Her heart went out to him. Dumbledore had been as close to a grandfather as Harry had ever known. He’d been leading Harry through the minefield of his life. Then he’d died, leaving Harry essentially on his own. Adrift. And surrounded by enemies closing in on all sides.

Sure, he still had Ron and Hermione, but it wasn’t the same when going up against Voldemort.

Yet when Harry spoke again, Hermione was shocked. He sounded heartbroken. Betrayed. Forsaken. “You should have told me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry’s hands clenched onto the window sill hard enough to make it creak and echo. A jagged tear that sliced towards the canvas with unerring aim.

Dumbledore looked taken aback, his lips parting at the suggestion that he’d deliberately withheld something vital from Harry. “I shared everything I knew at the time,” he insisted carefully, patiently.

But even to Hermione it sounded a bit condescending. She was familiar with his habit of unintentionally doing so when interacting with those he was leading. He’d certainly done it to Snape enough times in recent months.

The sound echoed again, but further away.

“No. You didn’t,” Harry grit out, anger quickly replacing his pain as he adopted the tone she was unfortunately more than a little acquainted with.

This time a heavy, repetitive thud punctuated the tense silence. Was it closer now than before?

Wait, that wasn’t Harry she was hearing. It was someone coming up the stairs.

“I read Rita Skeeter’s book. You were friends with—”

“Immobulus!” she gasped, aiming her wand at Harry even as she swept the cloak over his head and her own. “Sorry, I had to,” she added quickly to his frozen form, having the idea from what Dumbledore had done to him the year before.

She was just in time too. Because Snape stalked into the room a moment later with Malfoy right on his heels. Snape didn’t stop until he was behind his desk, hands braced on the surface in a posse that was distinctly intimidating. Judging from the way Malfoy began fidgeting, he was acutely aware of the power difference in their positions.

“Well, Draco? This had better be important as our absences will not go unnoticed,” Snape drawled ominously, sneering at the boy and not betraying any indication that he was actually immensely fond of him.

It was the first time all year that Hermione had seen Malfoy for herself, and the changes in his appearance took her aback. He was thinner, to the point his skin looked stretched over his protruding cheekbones. And the dark rings under his sunken eyes looked painful. Malfoy reminded her of the Muggle pictures she’d seen of people strung out on heroin. It was alarming, to say the least.

“They took Lovegood from the station. Crabbe helped,” he confessed, a child seeking absolution for a transgression when they knew better.

“Who took her?” Snape inquired stiffly.

He gave nothing away, and Hermione admired his ability to conceal so much. She’d never have been able to manage appearing so unruffled. But she knew him well enough to catch the minute twitch of his little finger as he processed the unexpected news. A wealth of far-reaching repercussions was probably playing through his mind – everything from what Harry might do to how he could use this as an advantage to gain the upper hand.

Snape was always playing every possible angle. He had to. It was essential for his continued survival.

Then what Malfoy said hit her. Knocked into her with the force of a wrecking ball. Luna. Luna had been taken.

Sweet, albeit strange Luna. The one least likely to pose a threat. At least not a serious one.

They had her.

Everyone was back today. Luna had been on the train, and they’d still managed to take her.

Ron had been talking all morning about seeing her again. He hadn’t shut up for days after he’d opened her Christmas gift, comparing it to the stupid necklace Lavender had given him last year. He’d boasted about how much better the realistically lion-roaring Keeper helmet she’d enchanted for him to use playing Quidditch was. He’d been thrilled to try it against the twins and finally be the one getting a joke on them for once.

And now Death Eaters had her.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. They’d already taken everyone they wanted from Hogwarts. Luna was just Luna.

Hermione forced herself to continue analysing Snape, lest she give away her own turmoil at learning her friend had been captured. Her heart felt ready to beat out of her suddenly too small chest, her ribs a tightening lattice of snake coils. Stabbing pains made her breathing laboured, and never had she been so grateful that Harry was little more than a statue.

He was surely going insane right now. But it would be infinitely worse when Ron found out.

“My father and aunt. They were waiting in Hogsmeade. I don’t know if her friends have even realised she’s missing yet,” Malfoy said hesitantly.

“Why?” The clipped, open-ended question left a lot of room for interpretation, and Malfoy jumped on it, providing more information than he probably realised.

“They’re hoping she knows more about where Potter is hiding since they’ve had no luck nabbing anyone from the Order. The Order all went underground after Kingsley attacked Runcorn a few weeks ago. They also think he’ll come to them when Potter finds out.”

Of course. They were bound to think of something like this sooner or later. They weren’t the most creative wizards and witches ever to live, and holding someone as bait to draw Harry out had already proven most effective in the past. It had only been a matter of time until this happened, really.

Snape waved a hand airily to cut Malfoy off. “Why are you telling me?” Snape pressed, as though he couldn’t care less and didn’t see why he was being bothered.

“You don’t think I’ve noticed?” Malfoy demanded defensively, mimicking Snape’s stance, though it lacked his air of menace and authority.

“I’m not in the mood for games, Draco,” Snape said coolly, pursing his lips in a brilliant show of bored annoyance. He stared at Malfoy the way one would a toddler throwing a tantrum after breaking a toy and not getting an immediate replacement.

Crimson stained Malfoy’s cheeks in ugly slashes of glaring paint, but he ploughed ahead, desperate to turn the conversation in his favour. “You undermine the Carrows at every turn. I think you were still straddling both sides, but now you’ve picked the winning one.”

“And you believe that’s going to be Potter?” Snape asked drolly, one side of his lips turning up, though the expression lacked warmth.

“He has an annoying habit of squirming out of sticky situations, and given how long he’s evaded the Dark Lord this year… It’s the safer bet,” Malfoy muttered. As soon as he said it, his head darted about, a frightened rabbit convinced it was surrounded by predators.

“I’m surprised you would trust me enough to say such things. You are aware of what the consequences would be if word of your leanings reached the wrong ears,” Snape mused, playing on Malfoy’s show of self-preservation.

“Mum said I should follow your lead,” he admitted reluctantly.

The briefest fair of Snape’s nostrils was the only tell that this had surprised him.

“And here I was thinking you’d simply finally realised you don’t have the stomach for it,” Snape mocked. Hermione had a feeling he really was fed up with Malfoy, despite his worry for the boy.

Dumbledore had tried several times to save the young Slytherin last year. And every time he’d been rebuked. Now here he was seeking protection and putting Snape in danger in the process. Hermione would bet every Galleon she had that he only shared what he knew of Luna’s capture because he thought it would serve as a bargaining chip to get him what he wanted.

She loathed that sort of cowardice. And she resented the burden this was unfairly placing on Snape. But she also recognized the fact that Malfoy could have sat on the knowledge entirely. Without this, they wouldn’t know with any certainty where Luna was, and who knew how long it would have taken to find her. Time they didn’t have to waste.

“It’s not what I expected. It’s not at all like what I thought,” Malfoy said angrily, shoving off of the desk and raking his hands through his sleek hair in frustration. He turned in a circle, too agitated to remain still. “After everything. Greyback, my mum, last week… I can’t – I don’t – I….”

“You’re a spoiled child who has never struggled or been told no in his life. So things aren’t perfect for once. That is normal. Get over yourself,” Snape snapped, unrelenting. It made sense. There was so much on the line. If he helped now, then Malfoy betrayed him to Voldemort….

“Snape, you promised my mother you’d help me,” Malfoy beseeched. “Please.”

Her breath caught in her throat, lodging like a stone. Given his wasted appearance, she felt a measure of reluctant pity trickle through her heart. Not much. More like a leaky faucet that wasn’t worth fixing since only a few drops a day managed to fall. But it was enough to make her grit her teeth, knowing she’d feel obligated to try and help if the opportunity presented itself.

She’d always had a soft spot for helpless creatures.

Apparently Snape did too. As he rubbed a weary hand across his brow then studied the son of his former lover, Hermione sensed him caving.

“Draco, you took the Mark. You know—”

A pointed cough came from the wall. Subtle.

“If that’s all?” Snape asked instead, straightening and restoring the aloof mask he’d previously donned. When Malfoy looked ready to protest further, Snape dryly stated, “The walls in this castle hear more than they should. Your choices define you. Live with them. I know I sure as hell am.”

Defeated, Malfoy trudged from the room, shoulders slumped and head down as the door slammed shut behind him. Hermione was actually a little impressed that he didn’t whine a bit more beforehand. But then, Snape wasn’t known for his empathy.

Snape remained tense, waiting. Nearly a minute passed before Dumbledore spoke, warning, “It’s a trap, Severus.”

“Obviously,” he retorted dryly. Disdain, that the wizard didn’t think him capable of determining as much on his own, caused him to glare darkly at the portrait.

“You should not have been so sympathetic to Mr. Malfoy. He could betray you,” Dumbledore continued.

Hermione was startled that he’d speak so openly, knowing Harry was currently hiding in the room. But perhaps that was precisely why he was.

Harry would eventually have to find out the truth about Snape. This could be Dumbledore’s way of priming him to hear it. Harry was rather well known for being infuriatingly tenacious once he made up his mind about something or someone. It’d take time to convince him otherwise.

But allowing this much to be said still shocked her, especially after what they’d just learned about Luna. Or maybe her previous assumption was wrong.

Regardless, they didn’t have time to sort everything out. Not right now.

Which Dumbledore knew….

Dumbledore was playing a long game, and for now, at least, Hermione was simply going to trust that he had a plan.

“I’m far more concerned about what the Lovegood girl will say if she remains with Bellatrix for any length of time. The witch would be a fount of information if they listen long enough to get past the insane ramblings about mythical creatures,” Snape said sharply, shaking his head as worst case scenarios no doubt played through his mind. Sighing, he predicted, “I suppose we should simply be grateful they didn’t apprehend Miss Weasley instead. We’d stand no chance at all if they had.”

“You’re probably right about that. But I’m sure Harry will devise a reasonable and well-thought-out way to get Miss Lovegood from Malfoy Manor,” Dumbledore assured with more optimism than Hermione thought was warranted. Or did he somehow think voicing as much would miraculously get Harry to actually do as much? If so, old age and death might really have made him batty. She’d certainly not had much luck with a similar approach over the years.

“Those are two traits I’ve yet to see Potter demonstrate.”

“He will succeed. He is the best hope we have. Trust him,” Dumbledore urged meaningfully.

That advice sounded so familiar. Where had she heard it before?

“Trust him to not forget his importance and do something without getting himself or…his friends…caught in the process?”

Hermione bit her lip at that. Snape was worried about her.

“He is more capable than you give him credit for,” Dumbledore chided mildly, the absent twinkle making a brief appearance in his bright eyes.

“It’s too risky. I should be the one to retrieve Lovegood. I could be—”

“You will do nothing,” he ordered swiftly, putting the idea down with an incontestable finality.

Dumbledore very deliberately looked at where she and Harry were hiding. Once. Twice. Then Snape stiffened, catching on.

Hermione could well imagine the string of obscenities running through Snape’s head right then. Twice now, in only a handful of minutes, he’d had to worry about the wrong people eavesdropping and judging his conversations. For such a private bloke, and one who valued having a measure of control over the situations he found himself in, he was likely raging over his current predicament.

“Of course,” he sneered resentfully. “I will follow your orders – just as I always do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must make a final appearance at the feast.”

Hermione waited as long as she dared once he’d gone to whisper, “Finite!”

Harry didn’t spare her more than a quelling look before shoving off the window sill he’d been gripping when she froze him and was only now released from. “What was that?” he demanded, rushing towards Dumbledore’s portrait.

Hermione raced after him, latching onto his shoulder and begging, “Harry—”

“No! I want answers,” he cried, shaking her off like a pesky fly. “Why were you talking to him like that?”

“Harry, please. We have to tell Ron before he hears about Luna from someone else,” Hermione insisted. “He’ll go after her by himself. You know he will. And only we know where she is. He’ll get himself caught – or worse!”

“She is right, Harry,” Dumbledore said gravely. His expression was so guilty as he took in Harry, seeming to memorise his features for a moment before he finished, “You’ll have your answers once you destroy the cup, and not a moment before.”

With that, Dumbledore left his frame, making it impossible for Harry to continue badgering him for answers.

Harry stared, slack-jawed, but recovered quickly when Hermione reminded him, “Luna.”

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I am so sorry for the very long wait to read this. I had this chapter finished before I took a break from writing, and didn’t realise until I started writing again that I had never posted it. Hopefully, many of you will continue reading this story and are still interested in discovering what happens. I have the next chapter nearly finished and the one after that started, so ideally this story will get finished this summer if I can make steady progress.

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 23: Rescue

“What are we going to tell him?” Harry asked, dread creeping up her spine on spindly spider legs as he dared voice the topic she was scrambling to process.

Luna had been captured by Death Eaters. Anything could happen to her.

It had been bad enough when they got to Hogwarts and learned Dean Thomas was on the run. At least with Dean they could imagine him safely hiding. But knowing the Malfoys, and Bellatrix Lestrange in particular, they couldn’t hope for the same in Luna’s case. If they’d been looking to score a blow, they’d definitely succeeded.

“The truth,” she replied, slowing slightly as they approached the Room. As though trudging along might actually slow down time.

If only they could slow it down. Each second gave the Death Eaters more time to do who-knew-what to Luna.

The noose around her heart constricted, spilling precious blood into her chest and drowning her with terror and dread.

“How are we going to get Luna back?” he asked, his hand catching her and tugging her to a full stop, wasting time they didn’t have to spare. “You do have a plan, right? You always seem to have some idea lately.”

If he only knew it was thanks to Snape’s inside knowledge and suggestions that she’d been able to guide him at all. That was no use here. Not right now. Learning that particular truth would only send Harry spiralling in the wrong direction.

“This time I’m as stuck as you. Nothing seems likely to work,” she admitted, sighing.

“We’re not leaving her there,” Harry stated flatly, fierce determination glinting in his veridian gaze.

“I didn’t suggest that we should. I just need to think for a minute,” Hermione insisted, straining her mind as various possibilities played out, each failing more spectacularly than the last.

If only she could persuade the boys to wait, give her a chance to seek Snape’s advice. But waiting was just as dangerous. Luna couldn’t wait.

Why had she suggested Harry speak with Dumbledore? Taking him there had messed everything up!

“Ron isn’t going to like hearing you saying that,” Harry warned.

“Then I guess you’re going to have to stall him long enough for me to think of something!” she huffed. “Or you could come up with a plan yourself – it’s not like you to hesitate.”

“My plans don’t usually involve any actual planning. I rush in, and then make the best of it – and always end up putting you guys in more danger,” Harry countered. “We’re too close now for us to risk getting caught.”

She would be impressed with the accurate self-assessment and restraint – if she didn’t think Dumbledore’s mention of withholding information wasn’t also tempering him. If she was being honest, Dumbledore’s demeanour was distracting her as well. The way he’d looked at Harry was utterly baffling. So much so that she couldn’t think of a way to save Luna that wouldn’t give them away in the process.

If any of the trio was even seen, it would be bad for the Weasleys and possibly the students at Hogwarts. Voldemort might wonder how they’d even known Luna was taken, especially so quickly. It could even put Snape at risk.

But they had to do something. Abandoning Luna wasn’t an option.

“I know you’ve been really trying not to be reckless, but maybe this is one time where we could do with a bit of it. Besides, not all of your plans go wrong,” Hermione said sympathetically, noticing Harry’s defeated expression. The Ministry had gone all right – mostly. Though Ron might disagree. And hearing his thoughts now might give her some inspiration at any rate.

“Enough of them do,” Harry muttered, scuffing his foot over the stone hallway and sighing before he finally admitted, “and if this did, I’d not just lose one friend, I’d lose my best mate and my family.”

So that was the real reason for his uncharacteristic caution.

Hermione didn’t actually think something happening to Luna would be enough to permanently break Harry’s bond with Ron, but on the off chance that it did, she knew the Weasleys loved him too much to forsake him entirely. Ginny and the twins, especially. Ginny, because Harry was everything to her, and the twins, partially to piss off Ron, but also because they had a separate friendship thanks to being Quidditch teammates for years.

And Mrs. Weasley…well, she could go either way, actually.

A tiny Easter egg in Hermione’s fourth year and the memory of being uninvited to Christmas at the Burrow last year came to mind. Mrs. Weasley was quick to make her displeasure known when someone upset one of her children. But then, she’d never considered Hermione to be one of her children, not like she did Harry.

“That’ll never happen,” she concluded. When Harry looked ready to argue, always willing to view himself as easily discarded, she didn’t bother explaining. Rather, she settled for adding, “And don’t forget, you’re my only family too.”

“Hermione—”

“It’s fine. We should get this over with,” she interrupted, brushing off his immediate apology, “unless inspiration has suddenly struck?” The last was asked hopefully, though she didn’t expect to have any luck.

“Sorry, no.”

Ron was the only one in the Room when they entered, everyone else still feasting in the Great Hall. Though if she had to hazard a guess, she’d bet it lacked the rambunctious atmosphere that usually accompanied the post-hols reunion.

The two exchanged an inquiring look, silently debating which would break the news. Harry straightened, taking the burden onto himself as was his habit. “Ron….”

Except words failed him.

“That was quick. Did you learn anything useful?” Ron asked optimistically. His mood had steadily improved since they destroyed the diadem and the countdown until Luna returned ticked down. He’d not even really minded missing Christmas at the Burrow and his mum’s cooking this year, which Hermione had privately suspected he’d put up a stink over.

“Er,” Harry answered, hunching slightly.

Hermione jumped in, saving Harry from floundering as she instructed, “Have a seat.”

When Ron didn’t move, instinctively recognising how devastating the news would be, Harry insisted, “You should really sit down, mate.”

The bright neon bean bags in blue and yellow nearest them morphed into a faded and threadbare sofa that looked like it belonged in the Burrow. Harry must have been asking the room to make Ron feel more comfortable.

“What’s going on?”

His panicked expression was too much to ignore, so Hermione ripped off the band-aid, blurting, “You-Know-Who is not happy about not being able to find Harry.”

“Well of course not. Makes him look incompetent that a teenager keeps repeatedly besting him,” Ron mused, shrugging and collapsing onto the sofa in relief. “Bit hard to believe in the bloke after that, yeah?”

In seconds, his grin slowly faded, melting off his face like Muggle sidewalk chalk experiencing an English rain.

“My family?” he asked scratchily.

“Fine, far as I know, but Death Eaters had something planned,” Harry elaborated, not wanting Ron to have time to imagine more worst-case scenarios than he had to. The truth was already harsh enough. “They took Luna off the train.”

“No,” Ron argued, glancing at the door as though expecting it to open and his waif-of-a-girlfriend to come ambling in adorned with vegetable jewellery and magazine glasses obscuring her vision, “she’s at the feast.”

“Ron, they have her at Malfoy Manor,” Hermione gently confessed, wishing she was wrong for once.

“Let’s go,” Ron ordered, practically spitting the words as an unhealthy shade of puce infused his cheeks and drowned out his freckles.

As he bound off the sofa, both Hermione and Harry rushed to intercept him, forming a barrier between Ron and the door with their bodies.

“We can’t just storm their stronghold,” Harry stated blankly, but Hermione could clearly see him second-guessing this decision in the face of Ron’s determination. Harry had never been one to back down from a challenge, especially not when someone he cared about was in danger. A fact the Malfoys were no doubt banking on.

She should have guessed he’d crumble. Ordinarily, she would have. But she was just as worried about Luna and not thinking clearly either. This play was so predictable. They should have accounted for it, made plans and arrangements in advance.

The Order probably had. It would explain why most of their moves were sneak attacks and rescues that the members made while in hiding the rest of the time – at least according to Potterwatch. But the Order had not thought to extend their plans to the students supposedly safe at Hogwarts.

Hermione wondered if anyone was truly aware of how bad things had gotten at the castle this year. Probably not. They were all used to following Harry’s example and dealing with things on their own whenever possible, so she didn’t think any of the students had confessed the truth while visiting their families.

“You’re unbelievable. When it was Sirius at the Ministry—”

Harry erupted, throwing up his hands and stepping forward to get in Ron’s face. “He died! I insisted we rush in without a plan, and he died,” Harry raged. “He’s gone. Forever. Dumbledore is gone because he helped me instead of himself. I can’t be responsible for losing another person. Not again.”

“If it was Ginny—”

“No,” Harry denied, though not even Hermione believed him. Snape had even called it too. The way Harry looked at Ginny, the way he gravitated towards her the moment she walked into a room… It was what everyone wished for. Hermione knew she certainly did.

“Then I’ll go without you,” Ron declared, not backing down.

“How is getting caught yourself going to help Luna? You have to stop and think, Ron! We need a plan,” Hermione yelled, moving to get between the boys before it came to blows. She was tempted to cast a Barrier Charm to block him in, but that would likely push Ron over the edge and make him think they weren’t all on the same side.

“I have a plan – rescue Luna,” he said stubbornly.

“You don’t even know where Malfoy Manor is,” Harry pointed out wearily, and Hermione realised it was true.

They couldn’t go after Luna even if they wanted to.

None of them had ever been to Malfoy Manor, nor did they know the location. She could guess that it was somewhere near Falmouth, given Malfoy’s Quidditch preference for the Falcons, but it would take ages to search the entire region. And who knew what magical enchantments and wards they had in place to protect their home. Using magical transportation wasn’t possible either. They couldn’t Floo in without the Ministry knowing about it. Apparation required knowledge of a destination, so that was out. And a Portkey, which was illegal to create without registering with the Ministry first, wouldn’t work if the person casting the charm didn’t have a mental image as the intention behind the spell.

“How would you get there?” Hermione wondered aloud.

Mr. Weasley had been, but Hermione couldn’t believe he’d willingly take his son into a dangerous situation, no matter how much Ron begged. And approaching his dad would destroy Ron’s cover story of being sick in the Burrow’s attic. They’d been fortunate to have it hold this long, and that no one had recognized Ron during their escapade at the Ministry. Thank Merlin his Polyjuice had lasted longer than Harry’s that day or the Weasleys might have been in trouble. As it was, Mr. Weasley was one of the only members of the Order still able to come and go to the Ministry freely. The Order was probably relying on him for the information he was gathering for them. They couldn’t ruin that avenue for the sake of one person.

She hated herself for having the thought. The voice in her head was unmistakably Dumbledore’s. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t correct. It was terrible having to weigh the good of all of them against the life of her friend.

“I’ll make someone take me,” Ron spat, his determination making her believe he really might succeed.

It was a different side of him. He’d certainly never behaved this way for her sake. But he was for Luna.

Seeing Ron like this made her want to help more than ever – damn the consequences.

“Why don’t I go? If it doesn’t work, at least it doesn’t risk Harry.” Volunteering to go hadn’t been a conscious decision, but now that she’d done it, it made sense.

“We could go together,” Ron agreed eagerly. “I’m sure we know someone who’s been there before.”

But who else did they know who’d been to Malfoy Manor? Malfoy, of course. But surely Ron didn’t expect them to go to him. He’d never agree. If anything, he’d sell them out the first chance he had, which was probably why Snape didn’t ask her to help Malfoy when given the chance. Or would he?

From the conversation she’d just heard, they might actually be able to convince him to help. But not with this. Malfoy wouldn’t see Luna as worth the risk. Aiding Harry with something that might end the war, though, now that was something to consider.

The Malfoys only ever cared about themselves. There was ample evidence of that over the years. And Malfoy now considered Harry to be the best chance at winning. Maybe he’d heard —

“Are you insane?” Harry gasped, frantically shaking his head in refusal of their idea, and cutting off her train of thought. He appeared on the verge of a panic attack at the idea of them both risking themselves without him around to help. “No. No way! I can’t have anyone else sacrificing themselves for me. I’ll go. They’ll trade her for me.”

“Don’t be stupid. He wouldn’t have any more use for Luna once he had you. He’ll kill you both,” Hermione scoffed.

“I could—”

“No, Harry. Considering the number of people working to keep you alive all these years, none of us are about to go and sacrifice you now. It would defeat the entire purpose of everything while we still have Horcruxes to find. You’re the one who has to ultimately face the psychopath.”

He looked taken aback by her frank assessment, but Hermione waved him off. Now wasn’t the time to soothe his hurt feelings. Or to question why he looked suddenly puzzled. Whatever revelation he was having needed to wait.

Regardless, Harry clearly wasn’t thinking. How would Luna leave once they had Harry? Surely they’d taken her wand. They’d have wards that only a house-elf could—

A house-elf.

Of course!

“It’s brilliant. So obvious,” she murmured, but the boys didn’t seem to hear her, or at least hadn’t followed her logic – a problem she frequently encountered with them.

Ron still seemed intent on the pair of them going, too set on that to care about anything else. He was practically bouncing on his heels as he appealed to her, asking, “Hermione, are you—”

“Dobby,” she breathed, berating herself for not catching onto the clear solution sooner. The answer had been staring her in the face, like a brick wall she was repeatedly bashing her head against.

“What?”

“It can’t be you. We all know that and agree – yes? But we also can’t leave her there or send one of us. We’d have no chance. But Dobby has magic we don’t have access to. He knows where the manor is. He can come and go freely – undetected. He can get her out,” Hermione said animatedly, lighting on the idea more with each point she made. It was bloody perfect!

The stunned silence only lasted a moment, then Harry insisted, “It has to be his decision.”

Offended, Hermione pursed her lips, swallowing a rather rude retort about S.P.E.W., before snapping, “Of course. I’d never try to force him.”

Dobby had been a slave in that place for years. She couldn’t imagine willingly returning to such a place after what he faced, but they could at least ask. And knowing how much Dobby always wanted to help, she couldn’t see him saying no.

Guilt for taking advantage of a trait he’d been conditioned to exhibit ate at her, but seeing Ron’s hope kept her silent. She couldn’t take this chance from him. Not when she wanted Luna safe too. And she had to respect Dobby’s right to choose. He was free, and that freedom meant he could do what he liked – including this.

“Dobby,” Harry called, summoning him from the kitchens most likely.

The distinctive pop sounded at his arrival and a tiny figure was suddenly standing in the middle of their group. A bright smile split Dobby’s face at the sight of Harry, and Hermione’s guilt spiked.

“Hi, Dobby,” Harry greeted, a stiff smile making an appearance despite himself. Dobby’s hero-worship might make Harry distinctly uncomfortable, but he was undeniably fond of the elf. “We need your help, if you can.”

“Harry Potter needs my help? Dobby wants to help,” Dobby said eagerly, going up on his toes and practically vibrating at the thought. “It’s an honour to help you!”

“You might not think so once you hear what it is,” Harry warned.

“The Malfoys have Luna. Can you get her?” Ron asked bluntly, too impatient to wait for Harry to get to the point.

Harry cast a quelling look at Ron, then explained, “We were hoping you can still come and go from the Manor freely. Can you get in without them knowing?”

Anxiously twisting his ear and looking around, Dobby nonetheless nodded. “Y-yes. They’s never seeing Dobby, except when they’s punishing him.”

“Do you have an idea of where they’d be keeping her?” Hermione asked, suddenly uneasy. If Dobby had to search the place over looking for Luna, it was that much more likely he would get caught, and the reminder of how they used to punish Dobby was a lead weight in her gut.

Were they setting themselves up to be responsible for Dobby’s death?

Hermione had no trouble envisioning the worst. The Malfoys would make Dobby suffer for the indignity he’d caused in ruining Lucius’s scheming with the diary, getting himself freed, and now disrupting their plans to trap Harry or at least find him.

“No, Miss, but Dobby will find her,” he answered uneasily.

“Don’t… Don’t take them on directly or anything. I don’t want you hurt either, but if you can find her and she’s not with any of them, will you bring her back to the castle?” Harry requested haltingly, probably picturing a gruesome outcome like she currently was.

His whole body trembled, but he tipped his chin up at Harry’s indication of trust and protectiveness, and promised, “Dobby will try.”

Then he was gone.

“How long will it take him?” Ron dared to ask, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

“I guess it depends,” Hermione answered.

“On if they’re hurting her,” he acknowledged grimly.

With that harsh reality, Ron went still and quiet, brooding over Luna’s condition.

Tension thickened the air, but it only got heavier when Harry ventured, “Snape wanted to get her himself.”

She’d wondered if he’d heard that part of the conversation or if he was too busy raging at her for Immobilising him or wondering at how Dumbledore could casually converse with the wizard who’d killed him.

“Harry, you don’t—”

“Stop,” Ron interrupted fiercely, his nerves frayed to breaking as evidenced in the clipped, bitter way he spoke. “Anything could be happening to my girlfriend right now – because of her connection to you – so don’t. I really can’t hear your latest theory on Snape plotting something sinister or how he’s working some secret agenda right now. Not when Luna is the pawn.”

Harry appeared so hurt by the accusation that he didn’t say another word, but Hermione watched him speculating over all that he’d learned and that had happened. Experience told her he wouldn’t let this drop anytime soon.

It was a while before the door to the Room of Requirement opened, and when it did, they were all disappointed when several students, including Neville and Ginny, entered rather than Dobby and Luna.

They both noticed the flash of resentment flicker over Ron’s face when Harry recognised that Ginny was safely there, especially after seeing her as the Horcrux so recently. Still, Hermione was startled by the realisation that Ron would rather his sister be the one in danger than Luna, even if it was only a passing thought.

“I’m going to let them know what’s going on,” Harry announced, eager to catch a break from Ron before anything else might accidentally be said, and anxious for an excuse to greet Ginny, to reassure himself she was safe. “If this doesn’t work, maybe we can come up with a new plan in the meantime.”

It was probably best not to let Ron weigh in on that discussion.

Ron sat stiffly on the sofa the room had conjured for him earlier and twisted his hands agitatedly. Hermione wasn’t sure how long he would wait before insisting on actually doing something. None of them were used to waiting and not being in the thick of it. No wonder Mrs. Weasley was always strung so tight.

Trying to distract Ron while they waited, Hermione picked up the scroll of parchment on the nearby table and slowly unrolled it, catching a few words here and there, but not really reading it.

“What’s this?”

“It’s uh…a story. I made it up. For, uh… for Luna, for Christmas,” Ron answered, struggling to admit what he’d gone to the effort of doing.

“You wrote her a story?” Hermione gasped, utterly amazed. Curiosity had her quickly prompting, “What’s it about?”

“A Quidditch match, but everything goes wrong when Nargles attack. You know how she is about her magical creatures,” he explained, ducking his head bashfully. “I thought she’d find it funny, and I couldn’t get her something real since we’re stuck here, and I haven’t exactly got any money – not that Luna values things like that anyways.”

Hermione was genuinely shocked that Ron would willingly write anything at all. And she’d been so wrapped up in searching the castle and trying to find as much time as possible to be with Snape that she’d not even noticed him writing it.

She’d never had much success getting him to use the homework planners she gave him, and getting him to complete an assignment thoroughly was a rarity. But to invent a story was something else altogether. He’d had to put thought and effort into it. It was even more incredible considering Ron had taken Luna’s preferences and interests into account when making the present. He might not understand Luna’s bizarre fascination with elusive or nonexistent magical creatures any more than Hermione did, but at least he acknowledged and respected her choice.

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” Hermione said softly.

“Yeah?” he asked uncertainly, reminding her of the insecure boy she’d grown up with but hadn’t seen much of recently. “I mean, it’s not that big a deal.”

“She’s going to be fine.”

“I hope so.”

But if that was true, where was Dobby?

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything.

~

Ch 24: Safe

“We have to get back to the dorm before curfew,” Neville announced reluctantly.

He and Ginny had waited as long as possible, long past when the rest of their new gathering of DA members had dropped in. Though none had stuck around. Not after seeing the anxious trio. But Neville and Ginny were Luna’s friends too, so they’d waited, hoping to be there when Luna returned, wishing in vain that she’d come strolling in looking none the worse, but merely that she’d gotten lost along the way from the Hogsmeade station because a Jobberknoll had flown past or some imaginary magical creature had confused her.

“Ron…?” Ginny tried, understanding her brother was in a state to be reckless when the minutes of Luna’s capture ticked steadily, unerringly, into hours.

Gin turned to Harry, brushing a hand lightly across his arm, but he caught it, squeezing tightly before nudging her towards the door, a silent promise to watch out for Ron. Then she was gone, slipping out with Neville so the Carrows wouldn’t have an excuse to renew their reign of terror just yet.

Another hour crawled by.

The silence was deafening.

“Dobby will get her. He’ll bring her here,” Ron insisted, breaking it at last while he watched the ancient wooden door as he’d taken to doing since Hermione had read the story he’d written in its entirety and offered meaningless praise. Her opinion hardly mattered at the moment. Not when the door remained tightly sealed, the echoing groan of it slowly creaking open failing to fill the air. “Right?”

Hermione was already shaking her head before he finished, automatically retorting, “Even he can’t Apparate someone directly into Hogwarts.”

“The hospital wing is just inside the entrance hall. If she’s… if Luna… Well, she’ll probably be taken there when she returns. With the cloak, we could wait for her,” Harry suggested hesitantly, hating the idea of Luna being hurt and knowing they shouldn’t venture from the Room. “She could be there already.”

The need to do something, anything, was too great to ignore.

Still, Hermione attempted to be rational, pointing out, “Dobby would—”

“Let’s go,” Ron said over her, already striding towards the door, as though he’d just been waiting for permission.

Hermione tried again to protest, “Ron!” but couldn’t bear to stop him when Harry was already tossing his invisibility cloak over his mate’s head and holding it up for her to join.

Within minutes they were situated, huddled uncomfortably close together and crouched so their feet remained covered, in a corner of the hospital wing.

Luna wasn’t there.

It didn’t bode well. What if Dobby had been captured too? The Malfoys despised him. There was no telling what they’d do to the elf that they’d unintentionally freed. Or what if he’d been too late? What was happening to Luna?

Harry had tried to question Hermione a few times when the wait seemed to stretch on indefinitely, but she’d shushed him with a pointed elbow to the ribs as a reminder they couldn’t risk his discovery. They were taking a big enough chance being there as it was. But she could tell Harry was brooding, though whether it was over Luna’s fate, Dumbledore’s behavior and interaction with Snape, Snape’s shadowy words, or Malfoy’s surprising shift in loyalty, she couldn’t be sure. And considering the amount of practice he’d put into brooding, he was enough of a master to be juggling all three topics.

The emptiness in the room offered nothing in the way of distractions, and her active imagination took advantage to run through more worst-case scenarios than she could handle. How much worse must it be for Ron?

They were all disappointed when Madam Pomfrey bustled in, by herself, only to check the supply cupboards and straighten the sheet on an already immaculate bed.

Tension poured off Ron, and Hermione dreaded what he would do if Dobby didn’t return soon. She didn’t think she could talk him out of going himself a second time.

“Headmaster! Come quick. She needs your help. I’s got Luna here, Sir!” The squeaky call announced the arrival moments before the doors to the hospital wing sprang open violently, the crash loud enough to mask Hermione’s startled gasp, and the tiny house-elf floated Luna’s limp form into the room.

The enchanted castle wards must have activated to warn the Headmaster the moment Dobby entered the Hogwarts gates. It would certainly explain Snape’s timely arrival, meeting up with Dobby just when he reached the castle, and his breathless reply as he gasped, “Her? Is that Miss Lovegood? You have her?”

“Yes! She’s hurt, Sir. She’s not answering me. He told me to wait until she wasn’t with the bad people, so I’s waited.”

Harry and Hermione recovered quickly enough to each grab one of Ron’s arms, anchoring him in place. Just in time too, because Snape came sweeping into the room still moving at a near sprint, dark robes billowing widely, like bat wings carrying him on an air current as he chased after the prone student. The waving robes stirred the air, and Hermione’s nose was filled with a musty damp scent that she usually associated with the Hogwarts’s dungeons.

He was on the duo in an instant, sounding breathless from rushing to meet them as he urgently barked, “Miss Lovegood, wake up. Now!” The words were harsh, insistent, no less so when he ordered, “Dobby, place her there. Were you seen? Do they know it was you who recovered her? Were there any problems?”

The bed Dobby lowered Luna onto was only three away, giving them access to learn what happened without the danger of being stumbled over. For now, at least, Luna just seemed to be sleeping. But it was impossible to tell the extent of the damage. Especially not when Dobby sounded so worried.

“N–no, Sir,” he denied, rapidly shaking his head and twisting his long ear. His frame practically vibrated with anxiety. “They’s not see me or know.”

“Good. At least one blasted thing worked out. Wait here a moment. I may have urgent need of you,” Snape barked swiftly, waving his wand over Luna and muttering too quietly for Hermione to hear.

“They cursed her while I was waiting.”

Ron’s whimper had her and Harry clutching him tighter. It was fortunate too, because he went limp, the news gutting him so thoroughly that they were the only thing holding him upright.

Malfoy had warned it was a trap to find Harry. Apparently he’d been right. They’d feared this, but it was another thing altogether to have it confirmed. Voldemort’s recent displeasure over not finding Harry must have been more motivating than they’d realised if it had enticed Bellatrix and the Malfoys to try this. If Luna didn’t recover, if she ended up like the Longbottoms….

“You did well to get her,” he reassured, adopting a slightly softer tone than he’d used with Luna, but it was still quite brisk.

“Is she…?”

“Merely unconscious. Unfortunately, she cannot remain that way right now.”

One more pass with his wand, and Luna finally shifted, groaning as she did. At the sound, Snape spoke again, demanding, “Miss Lovegood, I know you’ve been through an ordeal, but you must tell me immediately – did you tell them where they are?”

Luna didn’t answer, and Snape impatiently moved around the bed, muttering additional spells. That was when Hermione got her first good look at the flaxen-haired witch. Bedraggled didn’t begin to describe the state she was in, though there didn’t appear to be any blood, which was a small consolation. Dark smudges bloomed across her jaw, from dirt or bruises she couldn’t tell, and Luna’s long hair was matted into an impossible knot of rope. Occasionally, Luna’s body gave a telltale twitch, evidence of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse.

“Miss Lovegood!” he hissed again, firmly nudging her shoulder.

“W-what?”

The sound of her voice, however weak, had Ron straining to go to her again. The scuff of his shoe on the smooth stone floor went unnoticed, but she and Harry redoubled their efforts to keep Ron in place. If anyone came around the bed, they’d see three sets of bodiless feet.

“Gra–Potter. Did you tell them?”

Despite his near-single-minded questioning, Snape continued casting spells over Luna, healing the worst of the damage she’d suffered at the hands of the Death Eaters who’d taken her. Except the damage that only time would help. And when she coughed, struggling to speak and push words past her scratchy throat, raw from screaming, no doubt, Snape produced a phial that he pressed firmly to her lips until she had no choice but to swallow the cool azure fluid Hermione recalled giving Snape only a week prior when he’d returned from being questioned by Voldemort.

Had it been the same for Luna?

And what had Snape started to ask?

Had he almost mentioned her specifically? Was he worried? Concerned Voldemort would learn she was at the castle and target her? Somehow she knew it wasn’t just because she wouldn’t be available to help Harry finish things. Helping Harry win was Snape’s ultimate goal, yes, but her safety had slowly become a priority to him as well apparently. It was the second time that evening she’d had cause to wonder. She wasn’t entirely certain how to feel about that. It was simply too surreal.

But then, didn’t she worry about him just as much?

“Tell them?” Luna asked dazedly, blinking owlishly, her blue eyes glassy from lingering pain and disorientation. “Is this Hogwarts?”

“Yes. You’re safe. Did you tell Lucius or Bella where they are?” he repeated, impatience sharpening the words until they sliced cleanly through the haze buffering Luna, parting it like a hot knife through butter despite the initial reassurance he’d offered the injured witch.

“They?” she repeated tentatively, fresh clarity making her visibly shrink back into her pillow as she attempted to close herself off from the line of questioning.

“Potter! Granger! Weasley! Do they know?” Snape demanded, relentlessly.

“You think I’d tell them?”

“Did you?”

“I won’t tell you where they are,” Luna declared, jutting out her chin.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Snape hissed furiously.

“But —”

“Answer me!” Snape growled, fed up with Luna’s nonanswers. Probably, she was still reeling from what had just happened to her and viewed this as a similar interrogation. Hermione could only guess how that must have been for Luna.

“No! Of course not. I’d never betray my friends. Not to anyone,” she declared bravely, revealing a side of herself that Hermione had only ever caught glimpses of previously. Luna’s airy ramblings made it so easy to forget that she was actually fiercely determined to stand up for her beliefs. “I won’t break. No matter what you do to me.”

Snape recoiled, flinching back almost imperceptibly, but enough for Hermione to see that the assumption had hurt him. Did Luna truly believe he’d torture her? Yes, that was now a normal occurrence at Hogwarts, but Snape never participated – he merely gave the appearance of condoning it. Or was this a holdover reaction from what she’d just endured?

Carefully, each word forced through gritted teeth, Snape explained, “I didn’t waste time healing you just to hurt you all over again. Now, if you could try and focus, is Potter in danger?”

“You aren’t asking me where they are,” Luna gasped, lips parting in surprise as she finally realised this was different from her time at Malfoy Manor.

“Are you positive they didn’t discover where Potter and his friends are? Do they need to be warned to move?” Snape repeated tightly, modulating his voice and struggling to remain in control of his emotions.

Harry’s nails dug painfully into her arm. The stinging pressure broke her from the almost trance-like state she’d been in, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. They both still had a grip on Ron, but Harry’s free hand had clamped down on hers so tightly that she had to squash the barely withheld censure.

Swallowing was difficult. Not just from the lecture she bit back either. A lump had formed in her throat as Snape’s intense questioning threatened to expose his true allegiance. Again. He wasn’t even trying to be discreet.

This seemed to be the night for it. Everything was attempting to tip the pot and spill the secrets.

Fortunately, Harry was never quick to attribute any positive motive to Snape’s actions and his clear concern for the trio’s safety, and Ron was far too distracted by Luna’s current state to do more than take in the scene unfolding before them. But Hermione had no doubt Harry would remember this later. Too much had been leaked tonight, especially when combined with their visit to Dumbledore’s office.

Harry wasn’t stupid. He’d put the clues together – even if he would have a hard time believing what they indicated.

What had changed? Dumbledore wanted Harry kept in the dark about Snape. He’d made that crystal clear time and again. But then he’d said what he had knowing Harry was listening, and he’d let Snape speak openly. Why now? What was his game?

Hermione trusted Dumbledore. Well, she trusted he had a plan. He was positioning pieces around the board, setting up moves, even from the grave, but what outcome did he foresee?

The question was, how would Harry take the truth?

It was a toss-up, honestly. She’d not realised how upset Harry was with Dumbledore until earlier that evening. Too many lies and secrets. Harry was so forthcoming that he didn’t understand when others were deceptive. It was anathema to him. Probably, he’d have just as much trouble trusting Snape, what with his history with the Marauders. Or he’d be moved by Snape’s steadfastness, once he learned Snape’s love for Lily was the source. There was simply no telling which way he’d lean.

Because they didn’t have enough to worry about, clearly.

At least Luna appeared to be relatively all right. The small victory helped her shed some of the suffocating coils of chains weighing her down. How long until something else replaced them with more and the water closed over her head? She wasn’t sure she could keep treading water much longer.

“I’m sure,” Luna confirmed, frowning openly.

Snape studied her intently, weighing the possibility that she was lying. Hermione guessed when he arrived at the same conclusion that she did. Luna was telling the truth. Lucius would have already jumped at the chance to regain favor with Voldemort by giving him the information he so desperately desired – Harry’s location.

“I’d die before I let something happen to my friends. They’re safe too,” Luna added, voice stronger and containing just a touch of reassurance as though she too had picked up on Snape’s slip.

It was even more obvious, if you were looking for it, because his relief was nearly palpable. The tension in his shoulders drained steadily away and he began checking her over again. Would Luna remember any of this? Would she let something slip in the Room? What would Hermione do if just a hint reached the wrong ears?

“You saved her. See to it that the appropriate people know she’s returned,” Snape ordered, glancing just long enough at Dobby’s swelling form, pride making him glow, to indicate he was being summarily dismissed as he refocused on healing Luna. “Were you harmed in any other way, or just the Cruciatus?”

“No,” Luna confirmed, “just that when they questioned me. I fell too, but that’s only my knee. I’ve lost my wand or I’d take care of it myself.”

They all watched as Snape retrieved several more phials from one of the many storage cabinets in the room for Luna to take. This time she didn’t hesitate before swallowing each, one after another. Though Harry had to tighten his hold on Ron to stop their friend from bursting forward to knock them out of her hand. He didn’t relax until she’d wiped her mouth after the last, not even when it was apparent that she was feeling the effects immediately, her breathing less labored and the twitching almost stopping altogether.

“Not all are so brave or noble in the face of danger,” he finally acknowledged, taking extra care to be gentle as he examined a blooming bruise on her knee, rubbing a salve over it. Mint spiced the air clear, crisp and potent.

“Thank you.”

“Hmph. A new wand will be delivered tomorrow.”

“How? Mr —”

“I will take care of it. You need rest now to recover.”

A minute passed quietly as Snape reexamined Luna’s knee, but then she dared to ask, “Sir? Do you know? Have you known all along?”

“I have no idea,” Snape said coldly, drawing the words out, slow as a stalking cat preparing to pounce.

The phrase sent a chill down Hermione’s spine. The eerie echo dredging up a memory of Snape saying that very thing in exactly the same tone. Sirius. He’d said the same about Sirius when Harry had tried to get his help in Umbridge’s office before they’d gone to the Department of Mysteries themselves. It had been a lie then as well.

It must have had the same effect on Harry, because he’d tensed noticeably, his nails digging even deeper grooves into her arm. Her hand covered his, squeezing it warningly. Even in the dim light she could see the waxy pallor Harry’s face had taken on.

There was no avoiding the talk they’d have to have later. Not at this point. But for now, it was paramount that they remain hidden.

Luna persisted, disbelieving him as well. “If I had let something slip… how would you have warned them?”

“Rest. These will take a few days to heal, and it shouldn’t scar,” he intoned, holding up Luna’s arm where several deep scratches that appeared lost to her in the face of her other pains had already faded to pale pink lines. “The tremors will cease in time as well. Any longer and… You should not have been taken at all,” he muttered, regret a dark cloud hovering above his head.

“It was not your fault. I’ve made myself a target this year,” Luna offered serenely. It amazed Hermione that the girl so often disregarded and overlooked could be so warm and compassionate. She’d just been through a terrible ordeal, and somehow she could still lay there and be the one trying to make Snape, a supposed enemy, feel better.

“Yes,” he said, the word little more than a chip of ice as his lips thinned into such a flat line they practically vanished. Despite that, Hermione sensed it wasn’t entirely disapproving. More resigned.

“Did you send Dobby?” Luna asked, ignoring the glare pinning her down.

“No. I murdered Dumbledore. Everyone is aware that I serve the Dark Lord,” he answered by rote, allowing his mantle of villain to settle back around him after temporarily shedding it.

“Then how did Dobby know to help me? Who else would have known where I’d been taken?”

“No doubt a Slytherin was overheard boasting about your capture.”

“But you must—”

“Someone else was clever enough to use the Malfoys’ arrogance against them. Fortunately for you,” he said, sidestepping as much as he could.

It didn’t escape Hermione that he was also giving her the credit for coming up with a plan to save Luna. Heat stole across her cheeks and her stomach did a pleased flip at hearing his approval and admiration. For so long she’d craved that from him, and now it came almost easily. She felt worthy.

When Luna looked ready to speak again, he handed her a final potion and insisted, “Sleep now, Miss Lovegood. It will speed your recovery, and I imagine you will be very busy in the next few weeks. There will be much to do in the wake of this.”

“Will they try to take me again?”

“When it proved so successful the first time? Doubtful. Not even they are foolish enough to repeat their failures. Nor will the suffering they will endure from this hasten their desire to take such a risk again anytime soon.”

“Dobby,” Luna gasped, worry for her savior making her bold enough to grasp Snape’s arm.

As he pried her hand off, his face pinched as he murmured, “No one would think to suspect a house-elf of interfering. It was a quite brilliant move. The blame for your escape will fall to someone else.”

Luna’s eyes drooped almost at once after that, though she kept blinking as Snape moved about, checking her once more. Hermione nudged the boys, gesturing at the door. They’d seen for themselves that Luna was safe and would be fine. They shouldn’t linger and risk getting caught, and while Harry nodded, the stubborn set of Ron’s jaw told her he wasn’t budging while Snape was still with Luna. He wouldn’t leave her unguarded and vulnerable after potentially losing her tonight.

“Doing my job again, are you?” Madam Pomfrey asked, striding purposely across the room in her dressing robe.

Hermione had been so focused on Ron that she’d missed the witch’s entrance. There’d been an easy familiarity in her question, and Hermione suspected that this situation was a common occurrence over the years. How many times had Snape been summoned to help heal a botched spell or some other catastrophe that one of the students had gotten themselves in? Harry had certainly required Snape’s skills a number of times when they’d been attending Hogwarts. So had Hermione for that matter.

“She’ll need to take more Muscle Relaxant and Pain Relief Potions in the morning,” Snape informed her wearily. The stress and worry he’d felt finally taking a visible toll on him.

It was nearly morning now, breakfast starting in about three hours. Hermione was actually surprised Madam Pomfrey hadn’t slept through this entire incident. Apart from the bang of the door when Dobby first brought Luna in, they’d been fairly quiet.

The pale blue of Luna’s eyes made another brief appearance, and Hermione sensed she was trying to stay awake to watch the interaction. Having experienced the potency of the Sleeping Potion and crash after an adrenaline rush herself, Hermione knew it was hopeless. Luna would be asleep in minutes, and likely sleep entirely through the next day too. Probably, it was for the best.

“I used the last of the Pain Relief stock before the Christmas Hols,” Madam Pomfrey said brusquely, crossing her arms and pursing her lips in displeasure.

“You should have mentioned the need for replacements sooner,” Snape chided, scrubbing a hand over his face. Hermione knew he’d be forgoing sleep tonight, staying up to brew the potions himself, not trusting Slughorn to do it right or care enough to sacrifice some of his precious rest to ensure it was ready in case there was need of it after breakfast.

“I shouldn’t have gone through a year’s supply in one term,” Madam Pomfrey snapped.

The contempt and censure were unmistakable. Not to mention the blatant disrespect. This wasn’t even his fault, and he still couldn’t catch a break. No wonder he’d been desperate enough to turn to Hermione for what little solace she could provide.

A dark glower descended over Snape’s features, and he looked truly menacing as he fixed it on Pomfrey and straightened to his full height. A reminder that he was in charge and that things were different than before. A clear warning that she should watch her step or the consequences would be dire. If children were being tortured for sport, there was no telling the example he would make of someone he felt deserved it.

It was an act, but one he had perfected assuming by now. His survival had depended on it, as it did now.

“Perhaps you should take this opportunity to return to bed as well. She will be fine until morning seeing as I’ve done your job, which you already noted. Besides, you are likely to be overrun before too long and won’t have the chance again,” he sneered, all traces of earlier concern for Luna gone. “I will drop off a new batch before breakfast.”

“How dare you tell me what to do! This is my –”

“OUT!” Snape shouted.

Affronted, and clearly shaken, Madam Pomfrey scurried away. Harry was watching, slack-jawed. Probably, he was recalling how this was the mediwitch’s domain and she’d frequently ordered everyone, even Dumbledore, about. Never had any of them expected her to capitulate without seeing after one of her patients when a student in her care was injured. It was just another mark for the changes that had taken over the castle this year.

Snape waited only long enough to give her a chance to vanish properly before he too retired. He looked defeated. Hermione longed to race after him, to offer reassurance or support, or simply be there in whatever way he needed like she had after McGonagall had spoken to him similarly.

But she couldn’t.

Ron didn’t have the same problem. He’d shaken off their holds and was racing across the room not a second later.

“Luna,” Ron croaked, emotion clogging his throat.

“Hello.” The dreamy greeting, lethargic from her effort to fight off the effects of the Dreamless Sleep Draught, spurred Ron to move faster, and a moment later he was beside her bed, cupping her cheeks as he devoured her face.

“Keep the cloak on, Harry,” Hermione insisted, tugging Harry over to stand beside Ron in case they needed to cover him quickly.

“I know,” he sighed, and she knew he was gritting his teeth to keep from snapping at her.

She sighed loudly, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. This wasn’t the most public display Ron had ever engaged in, but she did wish she didn’t have to witness it so closely. Not that it caused the same pain it once had. Instead, she watched Harry dissecting the strange encounter and dreaded hearing which way he’d decide to take the truth.

Luna’s abrupt yawn finally dislodged Ron’s mouth from hers, and he cautiously asked, “How badly were you hurt?”

“Can you tell us what happened?” Harry added quickly.

“They want you. I was questioned, but Dobby brought me here after they returned me to the cellar,” Luna explained, sounding even more dreamy than usual.

“Questioned about us,” Harry acknowledged, pain and regret carving deep furrows in his face that nearly concealed his lightning scar, and pinched the skin just above the wireframe of his round glasses.

“Yes. They thought you might have been with me at Christmas. I think they believed me that you didn’t visit. It probably helps that I was telling the truth. You’ve never been to my home before,” Luna stated candidly.

It was an uncomfortable truth that none of them them had ever felt inclined to visit the girl’s home, despite its close proximity to the Burrow. Luna had a knack for stating things so plainly, never shying away from identifying the actions of others that probably hurt her, and yet happened regardless. Guilt was a pit in her stomach, gaping and jagged.

“But you’re all right?” Ron pressed, running his hands clumsily over her to verify she was really there. “I was bloody terrified.”

“I’ll be all right, promise. But I lost the photo I had for you of the diadem my mother was trying to recreate.”

“What are – oh, right. That. Doesn’t bloody matter now anyway,” Ron promised, and Hermione felt a measure of relief that they’d already found and destroyed Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost diadem. Something told her that if they were relying on seeing a recreation that someone in Luna’s family had tried to make, they’d never know what the Horcrux they’d been searching for properly looked like.

“Did they ask anything else? Who was there?” Harry pressed on while Ron took to awkwardly stroking Luna’s tangled hair after she’d leaned towards him like a kitten seeking a cuddle.

“It was only Malfoy’s parents and his aunt that I saw.”

“Bellatrix,” Harry hissed.

“Yes. She and Lucius cursed me. It was worse than when the Slytherins practised it here. Mr. Ollivander was being kept there as well. He was in the cellar when I arrived. I spoke with him while Lucius and Bellatrix debated what to do with me. Can Dobby get him out too?”

“No!” Hermione protested, not wanting to risk the brave elf’s life again. But also because she knew there was a chance they could need his help again before the end. She had to prioritise Harry’s safety over that of an old man. That was the price of war, and she’d made the decision she’d pay what she must months ago.

“Why do they have him? So he can’t make wands for Muggleborns?” Ron wondered, frowning as he glanced at where her and Harry’s disembodied voices were coming from.

“Oh no. He said You-Know-Who was questioning him about the Deathly Hallows,” Luna murmured sluggishly, not even opening her eyes this time.

Harry and Hermione exchanged equally baffled looks. It wasn’t a term she was familiar with, a rarity. There was a reason she devoted so much time to researching in the library. She hated not knowing something. Particularly if it was a result of her Muggle upbringing. The disadvantage it put her at sat poorly with her. Very poorly.

“He wanted Ollivander to read him a children’s tale?” Ron asked, oblivious to his friends’ ignorance.

“No, he’s trying to find the Elder wand,” Luna said around a yawn, burrowing deeper under the covers as a minor twitch rocked her arm.

“Well, sure. Who wouldn’t want an unbeatable wand?” Ron chuckled dryly, tearing his eyes away from Luna again. He looked as though he expected them to be laughing as well, though he couldn’t see them. When he didn’t get a reaction, he shrugged, pointing out, “But it doesn’t really exist, Luna.”

Hermione had been about to insist on a better explanation for what an unbeatable Elder wand was, but changed her mind. This was probably another of Luna’s unsubstantiated beliefs.

“It does. People have been searching for the Deathly Hallows for a long time. It’s a well-known quest,” Luna refuted softly, words stretching out like a lazy bumblebee grazing flowers while her head turned more into Ron’s palm to nuzzle it slightly. “Even Mr. Ollivander agrees that the wand is real and he knows everything about wands. You-Know-Who thinks Mr. Ollivander knows which wizard has it.”

“That’s who he was looking for abroad!” Harry announced, much louder than Hermione was comfortable with. “Did he find it?”

She recognized the expression Harry was wearing. He was figuring something else out – something she wasn’t going to like. Probably something he’d seen in Voldemort’s head when he refused to shut the connection down despite her dire warnings.

But this time Luna didn’t answer. She was finally fast asleep, already breathing evenly.

Hermione tossed the cloak over Ron as she speculated, saying, “Doubtful. You-Know-Who wouldn’t bother keeping Mr. Ollivander locked up if that were the case.”

“True. He’d have already killed him and flaunted having the wand,” Ron stated bluntly.

“Let’s go. We shouldn’t stay down here,” Harry said.

“But –” Ron protested.

“She’s safe here, and she’s going to be fine. You can check on her tomorrow or she’ll come to us when she’s released,” Hermione coaxed, hoping logic would work. Not that she’d ever had much luck with it in the past. At least not when Ron was being bullheaded. “Things will be so much worse for everyone if we take unnecessary risks here while the Carrows are about. We can’t help anyone if we’re discovered.”

Chapter Text

Author's Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

~

Ch 25: Limerence

Reluctantly, slowly, Ron made the trek with them back to the Room. The journey felt wrong. Dank. Ominous. Unnaturally still. Things were coming to a head faster than the trio could keep up. They had to find the cup. The dreaded countdown to the finish was ticking steadily on, unceasing and unflinching. If anything, time was speeding up. The looming axe dipping a fraction lower, the sharp edge close enough to chill the back of their necks.

Then Nagini would be the only remaining Horcrux. Hermione hadn't forgotten her promise to Snape about not visiting Godric's Hollow. He'd been so adamant. Hopefully, it was one she could keep.

The foreboding had Hermione ready to jump out of her skin when Mrs. Norris hissed at them, swiping a spike-tipped paw at the air only a few centimetres away from them. The mangy tabby hissed again, tipping her head to the side as she smelled, but couldn't see them. Disgruntled, she gave up and trotted away, her matted tail twitching in agitation as she went.

The sight had Hermione missing Crookshanks fiercely. He wasn't much to look at either, but he'd been hers. She'd had to leave her beloved cat at the Burrow over the summer. Things were simply too uncertain and dangerous to risk bringing him along on their mission this year. Probably, he was too busy terrorizing the gnomes in Mrs. Weasley's garden or getting underfoot to miss her.

Apart from that run-in, the castle appeared as empty and desolate as it had been in recent weeks when the students were away on Hols.

The portraits were hushed and subdued, displaying none of the frolicking and merriment Hermione was used to. They'd tried to keep up the pretense that nothing had changed at Hogwarts this year, but since the students left for break, they'd given up. She idly wondered if they'd start back up again in the morning when classes resumed or if they'd lost the will to fake it, considering no one was fooled.

Usually, at this time of night, she was making her way to the Head office to relieve a bit of stress and anxiety or work through the latest issues plaguing the castle, not sneaking about with the boys and discovering more unanswerable mysteries.

It was as though Harry read her mind, because no sooner had the Room's door shut behind them than he asked, "Hermione, can you check the library for any mention of these Deathly Hallows? If Vol—"

"Harry!" Ron roared, the single word containing all of the frustration and helplessness that he'd experienced for the last few hours.

It was as though the shout punctured him, and he deflated like a popped balloon, collapsing onto the plush scarlet sofa in a puddle of lanky limbs, faded, too-short jeans, and trademark maroon jumper. Ron always had struggled when it came to handling his emotions, and this was no different. If he lashed out, she wouldn't be at all surprised. His temper was looking for a convenient outlet, just ready to explode with all the devastation of a grenade.

Huffing impatiently, Harry relented, finishing, "You-Know-Who is after them, maybe we should get them first."

"Because we aren't searching for enough already?" Hermione said dryly, rolling her eyes, though it was a good excuse to leave and discuss all of this with Snape. Not to mention check on him after Pomfrey's deliberate and Luna's unintentional slight.

"Give it a rest, mate," Ron ordered.

"They're probably not even real," she added, crossing her arms. It was coming from Luna, after all.

"And if they are? Not sure I like my chances if he gets his hands on an unbeatable wand."

"Harry!"

"When I face him, I don't want him to have any extra advantages that I didn't at least try to stop him from having. I'm not planning on making it easier for him to win," Harry stated bluntly, boldly acknowledging that his death was a possibility. The words were an unsheathed knife, and they pierced her very soul, flaying it with unyielding, icy steel.

It was such a sobering thought that all she could do was agree, saying, "Yes, all right. I'll check. And don't say things like that. You're not going to lose."

"Hermione," he began wearily, willing her to accept a truth he had long ago and not make it more difficult for him by arguing, "I might. I'll do everything I can to finish him, but it might be left to someone else to strike the final blow. Knowing about the wand is important. I can feel it. It might be part of taking him down. What if this helps keep me alive? Or protects everyone else?"

The crimson shade of Ron's hair brought a flash of the Horcrux Ginny wavering to life right before her. Echos of the taunts it foretold about Harry getting everyone killed drifted through the room, filling the emptiness since none of the students were staying in the Room with them again yet. Resolve to prevent that fate steeled her spine.

"I've already agreed, Harry. I've trusted your judgement this far. I'm not about to start doubting you or stop looking out for you."

"I didn't mean now," Harry sighed guiltily when she scooped up the cloak where they'd dropped it on the floor only minutes ago.

"Like you didn't just push her into it," Ron muttered combatively.

"It's fine. Might as well be now. The library will be full again tomorrow, and I get the feeling that we don't have time to waste."

"I wanted to talk with you about the other things we heard tonight."

"Later. Like you said, this could be important," she insisted, not minding having an excuse to avoid that particular minefield of a discussion for a bit longer. "Mind him," she directed, tipping her chin in Ron's direction.

Perhaps they'd unload on each other now, and not take it out on her as they so often did. At the very least, they could probably both do with a bit of a chat right now. Harry would be feeling awful that Luna was hurt to get to him, and Ron was just as messed up over having it happen to the witch he'd gone and fallen for.

~

Snape looked stressed as he conversed with one of the former Head's portraits, but his head jerked around when she walked in, having made quick progress to get there.

"Leave us," he barked, summarily dismissing the regal woman, and she hastily exited, no doubt joining the others as they once more took over patrolling the castle.

Snape stared intently at Hermione, scanning her thoroughly from head to toe. An inherent question painted a bright, vivid colour across his words as he guessed, "You came up with the plan. It was a good one. Lovegood will be fine – relatively."

"I know. We saw her," Hermione admitted, and still surprised by the fact, marvelled, "We got lucky."

"Potter's luck never ceases to amaze," he quipped drolly.

"We were due for a bit," she retorted, declining the urge to argue that Harry's luck often ran in extremes, tending to be as bad as it was good in equal measures, but always, frustratingly, in extremes.

"Hmph. You were in here earlier?"

"With Harry, yes."

"He heard Draco's warning. That's how you knew. Draco… I'm shocked Potter trusted the news. He heard too much," he rambled, clearly replaying the encounter in his mind and noting all of the complications that had come from it, including fresh worries for Malfoy. Tension bracketed his mouth, and worry dug furrows around his eyes.

Once, he'd have ducked his head, using the curtains of his hair to shield his thoughts from her like iron gates protecting a fortress. But it had been months since he stopped hiding. Sympathy for the plight he felt tugged at her heart. Never would she have believed it possible before, but she was starting to care what happened to Malfoy as well. Without him, they might not have been able to rescue Luna.

All of a sudden, he sniped, "I can't believe you brought him here."

Hermione winced. She'd unintentionally put Snape in a more precarious position. Harry was so irrational where Snape was concerned. At least Snape appeared more frustrated than betrayed by her actions. He was trying to trust her.

"He needed to speak with Dumbledore. Harry needed to find out some things to move forward in our search," she explained, feeling compelled to also admit, "we were in the hospital wing when you helped Luna too."

That conversation, as well as his open concern when she'd arrived, reminded her about the things that had been said between Dumbledore and Phineas. Had they been referencing her? If so, both suggested that Snape held genuine feelings for her. Right then, she could almost believe it.

Almost.

It shouldn't be possible. He had no reason to care, not when he had carried around a torch for Lily since before Hermione was even born. But there was also no denying the bond they'd forged this year. There were days she spent more time conversing with Snape than both of her best mates combined.

But did she want him to care about her? She'd not thought about him romantically. Only physically. At least that's all she'd consciously done since she'd decided not to have a conversation about the night they'd spent together the prior month. But—

"Thank Merlin you were able to restrain Potter," he finally said, dispelling her fanciful notion. He was focused on the mission. She should check her priorities too. "How much has he deduced?"

Hermione took several measured breaths as her strange musings attempted to cling to her mind like long dips of treacle off a spatula for some unfathomable reason, but then she was back in the moment, grounded in reality.

"I'm not sure," she stated frankly, adding, "but he has all the pieces. It probably won't be long before he jumps to all the right conclusions. Assuming he doesn't let his personal feelings for you cloud him."

"Hmph. My cover shall be safe indefinitely if we're relying on that to protect my 'good' name," Snape drawled darkly, disgust for himself and Harry's intellect evident.

"He has questions. What should I tell him?"

"Nothing. Learning of our… association will not go over well. Potter and I have enough reasons to despise one another without adding you into the mix."

"I'm not sure that's an option at this point," Hermione warned, worrying her bottom lip.

If Harry sorted out that Snape was actually on their side, he'd also realise some of the information and ideas she'd shared must have come from him as well.

The Half-Blood Prince and Malfoy pulled all of Harry's attention last year. Would the same happen again? Already Harry was deviating from the path Dumbledore laid out because of a mysterious wand. What would —

"There's no reason for anyone to learn we've been shagging." The crude words were harsh, and his open sneer made her blink rapidly and feel the need to take several deep breaths before responding. He was being deliberately provoking. Sometimes she wondered if he was secretly a bear, irritable from having been woken too soon. Maybe the Marauders weren't the only unregistered animagus to occupy Hogwarts.

So much for her fanciful thinking and idly wondering if she might matter to him. She was his secret shame. A convenience. Nothing more.

Of course.

It should hurt, but that's what she'd signed up for when she'd entered into the arrangement. And considering the perks, she wasn't going to throw it away because her pride was a bit dented. At least she knew he desired her, even if he likely didn't want to. It was better than anything else she'd ever had. Not to mention their strange partnership was precisely what she needed these last few months. Her sanity's gratitude helped check her irritation.

But it only barely stilled the waspish retort souring her tongue.

"Of course not," she agreed stiffly, swallowing a taunt about comparing wand size with Ginny and Luna. As if their shagging was anyone else's business! She'd never been one for teenage gossip or expounding on her personal affairs – a fact he was very well aware of. "I meant that I need to start getting him to trust you and believe you're on our side. He'll figure out you've been helping us and that I'm the connection. Things would be a lot easier if I didn't need to continuously lie." Lying was never her strong point. Everyone saw right through her.

"He doesn't need to trust me. No one else does, and I don't see how that will aid us in any way."

So much self-hatred. She couldn't stay peeved at him in the face of it. He'd been treated so poorly for so long that he'd begun to believe the worst of himself. He'd never forgiven himself for the mistakes he made in his youth. Probably, it was a bit difficult when no one else would forget them either. Eternally damned.

Those mistakes were fresh in her mind. Had been since she'd retrieved his Potion's book before they'd destroyed the diadem. Whenever Harry had been distracted playing chess with Ron, she'd searched through it, looking for clues on who Snape had once been.

What she'd found was two different sets of handwritten notes that initially appeared to interact and build off of one another. Though the loopier set had vanished by chapter five. Right about the time that the spikier set began developing darker and more dangerous spells.

She couldn't believe she'd not noticed it the year before, but then she'd been too focused on Harry using the book to cheat to study it closely enough to notice. Knowing what little she did, Hermione had hazarded a guess that the second set of handwriting had belonged to Lily.

"You deserve credit for all you're doing, and for people to understand why."

"I deserve what I get." The sardonic response was punctuated with a single raised brow, the dark slash seeming to dare her to disagree.

And she did. Vehemently. She felt defensive on his behalf. He'd more than paid for his sins. His sacrifices should be acknowledged, admired even!

"Given what Harry learned about the prophecy last year, don't you think he should know the truth? He should know that everything you're doing is for her." The words were out before she'd fully processed what she was about to say. Her earlier thoughts of Lily must have been more present than she realised.

Snape was clearly stunned. He'd gone as still as a statue, one carved from ice cold enough to chill the room.

"Will you tell me about your relationship with Lily?" she dared to ask around her numb tongue, pressing forward now that she'd already opened the topic. For weeks she longed to hear the story. And it certainly wasn't a topic she would dare brooch a second time, so she might as well try her luck now. With the way things were headed, there might not be a second chance.

The only sign he gave that he heard her was the flare of his nostrils, which made his already noticeable nose even more prominent. Was he furious with her for prying? This was certainly not information that she was entitled to ask about. But curiosity had always been her downfall.

He didn't seem inclined to answer. The silence stretched on, and the longer it extended, the more she regretted her question.

Should she apologise and excuse herself?

What had she been thinking to tread into this snake-infested area? Had her earlier speculation that he might care about her made her behave like a silly twit comparable to Lavender? Or was she actually only concerned about Harry and Snape making peace? Any other reason —

"I don't usually speak of her to anyone," Snape said softly, thawing enough to turn his head far enough to spot the glass lily on his desk and stop her midthought.

Even though he couldn't see it, she nodded her acceptance. He wasn't one to share personal affairs either. This was one intriguing story that she was doomed to forever wonder about. His history, so shrouded in mystery, was compelling and fascinating in a way very little else had the ability to be while there was a war raging around them.

So she was genuinely surprised when he continued.

"But of course you realised. You are remarkably good at reading me."

Hermione wasn't so sure about that. He was such an enigma. Though she could usually detect when he was lying, so maybe there was something to it. A spy wouldn't have survived as long as Snape had if others could find him out as easily.

"We were eight the first time I saw her. She was cheating at jumping rope – trying to beat her sister – and I knew at once she was a witch. But it took me nearly a year before I dared speak to her," Snape recounted, the deep tones stretched out, wandering the lonely path down a memory far out of reach, as lost as a snowflake in a blizzard. "Mostly because of Petunia. She was always around, and Lily worshipped her… for whatever asinine reason."

"You didn't care much for her?" Hermione wondered, unable to stop herself. This was already something he'd inadvertently hinted at.

"She looked down her nose at me from the beginning. I was an unkempt little urchin, and she never let me forget I was trash."

"And yet she turned out to be the child abuser," Hermione muttered, pursing her lips in distaste.

"Some might argue I do the same," he countered, but she didn't want to pursue the same argument they'd already spent enough time debating, not when he was opening up about his past.

"What happened after that?"

"After we met? We were nearly inseparable. I taught her all I knew of the wizarding world. Several potions too, since we could get away with making them undetected. She had a knack for brewing."

That explained a few of her lingering questions. She'd wondered about Lily's writing being in the year six book when Harry had told her about Snape insulting Lily back in his fifth year. That's when she was assuming things turned between them. But if they were both inclined towards Potions, they probably worked ahead during the summers much as Hermione did herself. Overachievers, the lot of them.

Was that shared bond also part of why Snape hadn't fought harder against taking on the post of Potions Professor at Hogwarts? Was it merely another way to remember and honour Lily? Such devotion was awe-inspiring.

His heavy sigh recaptured her attention, and he sounded pained as he finally looked at her directly before continuing, "Everything changed after we arrived at Hogwarts. We barely saw each other. Only during the summers, away from our respective Housemates. Slytherins and Gryffindors have never gotten on, even before the Dark Lord gained in strength, though he was well on his way when we first arrived. Not that it mattered. Lily quickly made friends within her House to occupy her while at Hogwarts. She was very charismatic and kind, qualities that made her quite popular – something I was… not. I'm sure you can guess how it went from there – not too unlike Miss Weasley's crush on Potter when she first began here. Though our… relationship took a different path."

At her incredulous look, he nodded, humming, "Hmm, yes. You've guessed how I felt about her, and you are correct. She was so vastly different from everything I'd ever known in my life – light, warm, generous, happy. How could I not want her? I was obsessed with the idea that I could be that way too if I were with her. I wanted all of her attention and time, especially after we began drifting apart. The less I received, the more I craved. She made new friends, and I grew jealous, bitter. Then Potter. He was the very worst, to me in particular, and yet she chose him." At the last, he shook his head, sighing once more.

The longing to go back and change things was tangible. It wrapped around Hermione, weighing her down with a burden that could never be shed or unravelled. Death had seen to that. There would be no amends, regardless of the commitment Snape had demonstrated in his desire to fix the mistakes of his past.

Shallowly, uncertain if she truly wished to hear the answer, dreading what she knew it would be, but knowing she'd opened this door and had to see it through at this point, she breathed, "And afterward? Once she'd chosen him?"

"I felt powerless, and I wanted control. There were members of my House who recognized my talent and vulnerability," he admitted the latter with disgust, but she could clearly picture a lonely teenager being manipulated. "They convinced me that the Dark Arts were the best means to change what I despised about myself and my circumstances. Why choose misery when the alternative is there for the taking?

"The first time you truly use them properly, it takes a toll. All of your emotions are dark and violent and angry for a time after. It's easier to follow your baser instincts, and you feel so… superior when you give in. That is why they want the students using them. It's easier to corrupt their morals.

"When you give in, you don't let pesky things like guilt or regret weigh you down. And the deeper you go, the harder it becomes to see a way out. Eventually, you stop looking for one altogether. What's the point?"

The way he described them… well, it sounded like they were a drug. An addictive one at that. The rush he described, she recognized it from the spell she'd used to protect Harry with the Room. And that had been a mild one, hardly even worth considering as a Dark spell.

"And Lily? Did she do anything to help you?" Hermione couldn't imagine ever turning her back on her friends, regardless of any distance that might develop.

"Help? No. She tried to stop me… but we were barely even friends by that point. She hardly acknowledged me at school. I was angry with her for not returning my feelings… and I lashed out. She never forgave me," he confessed bitterly. Hermione couldn't tell if he was more angry with her or himself over this, but fortunately he explained. "I didn't give her a chance. It wasn't until I realised I was responsible for her being in danger that I came back to myself. Too late. He killed her."

"Do you still love Lily?"

"We hadn't spoken in years by the time she died. I still wanted her, wanted what I wished we could be, but those feelings were unrequited. Always."

"Limerence," Hermione whispered, the word seeming to fit the situation he was describing. She decided not to let her mind dwell on his use of the past tense. There was no sense in muddying things at this point. They had a good thing going.

"Yes. Yes, that's what it was. For a long time. Lily isn't the only reason I protect Potter, however. I want the Dark Lord defeated because he is a monster, and Dumbledore believes only the arrogant boy can succeed." Hermione bit back a grin at his disgruntlement over that.

Snape was bound to be sore over anyone suggesting that a Potter could accomplish something he could not. Especially when he'd witnessed firsthand over the years what little stock Harry put into his schoolwork and studies. Harry possessed a great deal of raw natural talent, but in her opinion, apart from Defence, he let most of it go to waste. It was a sentiment that Snape appeared to share, if a bit more rudely outspoken.

"Harry should hear this," she reiterated, but honestly doubted Snape would agree. The story was far too personal to voluntarily share with the son of the man who'd opened the door Snape willingly chose to walk through.

"And witness his disdain and mockery? Never," Snape vowed.

"Hmm," Hermione hummed, suspecting shock and understanding to be more in line with what her friend would feel, but Snape would never believe it. Instead, she asked, "Is helping Harry the promise you made Dumbledore? I remember him mentioning one."

"I vowed to atone for my mistake. She was my first and only friend for years. I couldn't save her, so I promised to protect her son and deliver Dumbledore's final message to Potter at the right moment."

"Final message?" Hermione prompted, startled.

Snape glanced away, ignoring her as he added, "Besides, I knew by then that the path I'd gone down wasn't the right one."

She knew better than to press. He'd already shared all that he had any intention of allowing her to learn about him this evening. It was so much more than she'd expected. "That's why you were so determined to stop me from using the Dark Arts."

"I have no desire to see you repeat the same mistakes that I made. I want better for you."

She was touched. He'd sounded so raw. Reliving the past must have opened all the old wounds, the scars split anew to bleed freely. Perhaps this time they'd heal properly.

She was in awe of how different the man before her was from the one he described from his youth. He'd highlighted all of his faults, not shying away from the shame that helped shape him. Now he was all strength and bravery and loyalty.

"You're the reason we're going to win. People should know what a good man you are," Hermione said softly, breaching the distance separating them to cover his hand with hers.

His hand turned at once, his long fingers weaving tightly through her own. Still, she heard the resignation when he insisted, "No one will ever believe it. There's simply too much. I failed too many times."

Recalling her desire to check on him, she began, "What Madam Pomfrey said —"

"I don't wish to speak of it. That was nothing out of the ordinary," he interrupted, breaking contact abruptly and waving her off as he retreated to stand behind his desk, placing a physical barrier between them as he erected the walls around his vulnerable emotions once more. "If that is what you came to discuss, there is no need."

"I've a few things I could use your advice on, actually. I'm surprised You-Know-Who had them take Luna," she remarked, determined to set her mind to more recent events, and not let him see his words had unsettled her or press him on a topic he didn't want to engage in. Not when he'd granted her a glimpse of the man behind the aloof mask. "Have you any guesses why it was her and not Ginny?"

Retrieving Luna had been too easy. And Voldemort wasn't even in the country. It made no sense for him to set a trap for Harry if he wasn't around to kill Harry before he had a chance to escape from him yet again. Nor the fact that it was Luna instead of Ginny who was taken. If they'd gotten ahold of the youngest Weasley, they'd have had a chance to take out the whole Weasley clan and Harry. It would have decimated the Order.

"It was probably a matter of convenience," Snape suggested, pondering the situation and considering all of the pieces involved as he came to that conclusion, adding, "and I doubt this came from the Dark Lord. It feels much more like a desperate attempt on Lucius's behalf to regain favour and his former standing in the ranks. He despises seeing his sister-in-law receiving the deference he feels entitled to."

Bellatrix. The favourite. Not for the first time, Hermione suspected that Bellatrix was the key to finding the cup. If only they could do something about it! She just couldn't figure out how.

"Taking Luna might not have been on his orders, but I'm betting holding Mr. Ollivander was," Hermione remarked, interested in hearing Snape's perspective.

"I was unaware that the Malfoys were… hosting him," he admitted, more troubled than she'd expected by the news. "Why?"

"You-Know-Who is looking for the elder wand, and questioning him."

Snape turned to Dumbledore's portrait, but the frame was empty. He'd likely not have been as candid earlier if Dumbledore had been hovering about and bearing witness. She wondered what Snape hoped to ask the deceased wizard now, but figured he'd share if he deemed it relevant or found the answers he sought.

"Surely it's not real, but —"

"It could be."

"Oh. It's supposed to be unbeatable. If it does exist, and he gets it… Harry…" she swallowed, unable to continue.

Snape glanced down, letting his dark hair fall forward to shield his face as he replied, "Potter must face him regardless, but if it helps, remember nothing is without loopholes. The potion we created to destroy the Horcruxes is proof."

His concealment wasn't lost on her, particularly since she'd thought of how he'd stopped hiding his thoughts just that night, but the mention of the potion derailed her before she could press him about it.

"Loopholes. Yes, that's something. But maybe… well, you see, Luna wants Dobby to get Mr. Ollivander out of the Manor too. I didn't think it was a good idea, but if he has information You-Know-Who wants, maybe we should. It could prevent him from finding it, then —," she said quickly, thoughts rapidly spilling out like an overflowing cup, but stopped when Snape shook his head. "What is it?"

"I fear whom he would hold responsible for that failure," he admitted, not meeting her eye as he made his confession. "There will be severe consequences as it is if he learns Lovegood was lost the same day she was captured."

Malfoy was already in the castle, which she'd seen for herself when he warned Snape about Luna, so Snape's concern must be for Narcissa. A twinge twisted her heart as she considered Snape romantically involved with yet another woman.

But she tossed it off. Things between them were very clearly defined. She had no business trying to make more of it than there was. A mistake she was determined not to repeat, even if the idea kept persistently nagging at her.

"Then we don't send him," she said decisively, justifying it further with the simple practicality that she'd thought of earlier, "and this way Dobby will be safe to help Harry should he need it in the future."

"Yes. I'm glad you've the sense to see the situation clearly."

"Hopefully, Mr. Ollivander continues to be unhelpful in the meantime. Do you know anything concrete about the Deathly Hallows?"

"Enchanted items. Trifles," he said, waving a dismissive hand. But he searched a bookshelf regardless, pausing briefly before retrieving a book and extending it to her. "Here, you can read about them. See for yourself that the wand isn't truly unbeatable, even in a story."

The entry was very short, taking her only a few minutes to scan through as she flipped the pages and learned the tale of the three brothers. It was so obviously a metaphor that she couldn't honestly give it any credence. But for some reason, Voldemort was. And now Harry likely would be too.

Snape was right. The brother with the wand didn't possess it for very long before he was the one who ended up dead.

"He died anyway."

"Yes. As did everyone else who came to possess it, according to the legends."

"Do you have those?"

"No, but they are much the same. The wand, at least, can be tracked, even if the other objects can't."

Except for the cloak. Harry had that, didn't he?

Knowing that was unsettling. It was too much of a coincidence. Regardless, this wand couldn't possibly be worth the distraction when they had Horcruxes to find and destroy. Especially now. The urgency she'd felt earlier surged in her veins. It was impossible to ignore when it rushed through her with every beat of her heart.

The hard part was going to be convincing Harry.

What would sway him? If she had any idea about Hufflepuff's cup, she probably could. But the only possibility she could come up with was Bellatrix. Snape had unconsciously protected the diadem. Lucius had possessed the diary. The insane witch was favoured even more than the other two. It had to be her. But where? And how could they gain access to her?

Hermione caught sight of Snape out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her intently, the faintest curve of his lips hinted at a smile. What would it be like if he really did care? How would that even work? She couldn't imagine Snape joining her for picnics at the Burrow or making small talk with Harry or sharing—

Merlin, she must be more sleep-deprived than she realised to be having such thoughts again for the countless time in the last day. Or had one day become two at this point?

"I've got to go," Hermione said quickly, trying in vain to banish the stray wonderings her mind had supplied her with.

"Granger." His smile grew, almost amused. Clearly, he had no idea what she'd just been imagining. But that look was enough to make her breath catch. "You think too much."

Then he kissed her.

Hard.

His mouth slanted over hers, earning a groan when he stroked his tongue fleetingly against her own. Of their own accord, her hands fisted in his long hair, tangling in the strands, and her body pressed against him, aligning them fully. Snape was solid. Real. And she could feel how much he wanted her, the thick length branding her stomach where it pressed insistently, impossible to ignore or mistake.

She wanted him just as much.

Her head was a whirlwind after the last few hours. She'd not stopped long enough to allow herself to feel any of the turmoil, but now it was working itself out. Her body had come to expect an interaction with Snape to result in feeling more grounded. No wonder she'd fallen into such strange musings before. This was what she needed. What her body craved.

And Snape never disappointed.

"Weren't you leaving?" he murmured huskily, though his hands clutched her waist tighter, equally unwilling to end the moment.

"Was I?"

Impossible. Her body was readying for him, her channel clenching in anticipation, weeping with need. There was no way she could leave now.

"Yes. Go." He sounded so impassive, but the flinch of his hand, gripping her momentarily tighter, betrayed him. As did his eyes. Liquid fire, burning for her. They called his bluff.

"No," she refused, pressing on his shoulders as she jumped up to wrap her legs around his waist. He caught her easily, hooking his arms under her thighs and sliding his hands up to cup and knead her bum.

"No," he agreed, pressing his cock more deliberately against her core.

"I need you, Snape. Just be quick."

Not just because time wasn't on their side. She was ready to explode from the intensity of her sudden desire.

He walked her back until he reached his desk, depositing her on the edge of the worn surface. His hands splayed over her hips, thumbs stroking the crease of her thighs enticingly, scant centimetres from where she was drenched and aching for him.

"But what if I want to taste you? This won't be quick then," he taunted, leaning in to whisper the wicked idea directly into her ear. "We'd need hours if I did what I truly wanted to do to you."

"Fuck," she shivered, gripping his silken hair and guiding him to kiss her again. He complied readily, breaths jagged when she rolled her hips, rubbing herself against him in eagerness for more.

She wanted to taste him too. Lick his length and wrap her lips around the tip. Feel the warmth and pulsing of his hardness against her tongue. To suck on the head and swallow his seed when she brought him to the point of his release. To make him groan and cry out her name as she made him lose control.

His long fingers freed the button of her jeans, and she levered herself up to help him pull them off, never breaking contact with his mouth. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened to him, letting their mouths mimic what their bodies were about to do. He tasted spicy and woody, the lingering notes from the shot of Firewhisky he must have downed before she'd arrived. It made her dizzy and lightheaded.

"Yes," he breathed, gasping for air when he broke the kiss to look at her.

She was panting as well, sucking in huge lungfuls of air. At least until his hand moved to cup her sex, the heel rubbing her clit as he traced her entrance through the wet satin of her panties. Then she was whimpering and mewling like a needy kitten.

She couldn't wait. The need was too great.

"Please. Inside me. Ahh, now," she begged, desperate to have him fill her completely.

Unabashedly, she pressed harder against his hand, rocking and rolling her hips to chase the orgasm that was so close she could practically taste it. He let her, nudging her knees farther apart to make it easier for her to ride the heel of his palm.

"Ugh!"

"Such intoxicating sounds you make," he murmured huskily, leaving a trail of blazing, open-mouthed kisses down her neck.

She wanted to be filled, her core clenching hungrily around nothing, but he kept his fingertips ghosting faintly over her. It wouldn't take much, and she'd plummet right over the edge. Seeking more, Hermione let her hands roam under his crisp shirt, grateful that he'd already discarded his heavy wool robes, and her nails scraped down his back until he hissed and arched towards her.

"Not yet," he denied, gripping her hip to still her, his hand retreating to just out of reach.

"No," she whined, straining to feel the return of pressure against her, but he didn't relent.

Waiting another two heartbeats, his finger returned, changing the path it was taking as it danced over her slit, nothing more than a hint of what she craved.

It wasn't enough.

"Snape." His name was a plea, and he ghosted his lips over hers briefly in response before fully kissing her again.

She had just enough sense to work his trousers off and wrap a fist around his length, gripping him in just the way she knew he preferred. His hips bucked forward, using her hand to find the friction he craved as well, and she let him do it twice more before she began stroking him in earnest.

And all the while he teased her. Gently, he prodded her entrance, the sodden fabric blocking his way, and his touch only hinting at the pleasure she was about to feel. Spreading her thighs even wider, she hoped he'd answer her silent entreaty, but he just chuckled and altered the pattern and pressure he teased her with yet again.

"Now," she begged, "please."

"I suppose tasting you will have to wait. One of these days we're going to truly take our time," Snape declared, the words muffled by her lips. His hand stilled then retreated entirely, and not two seconds later, cool air blew over her damp core, now exposed after Snape had vanished her knickers. "Not a hasty moment stolen in the middle of the night. No. I'm going to spend hours exploring your body and make you come until you can't possibly stand it anymore."

"Ugh, yes. All day in bed with you, promise me," she demanded, wishing it was actually a possibility rather than a pleasure-riddled fantasy stirred up in the heat of the moment.

A day when they weren't stressing about the war or rushing so as not to be caught. A day when this was nothing more than about them being together because they enjoyed it, rather than needed it. A day where she could indulge in every fantasy she'd dreamed up in the last few months.

How did anyone function normally when they had the luxury of doing precisely what Snape had suggested?

She longed to find out.

She longed to find out with him.

"I promise," he agreed at once, surprising her with how sincere he sounded. But it was quickly dispelled, replaced with impatience as he gripped her hips, holding her tightly as he said, "But for now."

Then he was in her, joining them. Their bodies fused into one.

Finally.

It was quick, just as she'd initially demanded. He rode her with rough thrusts, and she felt the hair on his thighs rub tantalisingly against her calves where her legs hooked low on his hips. Her hands grasped any part of him she could, anchoring herself as he plunged deeply inside her and she rocked up to meet him with equal fervour.

"Ahh," she moaned, lifting her chest to meet his questing hand that had reached inside her jumper to fondle her breast. The breath she'd been taking halted, and her inner walls quivered around his length, clenching rhythmically when his fingers squeezed and tugged on her nipple. "So good."

Hermione's teeth caught his earlobe, worrying it lightly until he groaned and shuddered, his movements turning jerky and erratic. She was so primed from his teasing before that she came undone in a rush of heat and ecstasy.

Warm honey flowed through her veins, sweet and satisfying, and her limbs felt heavy and lethargic, boneless as a cat lazing in a patch of sunlight.

She was still shaking slightly as he finished shortly after, the tendons in his neck straining. Hermione watched his unguarded expression and was slightly amazed that she was the one he'd allowed to see him so vulnerable now that he'd grown into such a powerful and capable wizard.

Unable to resist, she leaned in to kiss the hollow of his throat and pull him close.

Snape went easily into her embrace, burying his face in her neck, and letting his warm, quick breaths fan over her exposed nipple, her jumper and bra tucked a bit uncomfortably below from his earlier exploration. Not that she minded much right then. She could stay like this for ages. Snape's fingers continued drifting lazily over her thighs while hers threaded through his hair to scratch the back of his neck.

"I have potions to brew. It's already nearly dawn," he said wearily, letting his hand stroke her thigh a final time before he moved away, putting a gulf of space between them as their little bubble popped, the time out coming to an end as it always inevitably did.

"I could help," she offered, hoping to ease his burden as he just had for her. Every thought in her head had streamlined. It was easier to picture a clear way forward with each step prioritized. But that could wait a bit longer if he needed her.

"No," he denied, straightening his clothes and unwilling to look at her as she did the same. Did he consider the work penance for what was happening under his tenure? Probably. Regardless, it was pointless to argue, so she headed towards the door. She'd just opened it when his quiet voice stopped her. "Granger. Thank you for coming up with the plan to get Lovegood. Allowing her to remain there… I did not agree with Dumbledore. And I… was concerned you might do something foolish."

"I didn't think it would work," she said frankly.

"Luck," he echoed her earlier statement, likely marvelling at how little damage had been inflicted and their improbable success. It could have gone differently. It could have been so much worse. Devastating even.

"And next time?"

"Do what you can to protect Potter without putting yourself in danger," he ordered, tone brooking no disobedience.

What would he say if he knew she'd volunteered to go to Malfoy Manor herself?

"And protect your cover," she added, hoping it was something she could do. Luna had said it best – she'd die to protect her friends. Hermione felt the same.

"Not at your expense."

She heard the unspoken words. He felt that he was expendable, but that she wasn't.

No, there wasn't anything romantic between them, but they were partners. And partners looked after one another.

"I can't do this without you," she admitted softly.

Hopefully, he understood what she was saying too. His life mattered. To her, at least.