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Chapter Text

It had been forever since Hermione had taken the time to bake. Most of the whisking and mixing she’d done by magic, but the last step – getting the batter out of the bowl and into the baking tray – she did by hand.

The brownie tray went into the oven and Hermione could finally turn to the main event. Indulgently, she scraped the spoon along the inside of the bowl, carefully picking up every little bit of batter that was left, and stuck the spoon in her mouth. She’d forgotten how absolutely heavenly this combination of sugar, butter and cocoa was. A pleasurable sigh escaped her.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” said a sonorous voice behind her. 

Hermione whirled around. There stood Professor Snape, quirking an eyebrow. She hastily pulled the spoon out of her mouth, accidentally producing a loud, wet smack. 

Right. Tonight was as good a night as any to hand in her resignation to Minerva and move out of the country, never to be seen again.

“You don’t work here anymore.” Her voice sounded more reprimanding than she’d intended. 

Professor Snape mockingly inclined his head. “An astute observation from the brilliant Miss Granger.”

“ Professor Granger.”

“Of course. Professor .”

“Well, then what are you doing here?” 

His black eyes trained on her, he said, “I’ve recently begun supplying the Hospital Wing with potions and was making my fortnightly delivery. Minerva allows me to take something from the elves’ stores every now and then.” He leaned close to her. Reaching up past her head, he retrieved a bottle of dark liquid. “Elf-made wine is so hard to find on the free market.” 

Hermione let out a shaky breath. Once, a very long time ago, she’d heard Fred Weasley say that Professor Snape ‘probably smelled like old shoes and regret’. As of now, Hermione knew that not to be true. At all. He smelled like herbs and earth and something citrusy. “How, um…” She sorted her expression into something neutral. “How come you’re the one making the potions for Poppy? I thought she did that herself. And why hasn’t she commissioned the new Potions Mistress to do it?”

Professor Snape raised his eyebrows. “Poppy would like to lessen her workload. As for the new Potions Mistress – you have met the woman, I assume?”

“I have, yes,” she conceded.

“Suffice it to say that neither Poppy nor Minerva were satisfied with what Professor Corbyn-Griffiths has to offer in the way of healing potions.”

“Well, I hear that the last Potions Master has set impossibly high standards.” 

Before Professor Snape could utter whatever cutting retort was doubtlessly on his tongue, the oven chimed, opened its door and ejected the brownie tray. Hermione warded her hands against the heat before lifting the tray onto the counter, where she cut two pieces of brownie and put them on plates. Wordlessly, she held one of them out to Professor Snape, who, after staring at it for a second, accepted it.

“Are you in the habit of invading the elves’ workspace at these indecent hours?” he asked as he sat down. 

“Only on especially shitty days.” Hermione plopped down opposite him.

“Indeed? I suppose you’ve found that teaching is not as easy as it looks?”

Hermione shot him a dark look. “I never expected teaching to be easy. I tried it on Harry and Ron for six years, after all. Those two so closely resemble dunderheads, I was rather well-prepared for a classroom full of them.”

That earned her the hint of a smirk from Professor Snape. Now that he’d steered the conversation towards the reason she’d craved brownies today, her mind was so preoccupied she hardly felt like eating anymore.

Before she’d left on her recent journey to Australia, her friends had reassured her that whatever she chose to do, it would be the right thing, and that they’d fully support her. But she couldn’t quite shake the suspicion that they were too biassed in her favour, too used to her always having the correct answer to realise that this time, intellect wasn’t enough to save the day. She’d second-guessed her decision ever since her return, tossing and turning too many nights while she ruminated about it. She kept arriving at the same conclusion, even though it twisted her gut with guilt. That was probably why she hadn’t confessed to her friends about her decision yet.

Professor Snape would not extend her the courtesy of a mild judgement to spare her feelings. If she wanted an objective opinion, he was the perfect sounding board. And, given how closed-off he was, no one else would hear about what she’d done.

She took a deep breath. “No, today is the day I decided not to give my parents their memories back and to let them live happily ever after in Australia instead.”

“So it’s true,” he said. “I heard that you had obliviated your parents. A bold move.”

Hermione swallowed, shooting him a quick look. “When the second war broke out, all I could think of was to protect them as quickly and effectively as possible. There may have been better solutions, but our world had changed so much in such a short time… I didn’t dare wait a day longer than absolutely necessary. I was terrified he might torture them for information about me.” Although she was aware that she was justifying her actions just as much to herself as to him, saying it out loud helped to ease the guilt, at least for a moment.

Professor Snape inclined his head. “That was a very real possibility.” For a moment, he stared at the crumbs on his plate, wringing his interlaced hands as if debating with himself whether to speak his mind. Eventually, he only said, “The brownies – your mother’s recipe, I assume?”

“No, actually. The recipe is from a magazine – I adjusted it a bit to make it better. They’re my comfort food, that’s all. My mother wasn’t much of a baker. All around not very motherly.”

“Did this fact play into your decision to let them live out their lives in Australia?”

Hermione pondered him for a moment. His face was neutral, no sneer to be seen. And now that she’d opened the floodgates, her mind was overflowing with things she was desperate to talk about. Something about the fact that he wasn’t in her life, that his judgement, even if it were harsh, ultimately meant nothing to her, emboldened her to reply.

“Maybe. But it was mostly because they seemed so happy. I watched them for several weeks. They are embedded in their community, have a dentist practice that is running well; they even joined a choir. Whenever I saw them, they had such an air of serenity about them that I do believe they are genuinely happy.” Bitterness had crept into her voice.

“Happier than when they were here and knew they had a daughter.”

Trust Professor Snape to lay his finger in her wound with such precision. She got up and went to the counter, cutting another two pieces of brownie.

“Me being a witch messed up their vision for my future. I hardly ever managed to make them understand any of the things I learned at Hogwarts. And whenever I told them about my friends or classmates, I could tell they were mostly worried about what influence these people had on me. I’ve felt removed from them for… ever, basically.”

Professor Snape gave a deep hum that sounded almost sympathetic. To her surprise, he bent down and retrieved the bottle of elf-made wine from his knapsack. After conjuring two glasses, intricately decorated, he poured them both a healthy dose. 

“Oh… thank you. Are you sure you want to waste this wine on me?”

“If you appreciate its rich taste and the solace it brings, it won’t be wasted.”

“Right…” Hermione picked up her glass. 

So did Professor Snape. “To independence from parental opinions,” he said. 

“To independence,” echoed Hermione, and drank. The wine was delicious indeed, just the right combination of sweet and tangy, with an exquisite aftertaste.

Silence ensued, pierced by a deep sigh from Hermione – it had escaped her before she could stop herself. To mask the awkwardness, she lifted her glass and took a long sip. The effects were taking hold much faster than with regular wine. It wasn’t a feeling of drunkenness, of getting light-headed and giddy. Rather, the elf-made concoction calmed her from deep within, dulling the tingling of her nerves and relaxing her muscles.

She would later blame the wine for opening her mouth and letting out the words, “Where are your parents?” Immediately regretting it, she jerked forward, starting to stammer an apology.

Professor Snape, however, simply looked at her, his brows raised the tiniest bit. “Dead,” he answered. “And have been for a long time.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I’m sure they would have been proud of everything you did for us during the war.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “I doubt it.” Staring into the dark depths of the large kitchen, he drank from his wine.

“Shit,” Hermione murmured sympathetically.

He slowly shook his head. “I have stopped caring long since. Seeking validation from authority figures only ever leads to grief. You’d do well to try and let go of that desire.” 

“I wish I knew how. Do you have any advice?” She laughed dryly.

“I killed the last person who had that role in my life. I do not recommend you do the same.”

His words had been uttered in a perfectly even tone but the sudden hardness in his expression told a different story.

“I kind of already did that, though,” Hermione said quietly. “I mean, my parents aren’t dead, but they have disappeared as completely from my life as if they were. And I’m the one who made that happen.”

It took a long time before he replied. “You had no other choice.”

“Just like you.”

He inclined his head. 

They sat in silence for a while, raising their wine glasses to their lips every now and then. 

Professor Snape asked, “Are you on good terms with your colleagues?”

“Yes. Some more than others, of course. Why do you ask?

“Might they be willing to listen to you, should you be in need of talking to someone?”

“Yes, I suppose they might. My friends, too.”

“Good,” he said as he got up and vanished his wine glass with a subtle wave of his wand. After storing the bottle in his knapsack, he gave Hermione one last look. “You are not bound by any vows, magical or otherwise, that forbid you to speak of your troubles. Make use of that fact.”

“Okay. Thanks,” said Hermione, somewhat shaken by his sudden preparation for departure. She almost jumped up from her seat. 

“Good luck, Professor Granger.” He strode towards the kitchen door and was gone.

Hermione drank the last drops of the wine, then got up too. She took the glass to her quarters with her, unsure why. It would be gone in the morning, faded out of existence because its conjurer was too far away, and had forgotten all about it.

Chapter Text

Later that week, Hermione sat grading Arithmancy homework when orange flames sprang up in her fireplace. “Mione, you there?” 

Ron’s voice always made her stomach flutter. She jumped up, almost upsetting her ink pot, and fell to her knees on the hearth rug. “I’m here,” she called, wincing at the awkward shrillness in her voice.

Ron’s face appeared in the flames. “Hi there,” he said. 

“Hi.” Hermione grinned.  

“So, I fancied a night out and could use some charming company. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who can help with that?”

Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I might be able to assist…”

“Brilliant. Put on something nice, and don’t take too long with your make-up.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes!”

Ron’s face disappeared and Hermione hurried into her quarters, which were right beside her office. Rifling through her clothes, her heart beating quickly, she pulled out a dress Ron had once complimented and put it on. A bit of mascara and lip gloss would have to suffice – she didn’t want to keep him waiting. A glance at her watch told her she’d only taken fifteen minutes to get ready. Quite satisfied with herself, she used the fireplace in her living room to travel to Ron’s flat.

“About time,” Ron grinned. He took Hermione’s chin in his hand for a moment and looked her in the eye, but then turned away to grab his jacket. 

“Where are we going?” asked Hermione. 

“Some Ministry bigshot is having a party and invited the entire Auror office. I wasn’t going to go at first, but then I got bored, so I thought, why not. At least now, the party will be in full swing and all the speeches will be done with. Come on, I’ll apparate us.” He held out his arm for Hermione. 

The happy buzz of several hundred voices greeted them. People were scattered at tables, along the bar and on the dance floor – quite a contrast to Hermione’s quiet, dark office. She briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax and focus on the fact that she was here with Ron. In the past years, she had done her best to keep up with his spontaneity, but every time he whisked her away at a moment’s notice, it still took her a while to get used to the sudden change in scenery – especially since Ron preferred to be among lots of people.

However, the last thing she wanted was for him to think that she wasn’t grateful about the night out he was treating her to. Luckily, he was distracted by a passing waiter from whose tray he fished two glasses of champagne. He handed one to Hermione, toasting, “To tonight!” and took a large gulp. “Let’s see whether we can find some agreeable company, shall we? Harry and Ginny should be around here somewhere.”

“Oh, I’d also like to dance a bit,” said Hermione. “Can we do that once we’ve had a chat with them?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Ron took her hand and started to walk slowly through the large ballroom, sipping his champagne and letting his gaze travel over the guests. 

Hermione was the one to spot Harry and Ginny first.

“Good one, Mione!” 

Ginny looked lovely in a golden dress, her hair falling onto her shoulders in elegant waves. With a pang, Hermione realised her own hair must be in a horrible frizz. She hadn’t tended to it since the morning. She’d have to do some magic on it later, in the bathroom.

Ginny hugged her and held her hands for a moment, asking, “How have you been, Hermione? I haven’t seen you in months! ”

They sat down. Ginny and Harry took turns talking about the latest plans they had for Grimmauld Place. Hermione remembered the strange, confusing time before their fifth year at Hogwarts, when they had first begun to attack the centuries of clutter and grime at the old Black family home. She had been so young then. The war had just started, making everything seem so precarious. It had been there, at Grimmauld Place, that Hermione had first discovered her feelings for Ron. His presence beside her now made her feel happy and sad all at once.

“Enough about our house,” Harry eventually declared. “How was Australia? How are your parents?”

A breath caught in Hermione’s throat as she remembered Professor Snape’s advice to speak of her troubles with someone who might want to listen. But it hardly seemed like an appropriate topic for a party. Nonetheless, she started telling them about how happy her parents were and how, during her stay, she had felt more and more that the kindest thing to do would be to let them live out the life they had made for themselves.

“Good for them, right? It sounds like you did the right thing,” said Ron. “I could use another drink. Anyone else?” 

He got up. Hermione did, too. At the bar, a woman stood talking to the barkeeper, her prettily arranged golden locks once again reminding Hermione that she should tend to her hair. As the woman turned her head, her eyes fell on Ron and Hermione and her face split into a large grin.

“Hi Lavender,” said Hermione. “I didn’t know you worked at the Ministry!”

“Hermione! So good to see you both!” She kissed the air beside their cheeks to greet them. “My boyfriend is the one who works at the Ministry. He had the audacity to burn himself severely enough yesterday that I had to come here without him.”

“Oh, is he all right?”

Lavender waved away Hermione’s concern. “He’s fine. It was just a welcome reason for him not to attend. He doesn’t like parties.” She rolled her eyes.

“You can always tag along with us,” Ron offered.

Hermione wanted to give him a little kick, but didn’t know how to do so discreetly. This was her time with Ron. She got so little of it, and now Lavender was butting in?

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Lavender said. “But I’m fine, I’m sitting with my boyfriend’s colleagues. Besides, I don’t want to be the third wheel,” she grinned. “I’m glad to see you two are finally an item. Took you long enough!”

“Um, we…” Hermione’s face got warm. Lavender had no idea what wasps’ nest she had just disturbed. 

As she struggled to find the right words, Ron cut in. “We don’t really want to label things, you know,” Ron said. “We’re young and have a lot of catching up to do, what with the war and all taking up so much of our teenage years. It’s better to be free.”

Hermione’s heart sank, but she maintained her smile.

Lavender nodded slowly. “Whatever works for you two, right? Ah, here are our drinks.” 

The bartender set three glasses down in front of them. Lavender gave them a confused look, then started shuffling them. “This is yours, I think, Won-Won.” She slid Ron’s drink over to him, then laughed. “Oh Merlin, I was such a dork back then, wasn’t I!”

“Yes, you were, Lav-Lav,” Ron joined in her laughter. Hermione forced her smile to be wider, making her cheek muscles cramp. 

Lavender took a sip. “Well, don’t let me distract you any longer. It was great seeing you again!”

Hermione’s smile finally slipped. As Ron handed her drink to her, he frowned. “Don’t start again, Mione, yeah? Not tonight. I just want to have a good time.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Ron put his finger underneath her chin and tipped her head up so she would look at him. “Hey,” he said softly. “You know you’re special to me, right?” He gave her an indulgent look that made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. On the heels of that feeling came the bittersweet pain she so often felt when Ron was with her.

“I know. I just wish—I can’t help but feel that I like you more than you like me.”

Ron frowned sympathetically. “And yet, it was you I asked to come with me tonight. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Of course it does…” Hermione wanted to look down but Ron still held her chin. 

“Then there’s no problem between us, is there? Come on, let’s go back to our table.”

He took her hand and they joined Ginny and Harry again. Hermione decided to put her misgivings out of her mind. She was here with Ron, who had wanted her to accompany him tonight. She couldn’t stand in her own way any longer – it was time to begin enjoying herself. She joined the conversation and after a while, it got easier.

Midnight was nearing and Hermione started getting drowsy. “Can we dance for a bit?” she asked. “I need to get my blood flowing.”

“You go ahead,” Ron replied. “I don’t fancy a dance right now.”

Hermione wanted to protest, but Ginny had jumped up and taken her hand. “Sounds lovely! I haven’t danced in ages.”

The two women and Harry took to the dance floor. The longer Hermione danced and the more she let herself be carried away by the music, the lighter she felt. It would be all right. Ron would come around. He would have to, at some point. His mother wouldn’t let him lead a life without commitment for too long.

Finally, Hermione was too tired to keep going. There was a pile of ungraded homework still on her desk, which she would now have to get to first thing in the morning.

“Already?” Ron pouted. “The evening is young, isn’t it? I thought maybe you might want to come to mine for a nightcap?”

Suddenly awake again, Hermione couldn’t agree fast enough. They said goodbye to Harry and Ginny at the large fireplace, and each pair travelled to their own destination. 

In Ron’s flat, Hermione sat on the sofa while Ron fetched a bottle of wine adorned with a pathetic-looking ribbon. As he poured, he said, “They gave these to us as a gift when we finished our first year of Auror training. It has to be drunk at some point, right?”

They clinked their glasses. Hermione was pretty tipsy already, but being in Ron’s flat was worth every hangover.

“Crazy seeing Lavender tonight, huh,” he said. “She seemed happy.”

“She did,” Hermione agreed. She had to reign herself in not to break into a monologue about how Ron could be that happy too if only he opened himself up to her and agreed to be in a real relationship. She mustn’t hassle him.

“This light really flatters you,” he said. 

Hermione looked at him in surprise. “Thank you.”

“You can be very sexy if you try.”

Her face got hot. “I haven’t gotten round to fixing my hair tonight.”

Ron gently pulled on a curl and let it spring back. “Too late now. I’d only mess it up anyway.” He leaned forward and kissed her. 

It was finally happening! How she longed for these moments, when Ron was with her entirely, all his attention on her. She wanted more, more – it was never enough. Overwhelmed by an affection so strong that it hurt, she broke the kiss and embraced him, held him close.

Ron patted her back, chuckling quietly. “What’s this now?” He turned his face to find her mouth with his again, pushing her away by her shoulders so he could kiss her. He came closer, making her lean back and lie down. His mouth strayed from her face as he started kissing her neck and collarbone.

“You’re making me crazy,” he mumbled. His words shot through her body like lightning. They undressed quickly and Ron descended on her, briefly dipping his finger between her legs. “You’re ready,” he grinned before lining himself up and entering her in one swift movement. 

He panted, his eyes closed, while he moved in quick, shallow thrusts. Hermione made little noises to assure him that she was enjoying herself, trying to angle her hips so that his cock would hit in just the right way. Soon, his grunts announced he was finishing. 

With a pleased sigh, he got up from the sofa and put his underwear back on. “That was great.”

She smiled at him, wishing for him to come to her again, lie by her side, kiss her again. Instead, he drained his wine glass and picked up Hermione’s knickers from the floor, eyeing them. “Are these the ones I bought for you?”

“Er—” Hermione didn’t get to reply that, no, those had been too small for her, before Ron grinned widely, saying, “You gotta admit I have good taste.” He winked and tossed them at her. They landed on her stomach. 

She swallowed, getting dressed while carefully maintaining the peacefully happy expression she’d trained her features into. He needed his sleep – being an Auror came with a lot of responsibility, after all. The day when he’d ask her to stay the night was bound to come. Soon.

When she was finished, Ron was already in his bathroom, brushing his teeth. She went to stand in the door. Ron grinned at her happily and waved. 

“Well…” Hermione said. “If you ever need company again…”

Ron spit out the toothpaste. “You’re my girl!” he finished her sentence. “Night, Mione!”

“Night.” She left through his fireplace. The way he had said, “You’re my girl” echoed in her head until she went to sleep.

Chapter Text

Last time:

Ron was already in his bathroom, brushing his teeth. She went to stand in the door. Ron grinned at her happily and waved. 

“Well…” Hermione said. “If you ever need company again…”

Ron spit out the toothpaste. “You’re my girl!” he finished her sentence. “Night, Mione!”

“Night.” She left through his fireplace. The way he had said, “You’re my girl” echoed in her head until she went to sleep. 

In the six days that had passed since the Ministry party, Ron hadn’t been in need of her company once. Every passing day added more hypothetical scenarios to Hermione’s anxious imagination. Maybe his work was extremely stressful. Or what if he’d gotten injured? Although, if she was honest, she’d prefer that over a different possibility – that he’d gotten tired of her. The idea which gnawed on her brain with the sharpest teeth was that he’d met someone else. Someone who was prettier, thinner, more fun and generally lower-maintenance than she was.

She had to break out of this carousel of anxiety. The only way to gauge how he felt was to ask him. And who said that only he could decide when they’d spend time together? Feeling defiant, she picked up parchment and quill and wrote a quick note. Nothing too intimate; she didn’t want to pressure him. A movie at a Muggle theatre should be fun. There was an action movie that opened next week Saturday – he’d enjoy that. Once her short letter was finished, she sent it from the school owlery. Hopefully, Ron wouldn’t take too long to reply.

But Hermione needn’t have worried. That same evening, her fireplace sprung into flames. Her heart leapt when she heard Ron’s voice and she hurried to answer him. 

“Hey Mione…” He didn’t sound happy.

“Hi Ron. Is something the matter? Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I got your letter.” He paused. “Listen, I’m not sure if I can get round to see a movie with you. I have a couple of late shifts next week. And anyway, I don’t feel comfortable doing Muggle things, you know?”

“Oh, I see. Is there something else you’d rather do then?”

“I can’t really plan that far in advance, Mione. I never know whether we might have to go out to answer a call. When that happens, my shift can be longer and I’m usually exhausted afterwards. And then I still have to cook for myself when I come home.”

“Well, how does Harry do it? Does Ginny never know when her husband will come home?” The moment the words had left her mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake. 

“Excuse me? I’m not your husband, Mione! This is exactly the kind of stress I want to avoid. I can’t deal with this kind of stuff right now.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! The last thing I want to do is stress you out! I just thought an action movie might take your mind off things. Help you relax.”

“Having to justify myself to you is the opposite of relaxing.”

“I know, I’m really sorry! How about I cook you dinner? Then you won’t have to cook for yourself. Would that work?”

“I suppose…”

“Great. Maybe on a day where you have an early shift? Then you can rest before dinner.”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll come on Thursday at six then.”

“Great, that’s wonderful! I’m sorry for pressuring you again. I’m looking forward to seeing you!”

They said goodbye. Hermione sat back, exhaling. That had been a close call. She would make it up to Ron by cooking a dinner in whose light even Molly’s feasts would pale.

“Hermioneeeee!” Called a happy voice. Oh great. Cleo wanted something. Hermione turned and smiled at the potions mistress. “Yes?”

Panting, Cleo came to a halt before Hermione. “So glad I could catch you. Listen, I need to get some ingredients from the forest. Could you come with me?”

Hermione sighed. “You really ought to get used to going alone. As long as you don’t venture too deep—”

“I know, and I will get used to it, I promise! Can you come with me just one more time though? Pleaaase?”

“Fine.”

“Wonderful, you are the best! When are you done with lessons today?”

Hermione should tell her no, but she never had the heart to do so. “We can meet at three.”

“Perfect! See you then!”

At three o’clock sharp, Hermione stood by the large castle doors. Cleo came running up the stairs a minute later, a large bag slung across her shoulders.

“What are we getting?” asked Hermione. 

Cleo rattled off a few plant parts and some fungi before saying, “And I really hoped that maybe we can find some unicorn hairs in the undergrowth.”

“Hagrid is usually quite meticulous at collecting all of them. The reason he does that is in large part to supply the professors. All you need to do is ask him, he’ll definitely give you some.”

“Yes, I know he does that and I could ask him, but…” Cleo fidgeted with her hands.

Hermione stopped in her tracks to give Cleo a disbelieving look. “Seriously! How do you even function when you’re afraid of everyone and everything?”

“I’m not afraid of everyone!” Cleo protested. “Just Hagrid… and the headmistress. And that potions master who makes the potions for the hospital wing.”

“Well, I understand being afraid of him, although he is less scary when you talk to him. I also get that you’re a bit intimidated by Minerva. But Hagrid is just a big sweetheart! He is the kindest, gentlest person you may ever meet! When we’re done in the forest, we’ll visit him and get your unicorn hairs.”

Hermione started walking again, Cleo in her wake. Cleo made a small sound of dismay, but didn’t protest further.

Ten minutes later, they crossed the first line of trees into the Forbidden Forest. Hermione started scanning the tree bark for the particular kind of lichen Cleo had on her list. When she found it, she turned to call for Cleo, only to discover that she was right behind her, as if she was using Hermione as a shield. 

Taking a step away, Hermione said, “Here’s the Roccella tenebris. You can harvest it while I look for the blood moss saffron.”

Cleo was positively shaking as she set to work. Hermione slowly walked further, looking for the deep-red blood moss whose moisture also nourished the inconspicuous saffron, when she stepped on a branch, making it snap. Cleo shrieked. 

“Cleo! Seriously, you need to pull yourself together! You’re going to rouse something that might actually be dangerous.”

“Oh Merlin, why did you have to say that?” Cleo whined. “Now I’m even more afraid.”

“Just get your lichen and come over here.”

Cleo hastily scraped the dark grey stuff into her bag and then quickly hopped back to Hermione’s side. For a few minutes, they walked quietly, their eyes scanning the ground. 

“There’s some blood moss,” said Cleo after a while. “I think I see some saffron blossoms, too.”

“Yes, I think so t—Wait.” Hermione stopped and scrutinised the ground. “There’s a bit of hoarfrost here, and it’s not cold enough for that. This is strange, we better find another spot. Just to be safe.”

Hermione had barely finished speaking when something large took flight above them, noisily flapping its wings. Cleo shrieked and jumped, bumping into Hermione, who lost her balance and stumbled right into the patch of frost. Cleo screamed Hermione’s name as millions of tiny ice crystals exploded into a glittering cloud around Hermione. She felt a sharp sting on her wrist and a feeling like ice water being injected into her veins spread rapidly through her arm.

This was bad. Hermione fumbled for her wand, sent red sparks into the air and then cast a patronus. She just managed to say, “I’ve been bitten,” before she lost consciousness.

Cold, so cold. No amount of curling up under the blankets could chase the horrible freezing feeling away. Wherever one part of her body touched another, the skin seemed even colder. There was no warmth to be had anywhere.

If she hadn’t known that she was out of mortal danger, she would have thought she was freezing to death. But Poppy had given her the antidote to the frost sprite venom and put a warming charm on her bed. The antidote kept the venom from harming her organs, but the warming charm didn’t seem to work.

She hadn’t had the energy to call for Poppy yet, since she would have had to raise her voice to make herself heard over Cleo’s groaning and wailing. The potions mistress seemed to be in a lot of pain. Every time Poppy attended to her, her cries started up again after mere moments.

Hermione was left to her own devices for now. She was exhausted, but the cold made sleep impossible. How she longed to just lose consciousness again.

Hours later, she awoke. The anti-venom had made its way to her bladder. But the bed was just too warm and cosy to leave – finally. After a short debate with herself, Hermione opted for the chamber pot. She would just vanish the contents afterwards and no one would ever know.

Nature’s call fulfilled, she cuddled back into bed, pulling on a corner of her comforter to rest her cheek on. Her last thought was how impossibly soft it felt before sleep claimed her again.

She awoke to Poppy’s brisk voice rousing them for breakfast. The curtains around Hermione’s bed were swept aside and Poppy put a tray with food on the nightstand. The matron was about to turn away when a look at the bed arrested her. 

She picked up the edge of a dark blanket that lay on top of Hermione’s comforter. It explained the softness Hermione had felt during the night. The starched cotton sheets of the Hospital Wing did not feel like that.

Poppy gave Hermione an intrigued look. “You must be feeling much better already. This is some impressive spellwork. One of the most sophisticated warming charms I have ever felt.” 

“What?” It took Hermione a moment to process Poppy’s words. “I didn’t put that here. I thought you did.”

Poppy raised her eyebrows. “I did not.” After a short moment, her expression brightened. “It must have been Severus.”

“Professor Snape? He was here? Why?”

“He was dropping off the potions for me. I was busy with you two, so he asked what had happened. I didn’t have much time to explain but he said he might check back in later, to see if any special potions were needed. I suppose he happened to come back when I was busy preparing Professor Corbyn-Griffiths’ sleeping draught.”

Hermione looked back at the blanket. Felt its impossible softness and the perfect, cosy warmth that flowed out of it. The fact that the blanket was still here even though Professor Snape was long gone meant that he had reinforced the conjured blanket somehow. Impressive spellwork indeed.

Chapter Text

Last time:

“Professor Snape? He was here? Why?”

“He was dropping off the potions for me. I was busy with you two, so he asked what had happened. I didn’t have much time to explain but he said he might check back in later, to see if any special potions were needed. I suppose he happened to come back when I was busy preparing Professor Corbyn-Griffiths’ sleeping draught.”

Hermione looked back at the blanket. Felt its impossible softness and the perfect, cosy warmth that flowed out of it. The fact that the blanket was still here even though Professor Snape was long gone meant that he had reinforced the conjured blanket somehow. Impressive spellwork indeed.

Two days later, just in time for her dinner with Ron, Hermione was entirely recovered. She had used her last day in the hospital wing to plan what she would cook. Memories of her desperate attempts at preparing food during the Horcrux hunt came to the forefront of her mind, unbidden and unwelcome. How angry Ron had been at that… But this time, she would show him how well she could cook when she had all the equipment.

Being back in the Hogwarts kitchens reminded her of the last time she had been there, when she had baked the brownies. It had been dark and quiet then. And Professor Snape had sat at the table and drunk a glass of wine with her. Now, that same table was laden with pots and pans, knives and ingredients, and the kitchen was brightly lit and filled with the chatter of the elves. 

Hermione got to work on her four-course meal. Elves kept coming to offer their help, but she politely declined every time. She had to be able to tell Ron honestly that she had made everything herself. Maybe when he saw how well she could care for him he would—no. She couldn’t think like that.

After two hours and many spells, everything was ready. Each dish she carefully placed under a stasis charm and covered with a silver lid. It was a feast. Ron would love it. And she still had almost an hour to get herself ready.

Today, she had enough time to tend to her hair, pick out a pretty, but understated dress and apply just enough make-up to enhance her best features while not looking like she was wearing any. Everything was perfect. And about time, too, for it was five minutes to six. 

Hermione sat on her sofa, her heart pounding. Six o’clock came and went. She had expected that he’d be a bit late; he usually was. The minutes ticked by. It turned a quarter past, then half past six. This was rather late, even for Ron. She could write him a message or call through the fireplace – but then she’d be hassling him again and that would certainly ruin his mood, and their date along with it.

Finally, she got up to get a book, without paying much attention to its title. Only when she opened it to a random page and started reading did she realise it was a book she had once bought to improve her charms work, but never even opened. Well, now it would serve to distract her.

The chapter she’d opened happened to deal with the theory behind the durability of a charm. Hermione’s eyes fell to the spot on her sofa where Professor Snape’s conjured blanket lay. She had smuggled it out of the hospital wing – Poppy had definitely noticed, but never mentioned it. Given that it was conjured, it wouldn’t have lasted much longer, anyway. But despite it having been more than two days, the blanket was only now starting to fade around the edges. The warming charm still worked too, albeit weaker than before.

How curious that it had been Professor Snape of all people who had conjured it. He did not seem like the caring type. At least not on the outside. She knew, in theory, how much he had done to help them win the war, but had assumed that he’d done it for recognition, or simply to clear his name. Then, Harry had told her a bit more, just enough for her to realise that his true sacrifice had been much greater than she’d initially assumed. But after the initial shock of seeing Professor Snape in a different light, she hadn’t thought about it too much –  she’d had her own issues to deal with.

But now, she could come to no other conclusion than that he was, in fact, a caring person. If she really thought about it, his detentions had always been the least dangerous. Unpleasant, yes, but safe. It was only his tongue that had been cruel. And even that impression had suffered some blows after he had sat with her and listened to her talk about her parents.

Both that night and the night he had put the blanket on her bed in the hospital wing had been a Tuesday. Ergo, that was the day he delivered the potions. Next Tuesday, she would find him to thank him for the blanket. 

A knock on her door roused her from her reverie. Suddenly nervous again, she jumped up to answer.  Ron strolled in and gave her a quick hug, then sniffed the air. “You said you’d make dinner, right?”

“I have. It’s under stasis charms, I suppose that’s why you can’t smell it. Come to the kitchen.” She went into her kitchen before Ron to pour them both some wine, her hand shaking just the tiniest bit. 

Ron took his wand from the back pocket of his jeans and let it clatter onto the table. He sat down and looked around the room. “It’s a bit dark, isn’t it?”

Hermione met his gaze, her eyes wide. She had tried to conjure a romantic atmosphere by lighting candles on and around the beautifully laid table. But she couldn’t very well admit that to Ron. Before she could say anything, Ron had produced a few luminous spheres that now hovered under the ceiling and gave off a harsh glow. 

“There you go,” Ron seemed pleased with his spell. He lifted the lids off one of the platters.

“That’s the third course, actually,” Hermione protested when Ron started heaping food onto his plate. 

“Oh.” Ron looked from the platter to his plate. “Does it matter? Should I put it back? I’m really quite hungry.”

“No… no, I suppose it doesn’t matter all that much.”

“Brilliant. It smells really good!” He continued to uncover platters and served himself all courses at once, until a good amount of the food Hermione had so painstakingly prepared and arranged lay in a heap on his plate. 

Hermione sat down and lifted her wine glass. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Ron looked up, his mouth already full. When his eyes fell upon Hermione’s lifted glass, he quickly chewed, swallowed noisily, and clinked his own glass against Hermione’s before turning his attention back to his plate. 

“How was your day?” asked Hermione.

“Good,” Ron said thickly. “Nothing much, really. We had to roll out twice, but both times were only for a small altercation. Some blokes messing around in a park, hexing Muggle’s dogs for no good reason, and two people got into a fight on the Knight Bus. Other than that, I did mostly paperwork. Typical early shift, really.” 

Somehow, he had managed to clear his entire plate in a matter of minutes. He got up again to grab one of the bowls of chocolate mousse Hermione had made for pudding while she herself was only on the second course. The mousse disappeared inside Ron within seconds.

He leaned back, patting his stomach. “That was great, Mione. Thanks for making dinner.” 

“Sorry I’m such a slow eater,” she said. 

“That’s all right. Is there any interesting Hogwarts gossip?”

“Not gossip, really. Our potions mistress has managed to land herself in the hospital wing while she was out collecting ingredients. And me with her.”

“Oh, that’s bollocks. It wasn’t too bad though, was it? You seem completely fine.”

“Well, I got bitten by a frost sprite. Their venom can freeze your organs if you don’t stop it in time.”

“Blimey. It’s good Madam Pomfrey was there on time then. Did the other girl get bitten too?”

“She didn’t, no. Although she was quite shaken. She’s been afraid to go into the Forbidden Forest even before that. I suppose now she’ll never go again. Which means that she’ll ask me to collect ingredients for her way more often.” Hermione sighed.

“Still, it has to be better than the alternative. Imagine if you had to work with Snape! Run into him in the teachers’ lounge.” He shuddered.

“At least he’s competent,” Hermione murmured.

Ron scoffed. “Honestly, a little incompetence is a small price to pay to not have to work with that bastard.”

An irrational surge of anger swelled in Hermione’s chest. Reigning it in, she said, “Since our current potions mistress relies on me to help her gather ingredients, my workload is quite a bit higher than it should be. It’s not actually that small of a price to pay.”

Ron gave her a crooked grin. “But you’re Hermione Granger. You thrive under a high workload, don’t you?”

“Even my energy is limited, you know.” Hermione hated that her irritation was audible in her voice. This was supposed to be a pleasant evening.

Ron rolled his eyes. “All right, all right, I concede. The potions mistress is a menace. Are you happy now?”

Shit, this wasn’t good. Trying to smooth things over, she asked, “Do you want more wine? We can go to the living room and listen to some music.”

Ron got up and stretched. “Actually, Mione, I need to run. I’m meeting a few colleagues at the pub.” He stuck his wand into his back pocket.

“Colleagues? But… don’t you see them every day?”

“Not every day. Besides, when we’re at the office, we’re at work. We need to decompress too, don’t we? Anyway, thanks again for dinner.” He had walked out of the kitchen while speaking, Hermione in his wake. 

As desperately as she wanted to make him stay, she had no choice but to let him go. “Okay then. Have fun!” She forced herself to smile and her voice to be bright.

“Bye, Mione!” With one last wave, Ron was out of the door.

Hermione plopped down on her sofa. She was so tired. Every minute she wanted to spend with Ron seemed to require so much work. And even when she had him, he slipped through her fingers like water.

But if this was the work she had to do in order to show him how good his life would be if he was to commit to her, she would do it. She just had to be patient. He would come around eventually. 

She took Professor Snape’s blanket into her bedroom that night. If Ron wasn’t there to share her bed and keep her warm, at least this blanket would, even while it was slowly fading out of existence.

Her tried and tested method of distraction – leaving way too many notes on student’s homework, overpreparing her lessons, taking up extra nightly patrols – didn’t work too well this time. Whenever she had even a glimpse of free time, the evening with Ron started replaying in her mind. What she had said. What he had said. Where she had gone wrong, making him want to leave. Wondering if he was upset at her.

Tuesday night found her in the kitchens, baking again. This time, she went for lava cakes – small chocolate cakes in individual little pans that were left in the oven only long enough for the batter to bake on the outside. The insides of the cakes remained hot liquid – chocolate heaven. She made enough batter for twelve cakes, but only put four in the oven. The rest she’d bring to Ron and bake them for him, at his flat. That way, she would have to stay a while. And he wouldn’t say no to cakes.

The other reason she was here tonight was to thank Professor Snape for the blanket. Hopefully, he’d come here at the same time as two weeks before. As the batter glazed over and rose slightly in the heat of the oven, Hermione kept throwing glances at the clock. Professor Snape was due any minute. 

She jumped when the door banged. Taking a deep breath, she casually looked over her shoulder. It was a couple of Seventh-Years looking to score some late-night snacks. They were of age and hence had no curfew – which meant they were perfectly within their rights to be here. And yet, Hermione had to subdue a strong urge to scold them. 

The oven pinged but she’d lost her appetite. The finished lava cakes joined their unbaked brethren in the stasis chamber and Hermione made her way back to her quarters. 

When she rounded the last corner, the wall sconces sprung to life. She stopped, looking around in bewilderment. Out of the shadows by a pillar stepped Professor Snape. Hermione jumped, her heart rate spiking. “What are you doing up here?” 

Glossing over her less-than-polite greeting, he replied, “I was looking to see if you were in your quarters, to inquire from you how the warming charm on that blanket had held up. And the blanket itself, for that matter. I have made some improvements to the conjuring and the charm, and wanted to know whether the blanket remained intact in my absence.”

“It… it did.” Hermione’s racing heart slowed down. “It only started disappearing after a few days – two, to be exact. And the warming charm weakened equally slowly.”

He inclined his head, saying, “Good,” then turned to leave.

“Wait!” she called after him. “I… meant to thank you. For the blanket. That was very kind of you.”

He considered her with a brief glance, but didn’t reply.

“Is there any way I can repay you?”

“It didn’t cost me anything.”

“Except for the time it took to research and develop that spell, I suppose?”

“I hope you are not under the foolish impression that my making that blanket had anything to do with you in particular?”

“Of course not.” Hermione couldn’t help but smile. “I’m acutely aware that I was merely a guinea pig. But I still benefited from your work. So, is there anything I can help you with?”

After a brief moment, he replied, “You teach Arithmancy, correct?”

Hermione nodded. 

“I have some calculations that need to be done.”

“I’ll be happy to do them. Just send them to me. How quickly will you need them back?” She bit her tongue. Enough with the zeal already.

He seemed to have picked up on her eagerness, for his lips curled in an echo of his derisive sneer of old. “Within a week, if you can manage, Professor Granger.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I most certainly can, Professor Snape.”

“Very well then. Good night.”

“Good night,” Hermione replied to his retreating back.

Chapter Text

Last time:

 “I have some calculations that need to be done.”

“I’ll be happy to do them. Just send them to me. How quickly will you need them back?” She bit her tongue. Enough with the zeal already.

He seemed to have picked up on her eagerness, for his lips curled in an echo of his derisive sneer of old. “Within a week, if you can manage, Professor Granger.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I most certainly can, Professor Snape.”

“Very well then. Good night.”

“Good night,” Hermione replied to his retreating back. 

Professor Snape suggesting she do calculations for him put a spring in Hermione’s step the next day. He didn’t even give her the chance to worry whether he’d make good on their agreement, as his letter arrived by owl not even twenty-four hours after their encounter. She took a deep breath and broke the seal.

Professor Granger,

Hereby, as agreed, the calculations you were so eager to do. Be aware that mistakes will result in the loss of a number of very rare and expensive ingredients. Knowing your tiresome need to overachieve, however, I doubt that this will become a problem.

There are three calculations to be made. For calculation A, I have narrowed it down to the family of Salicaceae, so you will only need to determine which species will be most suitable, and which part of the plant. For B, I have found that a plant will perform best, but I have not yet narrowed it down any further than that. Finally, for C, I have not yet determined the nature of the material at all. I leave that particular problem to you.

Regards,
S.S.

Hermione let out a quiet snort of laughter. Had she become immune to his little jabs, or had the jabs become tamer?

The specifications and preliminary calculations accompanying his letter begged for her to take a closer look. And it wouldn’t hurt to consult one or two arithmantic ledgers. Or six. Now she’d looked up the values, she could just as well take a stab at calculation A. Before she knew it, her quill raced over parchment, putting down formula after formula, engaging her like she hadn’t been since her mastery.

When she resurfaced, the first set of calculations was done. The potion would need stipules – the small, leaf-like outgrowths at the base of the leaves – of a female Salix alba tree, a white willow. 

She should go to bed. Only one quick look at calculation B… She pulled up the appropriate ledger. 

Later, as she drifted off to sleep, she idly wondered what kind of potion he was working on. The bark of white willow was used as a pain remedy, but she’d never heard of any recipe calling for its stipules. And heathers – the plant family she’d arrived at for calculation B – were hardy plants known to grow on infertile grounds. Tomorrow, she’d find out more.

As the week progressed, so did Hermione’s calculations. The seven days Professor Snape had given her were nearly up when she had finally worked out the specific materials his potion would need. Apart from white willow, stamens from arbutus flowers would serve his purposes. The final ingredient was dendritic agate, a mineral.

Despite all the late nights, she felt elated. Applied Arithmancy had always been her favourite branch of the discipline, but when she had just finished her mastery, it had seemed madness to try to enter a field that required so much expertise. Her master had encouraged her to do it, had even written her a recommendation. She’d been writing job applications the day Minerva’s letter had arrived, practically begging her to come teach at Hogwarts, just for a year, until she’d found someone to permanently fill the post. It had been close to five years since then.

With a pang, she realised that she had barely thought of Ron this past week. She felt bad. But no, this was perfect! Absence makes the heart grow fonder . If she held out just a few more days, Ron would surely start wondering about her. Just a few more days, and she’d break her record of longest time not having contacted him. The thought filled her with pride. Ron would be eager to finally spend time with her again!

The next morning, she went to the owlery to send her calculations to Professor Snape. As she watched the owl fly away, she remembered the few lines she had written before diving into the arithmantic details:

I can’t help but wonder what would require such a rigorous strengthening solution. 

(At some point during the calculations leading her to dendritic agate, she had taken an educated guess at the nature of the potion).  

At this point, I am half assuming you are attempting to move mountains. I suppose if anyone can brew a potion like this, it’s the infamous Half Blood Prince.

While the owl turned into a speck on the horizon, it dawned on her that she had just sent those very words flying towards the ill-tempered potions master. She cursed quietly. What had she been thinking? She had been tired and giddy last night, feeling superior for not having called Ron in so long. That false sense of confidence had destroyed any likelihood that Professor Snape would ever send her any Arithmancy again. 

Unsurprisingly, the next days passed with no reply. Even worse was that Ron didn’t contact her either. Each hour added a few ounces to the already heavy lump of lead that was her heart. 

She needed more things to calculate, right now. Anything at all. Should she go to Cleo and ask her whether she needed any Arithmantic calculations? No, that was nonsense. Cleo didn’t develop her own potions or even endeavour to improve existing ones. Who else was there…?

She’d have to bite the bullet, try to salvage what could be salvaged. Hermione sat down at her desk, grabbed parchment and quill and scribbled,

Dear Professor Snape,

I feel the need to apologise for the forwardness of my last letter. I wrote it late at night and made the grave mistake of not re-reading it before I sent it off. Please accept my sincerest apologies. I would be very happy to assist you with further calculations, should the need arise.

Best regards,
Hermione Granger

She read it again, adjusted it a bit and sealed it. Eyeing the scroll, she chuckled and shook her head. If she sent this, she’d erase any remaining doubts about how needy and pathetic she was. At least writing it had made her feel a little better. She made the parchment dissolve into a puff of smoke and put her head in her hands. With a heavy sigh, she turned her attention to a pile of student’s homework assignments.

A crackle from her fireplace made her look up. Her heart leapt at Ron’s voice sounding from the flames. She almost scuffed her knees, so hastily did she fall onto her hearthrug. 

“Hey Mione, how have you been?”

“Hi Ron.” her voice was breathless and high-pitched. Breathe. Calm down . “I’ve been well. I finally did some calculations again. It was really fun.”

Ron laughed, “The things you call fun! But that’s my Hermione, isn’t it.”

My Hermione. Everything inside her danced and rejoiced.

“Listen,” said Ron, “Harry and I have been to a seminar about environment alteration spells. It was brilliant, they taught us how to create a pocket climate. It means to temporarily change the weather in a small area.”

Hermione smiled and nodded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at Ron’s unnecessary explanation.

He continued, “We’re going to try out the spell tomorrow, at a loch. Since we’re in your area anyway and Harry is bringing Ginny, I was wondering if you wanted to come too.”

“Yes!” Hermione replied much too eagerly. 

“Brilliant! Can we come through your fireplace? We can apparate to the loch from Hogsmeade.”

“Of course! All of it sounds great, I’m really looking forward to it!”

“Me too. And don’t forget to bring your bikini.” Ron’s face in the flames wiggled its eyebrows, making Hermione snort.

She walked on air for the rest of the day. In the evening, she used hair removal charms on all the important areas of her body before diving into her wardrobe to find her bikini. It was only a few months old – she had bought it before going to Australia. Since she had never gotten around to going to the beach there, tomorrow’s little outing would be its christening. The prospect of spending almost an entire day with Ron had her so giddy that she barely managed to fall asleep. 

After a light breakfast in the Great Hall, she went back to her quarters to check her bag for the last time. It was a bit strange having a beach bag packed with a large towel, sunglasses, and some picnic snacks in late winter, and to be wearing a bikini under her clothes. She just hoped Ron and Harry would actually succeed in creating that pocket climate. 

At ten o’clock on the dot, her fireplace came alive and produced Harry, Ginny and Ron, who suddenly filled her small living room with animated chatter. Everyone exchanged greetings, Ron letting go of her a bit too quickly after their hug. But what did it matter? She had so many hours ahead with him!

Ginny looked around. “I still can’t get my head around you living here. It’s strange to be on the other side of it all, isn’t it?”

Hermione chuckled. “It mostly made me appreciate how annoying we probably were as students.” She gave Harry and Ron an amused sideways glance.

Harry made an innocent face and raised his hands. “I was a model student. No trouble from me.”

“Yeah, right, mate!” Ron thumped Harry on the back.

“All right,” Hermione looked around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. “Are we all ready to go?”

Excitement radiated from her three friends when Hermione led them out of her quarters and into the halls of Hogwarts castle. “Ah, so this is where you ended up after your move,” Harry said.

“Yes, it’s much further away from the Great Hall than Professor Vector’s old quarters. Minerva was kind enough to let me have rooms in a quieter part of the castle.” She led them to the stairway going down.

“I’m surprised you didn’t request quarters right next to the library,” Ron teased while poking her with his finger.

Hermione swatted his hand away, laughing. “I can go there day and night now and check out anything I want. That’s enough for me, actually.”

“Riiiight. Nothing you’ll say will make me believe that you didn’t at least ask Minerva. Ever the swot,” he sighed theatrically.

“No, really, I didn’t! Remember what I said about wanting to live in a quiet part of the castle? The library is rather busy!”

“Whatever you say, Mione,” Ron grinned. “Is old lady McGonagall around today?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “ Professor McGonagall is around most of the time.”

At that moment, a high-pitched sound came from somewhere behind them. A second later, Cleo overtook their little group at a run and stopped in front of them, blocking their path. “Hermioneee!” Cleo said, her eyes big and round. “You promised you would tell me when your friends came around! Oh Merlin, it’s really Harry Potter! And Ron Weasley!”

Hermione looked at the two men apologetically. While Harry trained his features into an expression of polite interest, Ron looked quite pleased.

“Hi.” Cleo stretched out her hand, beaming. “I’m Cleo Corbyn-Griffiths. I’m the potions mistress.” Harry, Ron and Ginny shook her hand in turn. 

“So, you replaced Snape then," said Ron “Good on you. Makes the castle just that much brighter. Did you have to cast a lot of cleansing charms on the dungeons to get rid of all the rancour and bitterness?”

“Ron, come on,” murmured Ginny, while Cleo gave Ron a quizzical smile. 

“It was actually quite tidy,” Cleo said blankly. “So, where are you going? Looks like you have a fun day ahead of you! I’m jealous, I barely ever get out of this place!”

“Just some old friends doing some long-overdue catching up,” Hermione said. “Nothing special.”

“Nothing special?” Ron sounded offended. “We’re actually going to a beach to create a pocket climate. A small area of beautiful summer weather!”

“That sounds amazing! Are you doing that here at Hogwarts? Can I have a look?”

“Not here, we’re travelling a bit,” said Harry. “And we’re not even sure the spell will work.”

“I bet it will! You’re Harry Potter, after all,” Cleo said. “Ooooh, I so wish I could see it. You have to show me some time!”

Ron said, “You know what, why don’t you just come with us? We can take you Side-Along. The more the merrier, right?”

Hermione felt the smile slip off her face. No, no, not right! Why did Ron keep inviting other people to the time Hermione was supposed to spend with him?

“Are you sure?” Cleo asked, her eyes even wider than before. 

“Yeah, just grab your bikini,” Ron grinned.

Cleo made a sound of delight and hurried off to get her things.

“Seriously, Ron, you could have asked us first,” Ginny complained once Cleo was out of earshot. “I did want to do some catching up with Hermione. I don’t feel comfortable doing that with a stranger around.”

“Ah, don’t worry! I’ll keep Cleo busy, then you can have your little girl talk.”

“Well, um, to be honest,…” said Harry, “I was also hoping for a quiet day with just us.”

Ron threw up his arms. “What do you want me to do then, disinvite her? How’s that going to look? Besides, you all have your social lives sorted. I have to share my best mate with my sister! So, I have to branch out, don’t I!”

Hermione knitted her brow. “What about your colleagues, the ones you go to the pub with to decompress? Do they not count as social contacts?”

Ron’s face flushed, but he was spared having to reply because Cleo came running back to join them, a bag slung over her shoulder.

For better or worse, the five of them set off towards Hogsmeade, Cleo chattering away, happily oblivious of the tension within the group.

Harry and Ron took all of them via Side-Along Apparition, Hermione pointedly opting to Apparate with Harry.

Mountain peaks adorned the horizon beyond the loch. The shore was almost entirely bare, except for the spot where the five of them stood. Here, a small patch of forest grew, set back from the shoreline. 

“It’s not really a beach though, is it?” said Cleo, doubtfully eyeing the strip of pebbles that formed the transition from land to water.

“You can just put a Leatherskin Charm on the soles of your feet,” Hermione remarked.

Ron and Harry had started walking, looking around them. “Here’s one!” Harry called after a minute. “The other one has to be over there.”

Ron jogged into the direction Harry had indicated. After he had found what he had been looking for, he shouted, “Girls, please get out of the pocket climate area. Stand either behind me or behind Harry so we can start the spell.”

Since Harry was much closer, the women went to his side. The men then started moving their wands in unison, describing large circles with their arms. After a few moments, Harry started huffing a little. But the result of their work began to manifest itself – a spot of pebbly beach in the area between them developed a warm glow, as if it was basked in sunlight. The spot grew outward and Hermione started to see a bit of blue sky reflected in the water.

Harry was sweating profusely now, but did not pause his movements until the summer day occupied a dome of a large diameter. He raised his left hand, then punched it into the air three times. On the third movement, he and Ron simultaneously stopped the spell. From the other side of the dome, Ron whooped and started running towards them.

“Come in, it’s ready!” said Harry, beckoning the women inside the pocket of summer.

Marvelling, they stepped into the dome. Ron arrived, sweating and panting just as much as Harry. “So, what do you say? Brilliant, isn’t it?” He put his hand on Hermione’s shoulder. Her earlier resentment towards him started melting. “It’s pretty great,” she said, closing her eyes and relishing in the warmth of the sun. 

With Harry and Ginny talking amiably a few paces in front of them and Ron by her side, Hermione felt a sudden rush of peace and happiness. She’d have the kind of life Harry and Ginny had, she just had to keep believing and stay strong. Everything would work itself out.

Chapter Text

Last time:

“Come in, it’s ready!” said Harry, beckoning the women inside the pocket of summer.

Marvelling, they stepped into the dome. Ron arrived, sweating and panting just as much as Harry. “So, what do you say? Brilliant, isn’t it?” He put his hand on Hermione’s shoulder. Her earlier resentment towards him started melting. “It’s pretty great,” she said, closing her eyes and relishing in the warmth of the sun. 

With Harry and Ginny talking amiably a few paces in front of them and Ron by her side, Hermione felt a sudden rush of peace and happiness. She’d have the kind of life Harry and Ginny had, she just had to keep believing and stay strong. Everything would work itself out. 

Hermione opened her eyes and asked, “What are the mechanics behind the spell? Do you create a contained rift in time? Or is it illusion-based?” 

Ron laughed. “Trust Hermione to start theorising instead of simply enjoying her minibreak!”

“Tell me about it,” Cleo laughed. 

Hermione just managed to keep her smile from turning menacing. Her glimpse of happiness had blown away as quickly as it had come.

“Oh, come on,” Cleo teased. “You know how you are. Always overthinking everything, trying to get to the bottom of even the most everyday stuff. It’s summer in here! Who cares about anything else, let’s go enjoy ourselves!” She took Hermione’s wrist and pulled her a few steps away, where she threw her bag onto the pebbles and conjured a thick grass mat before putting down her towel. Hermione gave in and did the same. 

“Boys, you need to look away!” Cleo called. “I need to get changed!”

She could have just conjured a screen. But apparently, Cleo felt more comfortable loudly announcing that she was about to get undressed. Hermione caught the wide grin on Ron’s face before he turned around and stripped down to his swim trunks himself. Ginny threw Hermione a meaningful glance.

Once everyone was in their bathing costumes, Harry and Ron waded into the water, and, once they were submerged to their hips, dove headlong into the lake. Hermione went in to her knees. The water wasn’t as cold as she would have expected for late winter, but it wasn’t summery-warm either. Ginny, beside her, walked in brusquely and then started swimming. “You have to do it quickly,” she said. “And then just swim for a while to get warm.”

Hermione took a deep breath and imitated Ginny, although she was sure she looked much less elegant than her friend. After swimming for a minute, she started feeling more comfortable. 

“What’s with the potions mistress?” Ginny moved her head toward the shore. Cleo still stood on the beach, her arms wrapped around her stomach. 

Hermione sighed. “I suppose she’s afraid. There’s always something she’s afraid of.”

“She wasn’t afraid of crashing a party of old friends on a private outing.”

Hermione half laughed, half groaned. “Yeah… She’s a social butterfly, just afraid of everything outside the most-traversed areas of the castle. Including the forest, where she needs to go to collect ingredients. Oh, and Hagrid, too.”

“Hagrid? Has she ever spoken to him? And how does she get ingredients then?”

“She hasn’t spoken to Hagrid. The few times he tried at meals, she kind of hid behind me. Which is what she does when we go to the forest, too. And yes, I do have to accompany her on every single trip to collect ingredients.”

“Well, shit. Does Minerva know? How is Cleo even keeping her job?”

“Minerva knows, I think. Maybe not the entire extent of it, but enough. The thing is that Cleo is really great as head of house, apparently. The students seem to admire her.”

Ginny snorted. “Yeah, especially the boys, I bet.”

Hermione grinned weakly. “She is really pretty, yeah… I can’t even blame her. It’s not her fault she's got good genes. But the girls lover her, too.” She sighed. “I wish I could be a little more like her sometimes.”

“Nah, you’re great the way you are, Hermione. Truly.” Ginny looked at her earnestly, making Hermione blush.

Smiling, she replied. “Thank you, Ginny. It means a lot.” They swam for a little while longer, talking about Ginny’s latest achievement on the Quidditch pitch before Hermione said, “I’m getting a little cold. You keep swimming, I’ll go warm up in the sun.”

She had started making her way back when she noticed someone expertly doing the crawl a few yards away, heading in the same direction. Ron’s freckled arms were windmilling through the water. Needless to say, he approached the shore much faster than Hermione. He got to his feet and waded towards Cleo, calling, “Hey, what’s the matter? Too cold? I can heat up the water a little for you if you want.”

Hermione had now also reached the shallower water. She got up, smiling at Cleo. “There’s nothing scary in here, I promise.”

“Oh really? Because there is an actual monster in one of the lochs – you know that.”

“Not in this one, though.” Ron was almost next to Cleo now. “Come on, I’ll prove it to you.” He held out his hand – held out his actual hand for Cleo! This couldn’t be happening. Cleo had the good sense not to take it, although she did wade a short way into the water.

“See,” said Hermione, still forcing a smile. “Nothing bad is happening. You can come with me, Ron swims way too fast.” 

Cleo was now up to her knees. “This is enough for now, I think. I really thought we were going to be sunbathing.”

“You don’t have to swim! You can sunbathe!” Hermione hurried to say. 

“It’s boring when I’m all alone,” Cleo complained.

“I can keep you company,” said Ron.

“Me too,” Hermione hurriedly added. 

The three of them put their conjured grass mats and beach towels in a row and sat down. That is, Ron and Hermione sat, while Cleo lay. “Is the sun real? Do I need a Sunscreen Charm?”

“Huh…” Ron hesitated. “That’s a good question. Better safe than sorry, I’d wager.”

Hermione could hardly believe her eyes when Ron started moving his wand across Cleo’s shapely body, carefully casting the charm, leaving not a single square inch of her skin unprotected. Why, why, why did they have to run into Cleo, of all people, in the hallway? Couldn’t it have been Filius? Or Firenze? But no, it had to be the only other age-appropriate woman in the entire castle. 

“So, how is your mum, Ron?” asked Hermione. “I haven’t seen her in way too long. I should come for dinner again soon. Molly keeps asking me, but I have so much work. It’s silly though, I should really make time for your family. We go back such a long time…” She threw a furtive glance at Cleo.

Ron gave Hermione a mildly puzzled look. “She keeps asking you to dinner?”

“Yes,” she answered sweetly, “Quite regularly.”

“Huh,” said Ron.

“How are Bill and Fleur? Victoire must be, what, about six now?” 

“Fine, last I heard. I don’t really get around to writing a lot of letters, what with work and all. You know how it is.”

“Right… They had another child, didn’t they?”

Ron sighed. “Yes, they did.”

“What’s the baby’s name?”

“She’s not really a baby anymore. She’s called Dominique. Listen, I don’t really fancy rattling off my family tree right now. Can we talk about something else?”

Hermione tried to ignore the sting she felt. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

“There was a really cool case at the Auror office this week. Some bloke kept calling, telling us that food went missing in his house all the time and that there were more dirty clothes in the laundry than there should be, that sometimes the kitchen was clean when it had been dirty the evening before, that kind of stuff.

“We just thought he was drunk or on potions and kept forgetting he had cleaned the kitchen and put his clothes in the laundry. But he kept calling, for several weeks. So, finally, two of us go to the address.”

“Was it you and Harry?” Cleo interrupted excitedly.

“No, me and Vihana, another colleague. Anyway, we get to this bloke’s house and look around a bit. Everything seems normal, so we leave. Of course, two days later, he calls again. So, Vi and I go again. This time, we ask if we can use revealing spells. Normally, we would have to officially request a warrant for stuff like that, but this bloke is so freaked out he says we can do whatever.

“So, we start shooting spells everywhere. And guess what?”

Cleo, who had sat up, let out a little squeal, her fist in front of her mouth and her eyes wide with fear. 

Ron seemed very pleased with the effect of his story. “We found that there was another person living in his flat! Eating his food, wearing his clothes, all of it!”

“And cleaning the kitchen?” Hermione asked.

“That’s the best part! The person living in his flat with him was his ex! She was apparently obsessed with him. Can you imagine?”

“And that guy never thought to use revealing spells himself?” Hermione never got an answer, because her question was drowned in Cleo’s exclamations. 

“That’s so horrible! If I only think about my ex living in my flat without me noticing… he was super-obsessive too! Oh, I don't think I’ll be able to sleep in my quarters tonight!”

“You live at Hogwarts,” Hermione pointed out dryly. “No one can get in there just like that.”

“Well, I mean, when we were there—” Ron began, but was once more interrupted by Cleo.

“Don’t!” She shouted. “Don’t tell me anything about Hogwarts not being as secure as they say! I can’t take it!”

Ron shrugged. “You’re a teacher. You can always just call a house-elf and tell them to guard your bedroom door.”

“Ron! You can’t make them stand guard all night! They need to sleep!”

Cleo got up. “I can’t think about this anymore, I need to distract myself. You’ll give me nightmares, you two! I think I’ll take a walk.” She put her clothes back on over her bikini and left their summery bubble.

Finally, Ron was all Hermione’s. She gave him an amused look. “Did that really happen?”

Ron raised his eyebrows in surprise, then put his hand over his heart. “I swear! Why would I make that up?”

Hermione nodded, still amused. “If you say so.”

“Hey! I’m not a liar!”

“Your colleague, Vihana – was she part of the group that went to the pub the night you were at my place for dinner?”

“Er… maybe? I didn’t make a list of attendance.” He was quiet for a moment. “Did you know that Harry and Ginny are trying for a baby?”

“What, really? I didn’t know that! How wonderful!”

“Yeah… Then I’ll see Harry even less.” He clearly did not share her enthusiasm. Plucking pieces off his grass mat, he said, “I think it’s stupid, too. Ginny just got put on the field a few years ago. If she gets pregnant now, her Quidditch career will stall when it’s only just begun. Who knows if she’ll even still have a Quidditch career after that. Maybe she won’t be so athletic anymore once she goes through a pregnancy.”

“Athletes usually manage to bounce back quite well.”

Ron chuckled. “You must know, being such a prolific athlete yourself.”

“I can know about things that I don’t actively pursue, Ron.”

He turned to look at her and his gaze wandered down to her midriff. She involuntarily pulled in her stomach. “It might be worth it, though,” he said.

“What might be worth it?” Hermione hugged her knees to herself.

Ron stared out over the water. “You know, a bit of regular movement. Harry and I have to do it for our jobs, Ginny too. It’s not healthy sitting all day.” 

“I know that. Who says I don’t move?” Hermione felt very naked all of a sudden.

Ron shrugged, still not meeting her eyes. “It’s just… you looked different back when we were younger. I’m just concerned for your health, that’s all.”

“I… looked different? In what way? What are you trying to say, Ron?”

“Just…” he exhaled. “Back on our Horcrux hunt, you were much more active. And your body seemed… healthier back then.”

“Healthier ? Ron, we were starving half the time! Of course I was thinner then! I definitely wasn’t healthier!”

Ron frowned, finally looking at her. “Don’t jump down my throat, I’m just worried that you’re not doing everything you can to be in shape. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“You’ve seen me naked very recently. It didn’t seem to bother you then!”

“Yeah, well… it’s not that it bothers me. I was just a little worried.”

“My weight is perfectly normal! A lot of women have some abdominal fat!”

Ron chuckled quietly. “Abdominal fat,“ he repeated. 

“What about it?”

“Everyone else would just call it ‘belly fat’. But not Hermione the intellectual, who does Arithmancy for fun.”

Was this why he wouldn’t commit to her? Because her body wasn’t perfect? Because she was too stuck-up and intellectual? She swallowed several times to try and suppress the tears.

“Hey, come on,” said Ron softly and put his hand on her shoulder. She jerked away. “Come on, don’t be like that. I just wanted to have a nice time today.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have insulted my body in such a stupid way.” She got up and started dressing herself, then stuffed her things into her bag. 

Ron stood up as well, taking her by the arm and trying to stop her. “Don’t run away! It really isn’t such a big deal. It’s not like I said you were fat or anything. I’m just trying to look out for your well-being. It comes up for us Aurors a lot, being in good fighting trim. I guess that’s why I’m paying attention to it… it can’t hurt in case you get into a fight or something, right?”

Hermione wrenched her arm from his grip and stared at him in angry disbelief. “Firstly, I don’t get into fights anymore, the war is over. Secondly, there are other ways than brute physical force to win a fight. Applying your standards to everyone else is really short-sighted.”

Ron scoffed. “There you go hanging out the intellectual again! Spells alone won’t save you in a life and death situation! Why are you so against keeping yourself in good physical shape?”

“I am in good physical shape!” Hermione whisper-screamed after shooting a furtive look at Harry and Ginny swimming in the loch.

Ron lifted his hands as if to screen himself from her anger. “I really don’t get why you’re overreacting like this, Mione. It’s really unattractive.”

Hermione took a deep breath. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Tell the others I got a headache, yeah?” She disapparated.

Torn between anger and devastation, she almost ran the path from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. The way Ron had brought the topic up so suddenly was very suspicious. She could only conclude that he had been bothered by it for a while but hadn’t had the guts to say anything. Hermione would have bet ten galleons that the contrast between Cleo’s beautiful figure and her own had finally compelled him to voice his concerns.

She felt so humiliated and stupid for desperately clinging to someone who didn’t seem to want to spend time with her, whose head got turned by someone else so easily, who looked down on her intellectual approach to problem-solving, who didn’t even find her attractive. But at the same time, she was scared that she had now completely destroyed her already precarious relationship with him. 

Back in her quarters, she threw down her bag and sat on the sofa, her face in her hands, her chest heaving. Her emotions went round and round; anger, grief and fear twisting her mind into something too confused to even cry. She grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.

A cracking noise outside her living room door made her jump. However, this was not a strange occurrence, as she permitted house elves to enter her office unannounced if they had something to deliver. A second later, another crack sounded. Quickly adjusting her clothes, she slowly opened the connecting door. Today, she was grateful that the elf was gone before she could talk to them. Normally, she would ask them about their day to try and assess their wellbeing. S.P.E.W. wasn’t entirely dead; at least not to Hermione.

On her office desk lay a sealed envelope. A letter from Professor Snape. Suddenly alert, Hermione opened it. She read,

Professor Granger, 

Thank you for the calculations. They were thorough and accurate. Although I could have done without the haphazard guessing at the purpose of the potion. I can only assume that the goal was to elicit some kind of praise. Let me disabuse you of that expectation.

I have attached a number of new calculations. If you are not too preoccupied with your duties, you can have a look at them. I would appreciate it. 

Best regards,
S.S.

A tiny drop of relief momentarily eased her devastation about Ron. Professor Snape wasn’t angry at her for being so forward in her letter to him. Even better, he had sent her new calculations – something to dive into, latch onto, to provide much-needed distraction. If Ron found her too intellectual, fine! She’d be as intellectual as she could.

Chapter Text

Last time:

Professor Granger, 

Thank you for the calculations. They were thorough and accurate. Although I could have done without the haphazard guessing at the purpose of the potion. I can only assume that the goal was to elicit some kind of praise. Let me disabuse you of that expectation.

I have attached a number of new calculations. If you are not too preoccupied with your duties, you can have a look at them. I would appreciate it. 

Best regards,
S.S.

A tiny drop of relief momentarily eased her devastation about Ron. Professor Snape wasn’t angry at her for being so forward in her letter to him. Even better, he had sent her new calculations – something to dive into, latch onto, to provide much-needed distraction. If Ron found her too intellectual, fine! She’d be as intellectual as she could.

Thank Merlin for Professor Snape’s letter. Hermione’s mind had latched onto this new set of calculations like her life depended on it. Ron’s snide words from the beach threatened to extend their tendrils and poison her mind at every turn, but she beat them back with complex formulas and laser-sharp focus. If she let go for just a split second, she’d shatter.

A faint whooshing from her quarters announced a floo call. Ron! He’d apologise, surely! Maybe they could salvage their—whatever it was they had.

She jumped up – but stayed by her desk. She could hear him now, in her mind, saying the same things he’d always said. Don’t be like that, Mione. Don’t start. Not this again. I’ve had a busy day, I just want to relax. I can’t deal with this right now. There were dozens more phrases like that, chasing each other through her head. She couldn’t bear having to hear them even one more time.

But what if this was the last time he’d call her? What if this was her one and only chance to make it right, appease him? What if, by not answering, she doomed her relationship with him once and for all? 

She couldn’t just throw away seven years of gruelling work, so her legs finally moved, carrying her to her living quarters. The flames went out just as she stepped inside. Instead, the fireplace in her office sprang to life, making her rush back, halfway between panic and relief. 

It was Harry. With a hollow feeling of disappointment, Hermione sat down on the hearthrug.

“Hi Hermione. Are you all right? Are you feeling well?”

“Yeah, I just suddenly got a headache at the beach.”

Harry was quiet for a while. “What really happened?” He knew her too well. “Seriously, Hermione, what did Ron do?”

Hermione looked up. “How did you know…?”

Harry sighed. “He’s… Hermione, I really need to talk to you about something. I’ve been putting it off for a while but it’s just eating away at me.”

“You can tell me anything, Harry.”

“It’s just that… it’s not about me, it’s about you. I’ve kept out of it until now but I don’t think I can anymore. Not in good conscience.”

Hermione swallowed. “You’re scaring me.” 

“Is it okay if I come through?”

A moment later, Harry stepped out of her fireplace and offered a hand to help her get up off the hearthrug. They went to her living room and sat on the sofa.

Haltingly, barely meeting her eye, Harry started talking. “It’s… about Ron. All these years, I thought that you two would get together at any moment… But lately, I don’t think that would be a good thing anymore. I can see how on edge you are every time you are around him. You seem so unhappy.”

Each of Harry’s words carved a deeper hole into Hermione’s heart. “I’m not unhappy,” she said, even as her voice broke.

She raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness, then let them fall. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” she sniffled. “I’m trying so hard, but nothing seems to hold his attention. I have to be so careful around him. Every time I try to talk about us, or if I show any signs of not being satisfied with our status quo , he gets irritated.” With a conjured handkerchief, she blew her nose. “What else can I do, Harry? How do I reach him? He has to feel something for me, right? We’ve shared so much. Why can’t I get through to him?”

Harry took her hand. “I don’t mean to defend Ron; I’m sure that at least part of him knows that treating you the way he does is messed up. But there may be an explanation for his behaviour.”

“And what’s that?”

“When we’re alone, he sometimes talks about Fred. And Remus and Tonks. Ron can get into a very dark mood, but I suppose I’m the only one who ever sees him like that. The war has done different things to all of us. It made Ginny and me want to hold on to each other forever; just knowing that we weren’t alone, that we would always have each other.”

Hermione smiled a wavering smile. “That’s so beautiful, Harry.”

“Well, yes.” He smiled briefly. “But Ron… he seems to be the opposite. He once said, ‘What’s the use of starting anything when you don’t know whether the world will still be right side up tomorrow?’. There’s a reason he and I don’t work in the same department at the Auror office.”

Hermione knitted her brow. “You don’t? Why didn’t I know about this?” A renewed wave of tears welled up. “He never tells me anything.”

Harry squeezed her hand. “He doesn’t tell anyone anything. Just me, I think. And only sometimes.”

Hermione nodded, only somewhat reassured. “Would you feel comfortable telling me why you two aren’t working in the same department?”

Harry lifted his shoulders. “Ron never took any of the advanced courses. For the very same reason that he can’t seem to commit to you. He doesn’t think it’s worth investing time and effort for something that might only pay off far in the future.”

He paused, knitting his brow. “In his mind, the future is something that will never turn out the way he wants it to, no matter how well he plans for it. So, he doesn’t plan for it. He’s too afraid to lose everything he has worked for, so he doesn’t work towards anything.”

“Shit,” said Hermione quietly. “I just wish he would talk to me. Talking helps. I should reach out to him. He just needs help. I can do that, I can help him.”

Harry sighed, slowly shaking his head. “You can’t help someone who doesn’t want help… Hermione, I wish you could have been together. But Ron isn’t there yet.”

“Not there yet? Do you think that if I give him a little more time, maybe…?”

“No, don’t do this to yourself, Hermione. Ron is in a bad place, yes. But you can’t pull him out of it all by yourself. No one can. You’ve waited for him for how long now, seven years? You’ll be so much happier if you close this chapter and move forward.”

No, no, no, this couldn’t be the end of it. Seven years of her life yearning, dreaming and hoping, loving from afar, eagerly picking up every little hint of affection that he had dropped. And now, it was supposed to be over, just like that? Because of one little argument? 

But the terrible truth was that Harry was right. It wasn’t just this argument. She had held on to her dream with all she had, even in the face of Ron’s obvious disinterest. Every little thing she got from him she’d had to fight for tooth and nail, nothing had ever come naturally. But now, the end had come. She clapped her hands to her face in a wave of sorrow that threatened to crack her rib cage open. 

Harry kept stroking her back. “Do you want to sleep at our house tonight? Ron isn’t there.”

Hermione shook her head, still sobbing. It took a few moments for her to regain control. She blew her nose, dried her face and said, “That’s very kind of you. I might take you up on the offer another night. But I have some calculations that I’d like to do.” Somehow, thinking of work helped. Work was a safe thing. It would never string her along, never make her wait, never get her hopes up only to leave her feeling empty and devastated. She had to work as much as possible, every waking minute. Then, somehow, she would be fine.

Harry looked mildly intrigued. “What kind of calculations?”

Listlessly, Hermione said, “Professor Snape is developing a new potion and asked for my help to find the most suitable ingredients. You know, advanced potions stuff that requires Arithmancy.”

Harry chuckled quietly. “That sounds so very much like both you and him.”

“Don’t tell Ron though.” Mentioning Ron’s name was a mistake. Hermione fought back a new onslaught of tears.

“Of course.”

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was back at her desk, her nose still stuffy. In her head, Ron’s voice was mocking her for being an incurable intellectual and for helping Snape of all people. She shook her head, trying to banish the snide voice. But Ron was ingrained into the very folds of her brain. He had occupied her mind; sometimes utterly, sometimes subtly, for so many years. Now, he would have to go for good. She started crying again.

The days drudged on with Hermione shutting down thoughts of Ron ten thousand times. In her more lucid moments, she knew that she had been holding on to a fantasy for years. That everything she thought they could be had been a flimsy façade, bound to crumble under even minor scrutiny. Her rational side knew that letting go was the healthiest option. But getting him out of her body, her blood, her bones, would be tough.

She found a little solace in some new ideas she’d had for her lessons, inspired by her work for Professor Snape. Peppering a little bit of applied Arithmancy into her classes seemed to invigorate her students’ interest, which in turn motivated her.

Alas, the day came when she had finished the latest batch of calculations for the potion. She had checked them even more excessively than last time, just to delay the moment when she would have to send them off.

Dear Professor Snape , her accompanying letter went.

Here are the newest calculations. They have only confirmed my theory that you are developing a strengthening solution. It seems to be quite a potent one. I have to admit that I was impressed by your clever use of dung beetle thorax. 

And no, I do not require praise. My incessant need for it used to be my greatest weakness. But even I, believe it or not, am capable of growth.

If you have any more calculations, pertaining to this potion or any other, please do send them over.

Best regards,
Hermione Granger

There went the owl, carrying away her only enjoyable distraction. How was she supposed to fill her time now?

The pain of thinking about Ron was duller now than it had been a week ago. It was morphing into something different, yet equally devastating – burning questions that she might never get an answer to. Why hadn’t he tried to contact her in any way since their fight? Didn’t he care that she had stormed off and not talked to him since? Didn’t he at least want to know for sure whether they were broken up?

The terrible, yet most probable explanation was that he indeed didn’t care all that much. When she’d tried to tell him how she felt about him, he’d always told her to give it a rest. When he’d finished shagging her, he’d always rolled off and got dressed, telling her very unsubtly to leave his flat. When she’d spent ages preparing a date at her quarters, he’d always left after a maximum of two hours. When she’d suggested an activity, he’d always moaned about how much hassle it would be.

It dawned on Hermione that she was wrong, though. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. No, he was relieved. Not contacting her was his assurance that he’d get away from all of it without having to have one of those serious talks he hated so much. He got off scot free.

Panting and balling her fists, Hermione wished that she could confront Ron, throwing in his face all those times he’d used her, then discarded her. All those times he’d been exasperated at her expecting something – anything – in return. 

But such a confrontation wouldn’t have accomplished anything. He wouldn’t have taken any responsibility, would probably even turn it around on her. After all, she had always agreed to see him when he had asked, had never said no to sex, had kept sending him notes, had kept calling. If she had been so unhappy, why had she continued to seek him out?

She wanted to go back to being sad. The poetic melancholy of the girl who’d been done wrong was much preferable to the seething anger and mind-numbing frustration she felt now.

Her feet carried her back to her quarters, into her office and behind her desk, where students’ assignments waited to be graded. But try as she might, all her mind could do was formulate accusations, stacking arguments against Ron and imagining how she would verbally eviscerate him. Groaning, she pushed the seventh-year homework away and tackled the fourth-year ones instead. She could mark those even through near-blinding rage.

In the days that followed, she wrote letter after letter to Ron, each sharper and more on point than the one before. She had the good sense to never send any of them. 

Finally, her emotions dulled enough to stop writing the letters altogether. And she was tired of being alone – it was time to take Harry up on his offer and spend an evening at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

Harry gave her a big hug when she arrived. “You look good!” he said with a big smile. “You’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

“I am, yes. The other day, I noticed that I hadn’t thought about Ron for a few hours. I never thought that would be possible.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what you saw in him anyway,” Ginny said, entering the kitchen. “He’s such a prat. Always has been.” She hugged Hermione.

Hermione smiled sheepishly. “Liking him wasn’t a rational decision. I just… I was in love with him.” She shrugged, not knowing how else to explain it.

Ginny gave her a shrewd glance, “It gives me hope that you’re saying, ‘was’ instead of ‘am’. Would you like a drink? We have some wine. Or would you rather want something stronger?”

“Wine is good.”

Ginny fetched a bottle and three glasses and they all went into the living room.

They talked about this and that – Ginny’s training, Harry’s work – for a little while before Harry had to excuse himself to work on a case. 

“So…” Ginny leaned forward. “I can tell you want to talk about Ron a bit more, right? Get it out of your system?”

Hermione grinned apologetically. “If you don’t mind… I think it would help. I haven’t really had the chance to talk this through with someone else yet.”

“That’s completely natural. Let me ask you this: If he came to you now and said that he was ready to commit, what would you do?”

“Ugh, Ginny, don’t torture me like that.” In spite of herself, Hermione pondered the question for a moment. “I don’t think that I would believe him. He has been stringing me along for so many years, dropping just enough tiny hints that maybe there was something there… Some of that had to be on purpose. If he came to me now, I’d just think he was doing the same thing again.”

Ginny smiled. “Sounds like you’ve finally wised up”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “About time, too! I can’t believe how stupid I was for seven whole years. Finally seeing the light is not a big achievement.” She paused, giving Ginny a cautious look. “Be honest… how pathetic was I?”

Ginny didn’t meet her eyes, which was answer enough. Hermione groaned.

Ginny patted her hand. “It’s perfectly understandable. If Harry had been coy with me, who knows how long I would have run after him! When you have your heart set on someone, there’s a lot that you’re willing to overlook. Besides, there was so much insecurity during the war. That was the time when you first—” Ginny made a face – “fell in love with Ron, right? I suppose during that time, he was a bit of a lifeline for you, a familiar face that kept you from going insane with fear, yeah?”

Hermione nodded. 

Ginny said, “War is just… it’s completely fucked up. Look at my parents, who got married right out of school. They were living through the same thing and clung to their lifelines – each other. You just had the misfortune to hang on to the wrong lifeline. It’s really hard to accept that you’re not that person’s lifeline too.”

Hermione let out a humourless chuckle. “At this point, Ron feels much less like a lifeline and more like a disease that I need to cast out of my body.”

“Truer words were never spoken! Let’s do that then, let’s cast my brother out! We’re going to the pub. Find you a bloke to help you with that.”

“What—to the pub? I’m not dressed for a night out!”

“Who cares! Your hair is always gorgeous and blokes aren’t that picky about clothes.”

“I don’t just want to take home any random guy!” Hermione protested.

“We’ll take a handsome one, then. Well, reasonably handsome. You’re not going to marry him, just fool around a bit. Make you feel good. Come on, you can use my make-up, if you want.”

A bit flustered, Hermione allowed Ginny to lead her up the stairs and into her dressing room. 

Having housed generations of the Black family, Grimmauld Place had way more rooms than two people needed. So, Harry and Ginny had a number of rooms with singular purposes at their disposal. The dressing room was Ginny’s alone, and doubled as a walk-in closet.

Ginny conjured a make-up table that was a twin of her own and invited Hermione to sit with a sweeping gesture. The two of them got ready, Ginny talking animatedly and Hermione slowly warming to the idea of chatting up a stranger. She’d been stuck on only one wizard for so long, she’d forgotten there were a whole bunch of them out there – and the prospect of a roll in the hay with a near-stranger felt romantic and adventurous. It reminded her of her little stint with Viktor. The way he’d instantly taken to her had been very flattering. Who said she wouldn’t be lucky again?

Once they were ready to go, she felt a grim enthusiasm – after tonight, Ron would no longer have any reason to believe she was pining for him. Ginny was definitely going to tell her brother about Hermione’s conquest.

They went to a wizarding pub in South Kensington, close to the Natural History Museum. When they entered, Hermione felt a weight drop off her shoulders. This place was much nicer than she had anticipated. The pub seemed to go with the same theme as the museum it was close to, albeit in a magical way: The walls were decorated with scientific drawings of magical plants, fungi, and animals. In a corner stood an old microscope in a display case. Above the bar hung a large assortment of bags and satchels of all sizes made for collecting specimens. Another display case held a mannequin wearing tropical explorer clothes. The plaque affixed to the case proudly informed the pub’s patrons that these clothes had been worn by none other than Newt Scamander himself.

Hermione had a bit of trouble believing that one. Why would the clothes of the most prominent magizoologist be on display in a pub? Nevertheless, the place had a very pleasant atmosphere. Ginny and Hermione got their drinks at the bar and chose a table in a strategic spot – they could see the bar and the entrance, but were sufficiently dimly-lit that no one would catch them staring. 

Most of the staring was being done by Ginny. “That one looks all right,” she would say, directing Hermione’s gaze at a young man who had just entered among a small group of people. “Or how about him? Or that one? That one’s good. I’ll go get him to come here.”

“What? N—”

But Ginny was already marching toward the bar, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Hermione saw the young man Ginny was targeting look puzzled at first, then mildly interested, then somewhat disappointed when his eyes followed Ginny’s hand pointing at Hermione. What a great start.

However, he said something to his friends, who also looked at Ginny appraisingly, before following her to their table.

Hermione installed a smile on her face that she hoped looked friendly enough. Now that the guy was here, she had a faint recollection of him. He’d been in another house and a few years above her at Hogwarts.

“Hi. I’m David. You’re Hermione, right? From the Golden Trio?”

Hermione suppressed a long-suffering sigh and did her best to keep her smile intact. “Yes, that’s right.” 

“You’re kind of famous, huh? Although not so much anymore. I bet you’re still living off the perks though, aren’t you?” He sat down.

“What perks?” asked Hermione in the sweetest voice. Ginny looked slightly alarmed.

“You know, you must have gotten some… stuff. From all the press interviews.”

“You think they paid us for our interviews?” Hermione leaned forward, looking at David intently.

David started to look uncomfortable. “I mean… didn’t they?”

“If a journalist pays an interviewee for the information they are sharing, the whole thing becomes a transaction. The interviewee is put in a position where they owe something to the interviewer. The interviewer, in turn, might feel like they now have the right to certain information, or to paint the story in a certain light. Does this sound like a situation that makes for good, independent journalism?”

David chuckled awkwardly. “If you put it like that…”

The poor guy. First, he got dragged over here by a pretty girl just to talk to her less-pretty friend and then said less-pretty friend put him on the spot. At least Hermione knew for sure that David would not be coming home with her.

Ginny seemed to think along the same lines, for she was already scanning the other patrons. Suddenly, she said, “Oh shit!” in a suppressed voice and dropped her gaze to her pint glass.

“What is it?” Hermione craned her neck to see what or who had scared Ginny. David was looking over his shoulder too.

“Don’t look,” Ginny urged. “It’s Snape. He just came in with some other people in tow. Old people.”

Hermione tried to be less obvious about it, but she still tried to catch a glimpse of him. There he was, coming to the bar now to order. She shrank back into the darkness, although he wasn’t looking in their direction.

David, however, still stared.

“What do you think he’s doing here?” Hermione quietly asked Ginny. “And who are those people he’s with?”

“How should I know? I don’t even know what kind of job he has now. I mean, those people have to be his coworkers or something, right?”

“He makes potions to supply apothecaries and St. Mungo’s. And Hogwarts.”

“Huh,” made David, reinserting himself into the conversation. Not bothering to whisper, he said, “I would’ve thought he might’ve taken up something to do with Dark Arts, given how badly he wanted that job.”

Hermione shot David a glance. “I think he primarily wanted to teach us Defence Against the Dark Arts because he knew better than most what Voldemort’s plans were. He could’ve taught us most effectively what to expect and how to defend ourselves.”

Ginny cocked her head. “I never thought about it that way. But it makes sense, I suppose.” 

David scoffed. “Yeah right. That bloke, trying to help people?” He shook his head, doubt etched into his features.

The sharpness in her own voice surprised Hermione. “He may not be a pleasant person, but he has more integrity than everyone here combined.”

“Oh, do you know everyone here?” David sniped. “No, you don’t. You haven’t even asked me one single thing about myself!”

“Right, and you’re much better than that – you knew everything about me already, didn’t you? How I must be living off all those perks I got from running with the Golden Trio .”

“You’re the one who immediately hung out the know-it-all! You didn’t even give me a fair chance to talk to you!”

“For your information, being a ‘know-it-all’ was quite helpful while we were on the run from the most dangerous wizard of our time while simultaneously trying to crack his best-kept secret in order to bring him down once and for all.”

David looked defeated for a second, staring into his glass, but quickly perked up, shooting Hermione a challenging look. “I bet you milk that a lot, huh? Being the brains of the Golden Trio? Got nothing else going on for you now, I bet.”

“I have a successful career. And I’m glad to be leading a quiet life. It’s a nice change after having been kidnapped and tortured and almost died several times.”

“See? There she goes again,” scoffed David, talking to no one in particular. “Just keep on milking the Voldemort stuff.” He leaned back in his seat, taking a long gulp of his beer. 

He looked so detestably arrogant in that moment, Hermione would have loved to give his glass a good shove, spilling beer up his nose and maybe chipping a tooth as a bonus. But she ground her teeth and kept her hands around her own glass.

Now Ginny fixed David with a stare “How would you like living under the totalitarian regime of a homicidal maniac right now? Because if the Golden Trio you’re so happy to sneer about hadn’t been there, that would be the state of the world right now.”

A spark of recognition lit up David’s features. “You’re Potter’s girlfriend! I knew you seemed familiar.” He let his eyes roam over her, making Ginny fold her arms over her chest. “Shame, really…”

But before Ginny or Hermione had time to say anything, David continued, “Your position is even sadder. You didn’t even do anything. The only thing you got going on in your life is shagging a celebrity. How sad is that?”

“Not as sad as not shagging anyone at all, ever.” Ginny tossed her hair and leaned back, giving David a challenging look.

He let out an unpleasant laugh. “I have standards. And neither of you can even come up to scratch.” He drained the last dregs of his beer.

“Then why did you even come over?” asked Hermione.

David eyed Ginny in that unsavoury way again, then shrugged. “Never had a redhead. But it’s not worth it anyway. You’re just a pair of stuck-up bitches.” He got up.

Ginny and Hermione both shot up from their seats, simultaneously shouting at David, while he smirked and walked away. Heads turned in their direction and they scowled at David’s back as they sat down again.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, Hermione. If I had known this guy was such a waste of space, I would never have asked him to come over. This was a disaster.”

Hermione patted Ginny’s arm. “No one could have seen that coming. But I think I’m cured of the desire to take anyone home tonight.” 

“Excuse me,” said someone close to their table. Hermione looked up and almost shrank back. Professor Snape had managed to come over without either of them noticing. “May I have a quick word with you, Professor Granger?” He looked at her and Ginny in turn.

“Sure,” Ginny said, “Would you like to sit down? Would you like some privacy?”

Professor Snape sat on the chair David had just vacated, but declined Ginny’s offer to leave the table.

“Did you get the latest results?” Hermione asked, painfully aware of the eagerness in her voice. “Of the calculations, I mean. For the potion?”

He inclined his head. “That’s what I came here to talk about. The potion is in the final stages of development and there is some fine-tuning that needs to be done. This would be best to do together, since the results need to be tested, and the formula adjusted according to the outcome of those tests. Would you be willing to dedicate some time to this?”

“Yes! I mean…I might be able to make some time for it. When did you want to do this? And how long will it take, roughly?”

“My estimate is two to three hours. I will bring the necessary equipment to Hogwarts and arrange for a room with Minerva.”

“Oh, er… Are you sure? I could come to your… laboratory.”

“Since you’re doing me a favour, I don’t want to inconvenience you. When will you have time?”

“Um, I… Sunday should work, I suppose. Around nine in the morning?”

“I will be there. Thank you, Professor Granger.”

He bid them goodbye and left their table to join his companions on the other side of the pub.

Ginny said, “That was… interesting. I had expected Snape of all people to be one of those ‘I work alone’ kind of blokes.” The gruff, gravelly voice Ginny used made Hermione laugh. Ginny said, “But yeah, Harry said you had done some calculations for him. Looks like he really appreciated that, huh?”

“Looks like it.” Hermione did her utmost to seem casual, but inwardly, she was beaming. She had written in her letter to him that she didn’t depend on praise anymore, but being trusted with important work by Professor Snape felt very gratifying indeed.

Chapter Text

On Sunday at eight fifty-nine, a knock sounded on the door of Hermione’s office. She went to answer it, her hands clammy. Being alone while doing calculations for Professor Snape was one thing, doing them while he was waiting for the results, looking over her shoulder, quite another.

“Good morning, Professor Granger,” he greeted her. “Thank you in advance for sacrificing your Sunday to help me.” 

After she’d led him a few doors down the hall to the temporary lab, he set down his Gladstone bag and took off his cloak. With practised movements, he retrieved his mobile potions lab from the bag, unshrinking his equipment as he set it up. Hermione felt a bit silly sitting there and watching him, since all she’d had to do was put down her Arithmantic ledgers, along with her quill and parchment. 

Before long, he said. “I will start the brewing process and proceed to the step immediately before adding the dung beetle thorax. I will distribute the concoction into six different cauldrons, which I will bring to different temperatures, and add in the thorax. Then, I will make a few measurements which you may use to calculate how long each cauldron needs to simmer in order for the thorax to become fully integrated into the potion. Are you ready to do that?”

Hermione nodded, already busy scribbling down the appropriate formulas and opening her ledgers to the right pages. 

Once these preparations were done, she had to wait again. For a second, she considered asking him whether she could help with anything, but the words wilted on her tongue when she saw him brew. 

His hands worked quickly and precisely, never once still. His command of the sharp knives was superb – all pieces he cut were of equal size, all slices of equal thickness. While one hand stirred, the other wrote. A few seconds later, both hands were busy with a pestle and mortar, grinding quickly and efficiently. Hermione couldn’t help but admire his skills. And his elegant fingers, moving fluently and perfectly like those of a well-trained musician.

It took a few seconds before Hermione realised his hands had stopped moving and lay on the table now. Her eyes snapped up to his face. She felt the heat rising in her neck – he had to have seen her staring, mesmerised. But he only said, “The potion is ready for distribution. In a moment, I will try to adjust the temperatures of each batch as precisely as possible. I will tell you the actual temperatures once they are stable. Please be ready.”

Hermione nodded once, her quill hovering over the parchment. She’d make sure to be more professional for the remainder of the experiment.

With quick and subtle movements, Professor Snape lifted six tiny cauldrons out of his Gladstone bag, unshrunk them and set them up, lighting a fire under each. He took a moment to temper the flames before making the potion rise out of the large cauldron and, moving his wand carefully, directed a portion of the shimmering purple liquid into each of the smaller ones.

Hermione hardly dared to breathe in the quiet that followed. Professor Snape stirred and waited, then stirred again. He casually waved his wand over each cauldron, making small white numbers appear above them. Suddenly, he looked up, his eyes piercing through the rising steam into Hermione’s. She sat up, pulling her shoulders back. 

She was quick to put her quill to parchment as he rattled off the temperatures for all six cauldrons. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, something stirred – the expectation that he might ridicule her for her zeal. But his voice was calm and professional, without even a hint of derisiveness.

She took a deep breath to focus, then turned to her ledger and started calculating. After less than five minutes, she had the first results, which she delivered with confidence. He acted upon them immediately, making the times she dictated appear in glowing numbers above each cauldron. As soon as they’d appeared, the timers started counting down.  A tiny smile crept onto her face while she worked on the next two temperatures for a moment – she enjoyed herself. “All right, the third cauldron needs—”

The door opened. Both of them turned towards it.

“What’s all this then?” Ron, who stood in the doorway, looked utterly baffled. “What is he doing here?” He jerked his head towards Professor Snape.

Only weeks ago, Ron coming to see her, to surprise her, would have made her heart soar. 

But now, all she felt was irritation. “This is not a good time, Ron. You can’t just barge in here unannounced, I’m working! Please go outside.”

Ron stared at her, his mouth agape.

“You are interrupting a delicate experiment,” said Professor Snape. “Leave.” The familiar soft and dangerous quality in his voice gave Hermione satisfaction. She hadn’t been able to snipe at Ron – now, someone was doing it for her, even if it was for a different reason.

Ron kept standing there, staring at Hermione, ignoring Professor Snape. Something flared up inside her and her voice was sharp when she said, “Ron! Leave us alone, seriously! You can’t be in here!”

His eyes round and incredulous, he finally turned and closed the door behind him.

Hermione’s heart was racing. “The nerve!” She shook her head. Then, without wasting another moment, she kept rattling off the simmering times she had calculated.

The rapid exchange of numbers and results, and the atmosphere of focused scientific work made an almost-forgotten passion bloom anew in Hermione’s heart. Whenever she had tried to tell Ron about Arithmancy – or any academic topic – his eyes had glazed over. 

In the early days of their non-relationship, he had grinned, ruffled her hair and said, “I don’t understand any of this, but it’s so cute to see the gears work in your swotty brain!” Later on, he had usually knitted his brow and said, “Mione, you know I don’t really care about that stuff. Give it a rest, yeah?” She had taken it to heart because she couldn’t afford to bore or upset Ron. 

Finally thinking about and doing science again felt just like the brownies she had made: She had forgotten how wonderful it was, but now that she tasted it, her heart overflowed with quiet joy.

A silent trickle of disappointment tainted her sense of accomplishment when the brewing was finished. She could have gone on like this for hours. Despite the interruption, the potions had turned out just as Professor Snape had planned. He filled each batch into a labelled vial, and Hermione gathered her books.

Both of their belongings neatly packed away, Hermione said, “So… what happens to the potion now? Will you test the different recipes on yourself?”

He shook his head. “The effects of the potion are meant to last for several days. Even if I keep a very careful journal, I won’t be able to objectively compare the effects of each batch. I will have to resort to animal testing.”

“Oh…”

The hint of disapproval in her voice was not lost on him. “The animals will not come to harm. It’s a strengthening solution, after all.”

“Right.” She looked up at him. “What kind of animals are you using? And how do you make sure that different animals don’t react differently to the potion? Or do you give the potions to the same animal on different days? And how do you test what effects it has?”

There was a sharpness in his eyes that almost made Hermione shrink back. But she forced herself not to waver from his gaze. She was his equal now, there was no need to be intimidated. 

“I do not care for such meddlesome inquiries.”

“I helped you bring this potion to fruition. You can answer a few simple questions in exchange.” 

He raised his eyebrows. Hermione stuck her chin out, although she was fairly sure she had gone too far.

He said, very softly but acutely, “Fine, if it’ll spare me further interrogations, you can assist me in the testing.” 

“When and where?”

He set down his bag. “Here and now.”

Hermione had to suppress a triumphant grin. Her brain was running on high gear, she needed to fuel it with more thinking, more calculating, more reasoning, more analysing, just more .

Professor Snape clicked his bag open with a deliberate look at Hermione, as if he was asking her, “Happy now?”

He levitated and unshrunk an entirely different set of equipment than before. A maze unfolded before Hermione’s eyes, getting larger and larger, forcing Hermione to hurry out of its way. When it was finally at its full size, it was several yards long and wide and rested on four desks at once.

There were also numerous tasks built into the maze that the animal running through it would have to solve to be able to continue on its way. A tap from Professor Snape’s wand made the whole thing even more complicated, adding another layer of walkways in some places, accessible by ropes, stairs or ladders.

Hermione marvelled at the contraption. “Did you design this yourself?”

“Partly.” He was now distributing small, bright yellow pellets in different parts of the maze. “A labyrinth like this is commonly used when testing potions meant to enhance strength, speed, stamina, or intelligence. Although, in its original form, it is much simpler. I expanded on it, adding more and harder tasks.”

The yellow pellets all distributed, he turned back to his bag, this time lifting something out of it by hand. When he unshrunk it, Hermione could see that it was a rather large, two-layered cage whose base was filled with a thick carpet of what looked like shredded cardboard. The cardboard moved and a small snout adorned with a halo of long whiskers poked out and sniffed the air.

Professor Snape opened the cage and made a clicking sound with his tongue, whereupon three rats cautiously approached his hand. He gave two of them a brief scratch behind the ears and a pellet. They hastily scuttled away into separate corners to eat their treat. The third rat was still waiting. Professor Snape gently scooped it up and put it against his chest. 

Seeing the stern and volatile potions master be so calm and gentle with a tiny creature felt like an invasion of his privacy. To dispel her uneasiness, Hermione asked, “What happens now?”

He plucked the rat from where it had climbed onto his shoulder, and put it in an antechamber of the maze. “This rat, like her companions, is trained to pass through this labyrinth. She knows that the tasks will get harder the further she goes, but the reward gets bigger. She is able to decide whether to quit and take a smaller reward, or go on to find a larger one.” 

He produced a small satchel from which he retrieved cubes of bacon. The rat in the antechamber stood on her hind legs, stretching up as far as her body allowed and sniffed the air.

Hermione frowned. “But if she already knows the maze, how can you test anything by making her go through it again?”

“I have changed a few things for today’s test. She will meet obstacles where there were none before. Some of the intellectual tasks are more difficult, some of the physical ones harder than normal. We will do a first run now. You will need to note the time she takes to solve each task and the time between the end of one task and the start of the next task.”

Hermione nodded, all business again, and perched her quill on the parchment. Professor Snape removed the barrier that had separated the anteroom from the maze and the rat immediately started running along the small corridors.

Hermione had conjured a stopwatch and was measuring the intervals Professor Snape had mentioned. He stood on the other side of the maze, doing the same. The first four tasks were quickly solved. It seemed to get harder then, with the rat seemingly losing her way a few times and taking a number of tries before figuring out how a certain task worked.

When there were five tasks left to get to the bacon cubes at the end of the maze, the rat gave up. She sat on her haunches, took the pellet she had just uncovered in her tiny hands and started nibbling on it.

Professor Snape put her back in the cage, where she immediately went to get a drink of water. This coaxed her mates from their hiding places. They came to the door, once again sniffing Professor Snape’s hand. He took out one of them and she, too, was sent into the maze. She made it to four tasks before the big reward. The third one fared similarly.

When they were all back in their cage, Professor Snape said, “We will allow them half an hour of rest. I will use that time to reorganise the maze.” 

He handed Hermione the piece of parchment he had used to record the times. “Please compare the data that you and I collected. If there is a big difference, use my data rather than yours. You may order everything in an unambiguous way that will allow me to make the proper conclusions.” 

So, while he was waving his wand, making parts of the maze exchange their positions, Hermione drew up a table to sort everything she had written down. It seemed like barely any time had passed when rat number one came out of the cage again.

“Do they have names?” Hermione asked.

Professor Snape shot her a look. “Yes. This is Bas. The other two are Mauta and Oti.”

“Oh… what language is this?”

“Several.” His tone made it clear that this particular line of questioning would stop right there. Bas was now in the antechamber of the maze again. Professor Snape gave the rat a drop of the strengthening solution from the vial he had labelled “A”.

Even though the order of the tasks was different now, Bas confidently made her way from one to the other, straying less often than she had before and solving both intellectual and physical tasks more quickly. It was quite a sight, this little animal going through the maze as if she had never done anything else. Within less than fifteen minutes, she had arrived at the bacon cubes, which she gobbled down greedily. 

Professor Snape picked up Bas and her reward and put her in a smaller cage, far away from the other two. “They will get into a fierce fight over the bacon otherwise,” he explained. It was Mauta’s turn next, then Oti’s. Both were also much quicker than before. 

“I suppose we will repeat the experiment now. How many replicas did you want to do? Six?”

Professor Snape shook his head. “I’m afraid four replicas will have to suffice. I have one week to test all six batches of the potions. Then, I will have to test the best batch on myself as well to see whether there are any unwanted side effects in humans. There is not much time left.”

Hermione bit her tongue. She wanted to know, very badly, why he didn’t have much time left and what he needed the potion for, but she had tested his patience enough today. Instead, she asked, “Will you only test it on yourself?”

“Yes. That will be enough, given that I will be the only user of the potion for the time being.”

“I would be happy to also try it. It never hurts to have an extra set of data.”

He regarded her for a moment. “That won’t be necessary.”

Despite the dismissal, Hermione smiled to herself. His voice had been hesitant, his demeanour polite. For a second there, he had considered it. 

“It’s long past lunchtime,” she said. Should I ask the elves for some sandwiches? What kind would you like?”

“Butter and cucumber will be fine.”

Just to be sure, Hermione asked the elf for some other options, too. But as it turned out, Professor Snape really only ate two cucumber sandwiches. Maybe he didn’t want to get too full while working.

While they ate, Hermione prepared the statistical tests she would do once she had all the datasets, and Professor Snape changed the maze yet again.

They worked through the afternoon, settling into an efficient routine of recording times, tending to the rats, filling in tables and shifting the tasks inside the maze. By the fourth and last run-through, he had stopped giving her forbidding looks whenever she made a suggestion for the maze and even followed some of them.

As evening approached, Hermione was putting the last of her measurements into the table. She duplicated everything she had written and gave the parchment to him. The room was clear again, Professor Snape just shrinking the cage where each rat was happily gorging herself on her last bit of bacon.

“I suppose the potion wears off much quicker in rats than it does in humans, given how much faster their metabolism is? So, you’ll be able to repeat the experiment tomorrow?”

He inclined his head. “I should be able to visit again to discuss the results next Saturday. Does that work for you?”

“Yes. You know where my office is, you can just come by.”

“I will let you know on Friday evening when I will come.”

“Right. Thank you. Could you send me the results of the other tests as soon as you have them? Then I’ll do the statistical analysis.” 

He hesitated. “Don’t you have enough work as it is?”

“I enjoy doing this. It’s a nice break from grading homework.”

“Very well then. I will give you the data through your fireplace, so you’ll get them immediately.”

Even though it would only be Professor Snape, the prospect of someone calling her every night made her feel at ease. It was a welcome reprieve from Ron only calling once every blue moon.

Chapter Text

Last time:

Could you send me the results of the other tests as soon as you have them? Then I’ll do the statistical analysis.” 

He hesitated. “Don’t you have enough work as it is?”

“I enjoy doing this. It’s a nice break from grading homework.”

“Very well then. I will give you the data through your fireplace, so you’ll get them immediately.”

Even though it would only be Professor Snape, the prospect of someone calling her every night made her feel at ease. It was a welcome reprieve from Ron only calling once every blue moon. 

As she and Professor Snape left the room together, Hermione stopped dead. There was Ron, sitting on a window sill, looking miserable. 

“You waited here the entire time?” She should have been happy that Ron wanted to see her so badly. Instead, anger rose up. Why hadn’t he ever done this when they were still seeing each other? Why did he have to reinsert himself into her life now, after she had spent so much effort to not let him rule over her happiness anymore?

“Yes, I waited. What else was I supposed to do? And why was he here? What were you doing in there for so long?” 

“Honestly, Ron, that’s none of your business!”

“Only, it kind of is! Have you forgotten how he treated us back in school?”

“Oh, Ron…” Hermione exhaled, her shoulders sagging. She’d had this argument with him several times in the months after the battle. Then, later, when Ron had made himself scarcer and scarcer, she had tip-toed around the subject lest she scare him away. 

Now, she had nothing to lose. She could whack him around the head with her arguments of why Professor Snape had acted the way he did. But what was the point? Why would she even want to convince him anymore?

She simply shrugged and said, “I don’t care what you think. Stay out of my business, yeah?” She turned away.

“No, wait, you can’t just leave now! I waited here for you for half a bloody day!”

“I’m aware, Ron, and frankly, that’s bizarre! Why on earth would you do that?”

“You owe me an explanation, don’t you! I still don’t get why you stormed off that day at the beach. I thought you’d let me know once you’d cooled off, but you never did. And now you suddenly give me the cold shoulder? I honestly don’t understand what has gotten into you!”

Hermione’s emotions swirled together in a tornado of disbelief, anger, grief and a thousand other things. 

Behind her, a silky voice said, “Professor Granger, are you coming? Our table is for seven p.m. I do hate being late.”

A split-second decision: Finally shout all those things she had been dying to say to Ron – or leave him there in his confusion?

A smile tugged at the corners of Hermione’s mouth. “I’m coming, Professor.” She turned away from Ron, giving her cloak a swish to imitate the dramatic whirl of Professor Snape’s cloak.

She bit her lips, focusing hard on her gait and posture. Nothing could show how quickly her heart was beating, how light-headed she suddenly felt.

Ron didn’t call after her, which Hermione took as a sign that he was utterly flabbergasted. Feeling like she was in a trance, she accompanied Professor Snape to the entrance hall, through the front doors and out of the castle. Only then did she stop. 

“Well, thank you for that,” she said. “And thank you for letting me help today. It was a welcome distraction. I’m looking forward to receiving the numbers in the coming days.”

“You seem to be under the impression that our ways part here.”

“Don’t they?”

“I may have fabricated the story of a table reservation, but I do intend to follow through on the offer of dinner. As irritatingly inquisitive as you can be, I welcome your assistance. I’d like to show my appreciation.”

“Oh… you… you really don’t have to, I mean…”

“You have other plans?” His voice sounded neutral. Almost apologetic, even.

“No, no. I was just surprised.” Hermione was quickly warming to the idea. “Where did you want to go?”

“The Knot and Pickaxe. Although I’d appreciate it if you didn’t get into any shouting matches tonight.”

“Oh…” Hermione’s face flushed. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

“As am I.”

Hermione chuckled humourlessly. “You came to our table at the perfect moment.”

“Yes, I do seem to have an intrinsic ability to scare people away,” he said dryly.

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. Was he alluding to his past, assuming that Hermione knew as much about it as Harry did? Should she reassure him that Harry had staunchly refused to share all the private details of Professor Snape’s life? Then again, if Professor Snape had only made a passing joke, bringing up his troubled past would be the worst thing she could do.

He cut her musings short. “Would you like me to take you Side-Along?” They had arrived at the front gates and he was holding out his arm. After a short hesitation, Hermione took it. She held on tight as he swiftly turned, pulling them both towards South Kensington. 

They arrived in a back room of the pub whose sole purpose seemed to be a terminal for apparition. Professor Snape lowered his arm and Hermione reluctantly had to let go of it.

The Sunday evening crowd was a subdued one. People sat at tables in pairs or small groups, quietly talking over their pints and plates of food.

He led her to a table on the opposite side of the pub from where she had sat with Ginny. 

The food was varied and sounded delicious. Hermione opted for a trout and Professor Snape ordered a mushroom risotto – and a bottle of white wine with two glasses.

When the wine came, he poured them both a glass and raised his. Hermione imitated him as he said, “To a fruitful collaboration.”

Pleasantly surprised, Hermione clinked her glass against his. For someone who kept complaining about her asking too many questions, he really quite readily acknowledged her contributions.

Their food came soon after. Hermione attacked her trout. It was cooked to perfection, its skin crunchy and the meat almost melting in her mouth. Surreptitiously, she watched Professor Snape’s eating habits – small bites, inconspicuous chewing, reasonable pace. Such a breath of fresh air! If Ron could see how easily their conversation flowed, how much they enjoyed each other's company, he’d lose his mind!

Wait, no. This was just two colleagues enjoying a well-earned break after a long day of work, nothing more. To reassure herself of just this, Hermione said, “I really appreciate your intervention earlier. But to be clear, I won’t take advantage of it. I will pay for myself.”

He pondered her. “I meant what I said. I welcome your help. I had planned on buying you dinner to thank you either way, once I was back.”

“Back? From where?”

He took a moment before answering. “The potion will be of help during my coming journey into the Himalayas to collect a rare ingredient. That’s the entire reason I developed it.”

“The Himalayas? That’s a long journey. How will you get there?”

“Since I will have to travel through many countries, some of which don’t have an agreement with our Ministry of Magic, I will have to take Muggle transportation.”

“So, a plane?”

He shook his head, letting out a short, humourless snort of laughter. “The Potioneers’ Society, for whom I will be collecting the ingredient, won’t pay for such ‘extravagances’, as they call it.”

“You’ll take a train then? How long will that take? It must be about a week!”

“A little longer.”

“May I ask which ingredient you’ll be collecting?”

“Yes, it’s not a secret. We have stores of especially precious and rare ingredients. Every Society member can file an application to be allowed to use small amounts of them, provided  that the potion they need it for is deemed useful and worthy. When an ingredient runs out, we take turns replenishing it. The lot to collect faeces of the Meh-Teh, more commonly known as the Yeti, has fallen to me this time.”

“Yeti… faeces?” Hermione couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from twitching. 

He gave her a mildly exasperated look before saying, “Indeed. As you can imagine, it’s hard to come by.”

Hermione’s momentary amusement subsided quickly. “And dangerous to acquire, I would assume.”

His eyes bored into hers. She didn’t flinch. Eventually, he said, “I am well-prepared.”

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise.” At that moment, something else fell into place in Hermione’s mind. “The warming charm from the blanket is for this journey as well, isn’t it.”

“Indeed.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “When are you leaving?”

“Monday after next.”

“Oh…” Hermione let her fork sink. “That’s… very soon.”

He looked at her again. 

“But… I suppose you’ll only be gone for a few weeks, probably?” She swallowed. He had no more reason to answer this question than she had to ask it.

“I can’t say how long it will take me to locate the Meh-Teh.” His voice was soft, but not in the way that was a presage for impending doom. “It might take a day, it might take a week or even longer. That’s all I can say.” He seemed genuinely apologetic.

Hermione nodded slowly, then put on a smile. “We should make sure, then, that you take the very best batch of Strengthening Solution along with you!”

He called every night at eight on the dot, reaching through the flames to hand her his newly collected data. And every night, Hermione updated him on which batch of the potion had come out on top in her statistical analysis so far. As the days went on, she found herself looking forward to their calls, even though they only exchanged a few sentences each time.

Saturday came, and with it, his visit to her office to discuss the results. Even though she’d spent time with him less than a week ago, he now seemed larger than life, being in her office again. Unreal, almost.

They sat beside each other, studying the data plots Hermione had drawn. “So, while batch D produced the shortest reaction time in two of the runs, batch B shows more consistent results. I’d go with that one, personally.”

He nodded. “I will test batch B on myself then.”

“Did you build yourself a giant maze?”

The corners of his mouth twitched, and not entirely with disapproval. “I have selected a few tried and tested intellectual and physical tasks.”

“I see. Weightlifting and such?”

“Yes. And stamina tests as well.”

“So… you’ll go running or…?” She could not for the life of her imagine him in a running kit. When she tried, all she could picture was him in his full black attire, but with colourful trainers on his feet. 

“I have a stationary bike.”

“Right. Do you need me to track the res—”

“No.” He shot her a forbidding look, but it didn’t land. She had to bite her lip to keep her grin in check.

“Well, if there’s anything else I can do to help, please let me know.”

He shook his head. “You’ve done so much already. I should leave to get started on my own trial.”

His words wiped the smile off Hermione’s face. She’d gotten used to talking to him every day this past week. Now, the fact that she’d not hear from him in weeks, possibly even months, finally hit home.

She stood up, wiping her hands on her trousers. “Right. I suppose all that’s left is to wish you safe travels.”

“Thank you. For everything.” He went to her fireplace and took a pinch of floo powder. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “If you don’t mind, I might write to you, to tell you how the potion performs under real-life conditions.”

“Oh… yes, absolutely. Please do.”

“Goodbye, Professor Granger.”

“Goodbye. Be safe.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

February 24th, 2004

Professor Granger,

After covering a few hundred miles by portkey, I have boarded the first train and am now on my way from Paris to Stuttgart. Given that I am outside of the jurisdiction of the British Ministry of Magic – who are the only ones that can track my wand – I allow myself the smallest amount of spellcasting to make the journey bearable, Muggles be damned. Because despite being seated in a first-class car, my surroundings are decidedly too busy. 

I have brought plenty of things to work on, but I find myself idly gazing out of the window, watching the landscape slip by. Every now and then, the fields and nature will morph into houses, which become bigger and more numerous, and suddenly we pull into the dirty train station of a big town. 

They all seem to be the same. Graffitied within an inch of their lives and surrounded by multi-storey houses full of small flats. I pity the poor souls who are forced to live there, their back windows perpetually exposed to the stares of thousands of travellers.

Maybe the reason I cannot seem to delve into my work is a throwaway remark made by Master Thwaite, one of my colleagues at the Potioneers’ Society. Apparently, the last member to fetch the Meh-Teh faeces died under mysterious circumstances shortly after her return. However, I’m confident that I’m exceptionally well-prepared since my precautions have led to some mildly mocking remarks from other Society members.

When this letter reaches you, I’m probably already on my way towards Hungary.

Sincerely,
SS

P.S.: Please don’t research the Potioneer’s Society member who died after procuring the Meh-Teh faeces. I don’t require a lecture from you on the topic.

February 26 th 2004

Dear Professor Snape,

You cannot provide me with a mysterious piece of information and expect me to ignore it. When you tempt me like that, I will do research – and share my findings. Given that I only had a few hours though, my lecture will be short.

The potioneer who last travelled to the Himalayas to get Yeti faeces was called Louise Geertruida Maria van Zanten-Hutsema (what a mouthful). Thankfully, she simply went by Wies. I’m sure you will have guessed that she was from the Netherlands. She left for Nepal on April 13th 1978 and came back about two months later. 

She did bring back a good amount of faeces. And apparently, her journey went without a hitch, apart from a snow storm which she managed to easily protect herself from. And yet, she didn’t feel quite herself after her return. Both her husband and colleagues from the Potioneers’ Society noticed that she looked more and more tired and weak as time passed. She herself reported feeling cold at all times; no warming charm could seem to alleviate her symptoms. She died a few months later.

To me, this sounded very much like she was bitten by a frost sprite, probably in that snow storm; so she was too preoccupied to realise it had happened, and whatever strengthening spells and/or potions she bolstered herself with masked the symptoms. I may be jumping to conclusions here, prejudiced because I myself was bitten by a frost sprite recently. But I did look up when frost sprites were properly characterised, and it was only in 1976, two years before Wies went on her journey. 

Of course, frost sprites being described as a species doesn’t mean that much was known about them, especially their venom. So, I looked that up as well, and the antivenom was developed in 1981 by a member of the Society. It doesn’t say so outright, but I do suspect that Wies’ death inspired this potioneer to research the antivenom. Long story short, it’s perfectly possible a frost sprite bite is what killed Wies, and the healers didn’t recognize the symptoms because frost sprites weren’t widely known at the time.

Luckily, you are very unlikely to run into that particular kind of trouble, since you have the antivenom with you. I hope this information puts you at ease enough to allow you to focus on your work from here on out.

There is not much to report from Hogwarts. My life has gone back to being almost exclusively about teaching and correcting homework. I do admit I’m a bit miffed you took away my favourite pastime – applied Arithmancy – when you left. Maybe I should write to the Potioneers’ Society and offer my services to whoever may need them. You’ll happily supply me with a letter of recommendation, won’t you?

Safe travels, and I hope you can tear your eyes away from depressing Muggle dwellings in time.

Sincerely Yours,
Hermione

February 29 th 2004

Professor Granger – Hermione,

You will do no such thing. If I hear you have been soliciting business and dragging my name into it, I will do my own Arithmantic calculations for the rest of eternity – and send them to you once they’re done so you can see what misfortune your own foolish behaviour has brought upon you.

I suppose the information on the hapless Wies was not entirely without merit – it seems to have put me at ease enough to get some work done. I reviewed two papers by my colleagues from the Society – one is to be rejected from publication, the other needs major revisions.

The landscapes still catch my attention from time to time. Whenever I have a few hours between trains I venture past the borders of the towns I’m in – using magic in the most inconspicuous manner – and collect specimens. 

If I can, I seek out the magical vendors as well. Early this morning, I was tempted to buy a pinch of dried saiga mucus but the vendor couldn’t tell me believably that the animal it came from hadn’t been killed in the process, so I—"

A knock sounded on her door. Hermione put the parchment onto her desk and stood up. “Who is it?”  Instead of giving an answer, the person outside opened the door. Hermione whipped out her wand.

It was Ron. Hermione stared at him, letting her wand sink. 

“Hi Mione…”

Chapter Text

Last time:

A knock sounded on her door. Hermione put the parchment onto her desk and stood up. “Who is it?”  Instead of giving an answer, the person outside opened the door. Hermione whipped out her wand.

It was Ron. Hermione stared at him, letting her wand sink. 

“Hi Mione…”

He gave her a sheepish grin.

“What are you doing here?”

“I…” he exhaled. “I need to talk to you. Do you have a little time?”

Hermione eyed Professor Snape’s letter. She really wanted to finish reading it, and reply as soon as possible. On the other hand, Ron’s demure attitude had made her curious. She exhaled. “What can I do for you?” She noticed with some satisfaction that her voice was aloof and business-like.

Ron knitted his brow. “I made a mistake, okay? I shouldn’t have let you break up with me.”

“Let me—?” This was not what she had expected. A barrage of thoughts and emotions chased each other through her brain and her heartbeat sped up. She shook her head, her eyes closed, trying to put her mind in order. “I didn’t actually break up with you, because we were never together, Ron. You made sure of that. Where is this coming from all of a sudden?”

Ron lifted his shoulders. “Cleo kept picking fights with me whenever I mentioned your name. Which, according to her, I did a lot. And it just hit me, Mione. It’s you. I—I need you.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. Of course he was with Cleo. But Hermione wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing any reaction to that information. “Listen to yourself, Ron! You can’t even say ‘I love you’, not even ‘I care about you’. Because saying things like that would make me think you’re interested in commitment, and Ronald Weasley cannot have that, can he? No, instead you’re informing me that you expect me to do something for you. You need me. That’s the height of emotion you can feel for another person. Wanting them to cater to you in some way. And why are you telling me now, more than a month after I disappeared from your life? Did Cleo gain weight or something?”

He gave her a confused look, her sarcastic remark sailing right over his head. “What? No. She’s really hot and everything but… I dunno… she didn’t make me happy.” He looked up at Hermione with puppy-dog eyes.

But she just threw her arms up. “Of course she didn’t! Neither could I, neither can anyone else! No matter which woman you are with, you will always find something wrong with her, even if she is the hottest, most amazing, most low-maintenance person on earth! The war fucked you up, Ron, like it did all of us. You won’t find happiness in a woman’s arms. You need to see someone professional if you ever want to be happy again.”

Ron scoffed, his eyebrows shooting up. “I don’t need a headshrinker! I’m not barmy or anything! I just need some love.”

“Ron!” Hermione was almost shouting now, growing increasingly desperate at his complete inability  to grasp the issue. “I gave you love! I gave you everything I had! I was there instantly whenever you needed me and disappeared the moment you wanted to be alone. I had sex with you when you wanted it, with no regard to my own needs. Whenever I wanted to do something, or talk about us, you immediately told me to drop it, and I always did! I made myself into exactly who you wanted me to be and it still wasn’t enough! You still found plenty of things wrong with me!”

Tears were pricking at her eyes – born not of sadness but of frustration and anger. 

Ron frowned. “Maybe that was the problem, you know? Maybe you should be a little more yourself. I mean, how can I—care about you when you don’t even allow me to see the real you?”

“No, you’re not doing this! You’re not turning this around and blaming me! You made it very clear that ‘the real me’ was too needy, too complicated for you to deal with.”

“I mean… you have all these emotions and you expect me to kind of read your mind and understand everything immediately. Like, at the lake. I just wanted to make sure you’re being healthy and you suddenly blew up at me.” He frowned, his voice growing more agitated. “And then, you didn’t contact me again in weeks. You owe me an explanation at least for that! I still don’t really understand why you got so angry at such a little thing.”

Hermione sat down behind her desk and put her face in her hands. She didn’t have the energy to try and explain to him, yet again, how her body shape was neither unhealthy nor up for anyone’s judgement. How his little remark that day hadn’t been a one-off but the culmination of years of disregard for her. 

She took a deep breath and looked up. “I don’t owe you anything, Ron. You made it quite clear, during our non-relationship, that I shouldn’t demand you spend time with me. I was to wait for you to initiate contact. Sometimes, you didn’t contact me for a week without any explanation. So don’t tell me that I owe you something.”

Ron opened his mouth, but Hermione talked over him. “And don’t tell me that you never outright said I wasn’t allowed to contact you. You may not have said it with words, but you know just as well as I do that you said it with your attitude whenever I did dare to contact you first. Turning me down almost every time, the leaden silences before you did, the strain in your voice, the clear annoyance. 

“I’m done, Ron. I am well and truly done with you. You need to leave now. And go see a therapist.”

Without waiting for a reply, she snatched up the letter from Professor Snape. Her eyes raced over the lines of handwriting without taking any of it in. She didn’t even bother to try and find the place where she had left off.

“You can’t just throw me out like this. You always wanted to talk about us, didn’t you? Now I’m here to do that. It’s not fair to suddenly change the rules on me!”

Hermione didn’t look up as she said, “You had your chance. I can’t help you. I tried for seven years. Please let me work now. Goodbye.”

“Wait…” 

To Hermione’s utter consternation, Ron came to her desk and bent back the upper edge of the parchment she was holding. With an incredulous voice, he said, “It’s from Snape! Don’t tell me you still work together? I thought that was a temporary thing?”

Hermione stood up. “I am still working with him. And you know what? He’s also become a great friend! He replies to me right away, he is always on time when we meet and he is genuinely interested in what I have to say. He is much, much better for me than you ever were!”

Ron looked at her with a pained expression. “Oh, Mione…” he breathed. “I get that you’re lonely, but you don’t need to turn to… that!” Disgusted, he jerked his head towards the letter.

Hermione whipped out her wand and pointed it at Ron. “Get out!” she snarled.

Ron raised his hands and said, “Calm down, Mione,” which enraged her even more. With a slash of her wand, her door flew open. A gust of cold wind swept Ron out into the corridor, and the door slammed shut. Hermione locked and warded it. He could knock as much as he wanted, yell as loudly as he could and she would never even know.

Breathing heavily, she sat down, her face in her hands. Her cool façade finally crumbled and she let out a frustrated yell. In a sudden bout of madness, she took her quill and started scribbling frantically,

March 1 st 2004

Dear Professor Snape,

You called me a ‘stupid girl’ once, and you could do it again right now and wouldn’t be wrong. Seven years I pined after that idiot like I had no brains at all. And now he comes here because he found his latest girlfriend lacking and whines about how he ‘needs me’. The fucking audacity! I was right there for years and years, waiting on him hand and foot, making sure I was never too much for him to handle, retreating the very second he indicated that he’d had enough of me and then patiently waiting for him to call for me again, like a pathetic little puppy.

And then he has the nerve to criticise me for corresponding with you! You, who are reliable, punctual, intelligent and a pleasure to talk to. All things that he could never be. And yet, he thinks himself so much better. Impossible!

I hope I’ll never have to see him again – I quite literally threw him out of my office. And now I wish you were here so that we could talk about Meh-Teh faeces and the mysterious fates of explorers of yesteryear. It would calm me down instantly.

I apologise for this outburst of a letter but I needed to put this somewhere, tell it to someone. You just have the misfortune to be the most readily available recipient at the moment. I promise to be calm and collected in my next letter to you.

Kind regards,
Hermione

Despite feeling certain that she’d regret it in the morning, Hermione sealed the letter and called a house elf to post it. She went to bed with a feeling of grim satisfaction and even a little pride for having spoken her mind to Ron. 

Leaving Professor Snape’s letter to her in her desk drawer, she went to bed. She’d read it tomorrow, when her head was clear again. That way, she had something to look forward to.

To her own mild surprise, the next morning did not bring the mortifying clarity that last night’s letter to Professor Snape had been wildly inappropriate. She was still glad she had sent it. 

She retrieved the letter she hadn’t finished reading the day before and sat on her desk chair, still in her pyjamas. She soon found the spot where she had left off:

If I can, I seek out the magical vendors as well. Early this morning, I was tempted to buy a pinch of dried saiga mucus but the vendor couldn’t tell me believably that the animal it came from hadn’t been killed in the process, so I abstained from buying any, given that the species is critically endangered. 

The train I am on now will be my accommodation for several days. Alas, today is the last time I will be alone, since, from tomorrow onwards, I will share this sleeper compartment with another traveller. The magical governments of some of the countries we pass through don’t allow manipulation of devices that were made and are primarily used by Muggles, such as this train. I don’t want to risk getting in trouble just for avoiding the minor inconvenience of a bunkmate. I will let you know in due course who I got saddled with.

Until then I remain
Sincerely Yours,
S

Hermione looked at the single “S” at the bottom of the letter for a moment. It had to have been done on purpose – someone as guarded and meticulous as him wouldn’t just accidentally sign with only his first-name initial. That one little letter made her quite happy.

Her heart beat a little faster when she put quill to parchment and wrote, Dear Severus. 

Was she being impertinent? Oh, to hell with it, he would just have to deal with it. She kept scribbling.

I have a hard time imagining you sharing a tiny train compartment with some Muggle. Poor him though – I’m sure you’ll do a splendid job of utterly terrifying him by your mere presence.

It’s very considerate of you to not buy ingredients collected from an endangered species. You’re going to chastise me, but I did do a few quick calculations and found that springbok mucus will be roughly 96.3% as efficient on average as saiga mucus in the vast majority of applications. But I’m sure you already knew that.

I do envy you – travelling across an entire continent by train, seeing the Eurasian Steppe spread out beyond your window – I’d love to go on a journey like that someday.

Cleo, our potions mistress, has roped me into another of her ingredient hunts. Meaning I find and collect ingredients and she tags along, occasionally hiding behind my back when a twig snaps in the Forbidden Forest. I should be annoyed, but it gives me the opportunity to leave the castle, so I’m not complaining too much.

Although she does have dragon mane lichen on her list this time. You know like no other how deep in the forest this stuff grows. We’ll have to make sure we go while the sun is still high. Wish me luck!

Kind regards,
Hermione

March 5 th 2004

Hermione,

I received both of your letters on the same day, although I’m assuming one of those was written late at night, with your inhibition taking a back seat. Nevertheless, I can’t pretend I wasn’t a little pleased with the fact that our correspondence irks Mr. Weasley so much. And as unpleasant as that confrontation undoubtedly was, it was about time you saw his many shortcomings clearly. 

My bunkmate has arrived. I would ask how I deserve such a fate but I’m quite sure both you and I know the answer to that. It is none other than Gilderoy Lockhart. It seems that someone somewhere has pulled a few strings to make sure no Muggle is subjected to my presence.

Lockhart is ‘much improved’, as per his own words, by which he means his mind is back to its original state. Which, if you ask me, is the opposite of an improvement.

I try to avoid him as much as possible during the day, finding a seat in a car far away from our sleeping compartment. He has managed to find me three times so far. He insists he must share his vast expertise on fruticose lichens of the Indo-Gangetic Plain, which is what I told him the goal of my expedition was. 

While twelve years ago he claimed to know everything about everything without giving any evidence of his supposed knowledge, he has now somewhat changed his approach. He treated me to a long lecture about the ‘forgotten’ properties of fruticose lichens, how ‘they’ didn’t want anyone to know about said properties because it would revolutionise potion making, which ‘they’ didn’t want. When asked who ‘they’ were, he said, ‘The powers that be, of course! They’re all in league with each other!’ 

As much as I wished to excuse myself after that, I decided to humour him, in order to steer his mind into the direction of his own journey. If the past has taught us anything it is that when Lockhart travels, someone ends up obliviated and robbed of their life’s achievements. I have found out that he is travelling to southwestern Mongolia to talk to a group of witches and wizards who claim to trade with Alma.

The Alma quite resembles the Meh-Teh in that it is said to be a humanoid creature, yet larger than modern-day humans and with rather big ears and elongated, three-fingered hands. Up until now, people haven’t been sure whether Alma really exist, although there are a number of accounts of sightings – if Lockhart manages to bring the existence of Alma to light, it would make quite a stir.

And this is why I have a request to you: Could you try to find out who this group of witches and wizards might be that trade with the Alma, and send them a warning to not talk to Lockhart? He cannot be allowed to simply pick up where he has left off, hoodwinking people left and right. I’d love to believe that the public will not give him another chance after his past crimes, but it has been shown time and time again that beauty leads to easy forgiveness, no matter how rotten the person behind the golden curls may be. You’d do some Mongolian witches and wizards a favour if you nipped his latest attempt at ill-gotten gains in the bud.

Moving on from this rather unpleasant topic: You are not wrong about the landscape of the Steppe. I still find myself gazing out of the window, watching the vast plains slip by. It’s almost inconceivable that so much open space exists on this planet. Thousands of kilometres of stony hills and low shrubs, just a few trees here and there. At one point, I found myself suddenly filled by a violent longing for I know not what.

Only a few more days and I will have reached my destination, Nepal. From there, I will make my way to Bhutan and into the Himalayas.

Regards,
Severus

PS.: I expect you to take the proper protective equipment and be armed with the knowledge of appropriate spells when going that deep into the forest to collect dragon beard lichen. I have taken the liberty to make a list, which I have enclosed.

March 8 th 2004

Dear Severus,

I thoroughly enjoyed hunting down the information of the people who are in contact with Alma. I started out with Hagrid, given how much of a magical creatures enthusiast he is. While I talked to him, however, I had another idea: that Luna Lovegood might know even more than he does about elusive creatures. I was right – she did know about the Alma, and her father had exchanged letters with the group you mentioned. 

As it happens, Xenophilius is the source for Lockhart’s knowledge about the Alma – it seems he visited Xenophilius not too long ago. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if they bonded over their mutual disdain for ‘the powers that be’ and the things that ‘they’ don’t want us to know, and that’s how Lockhart coaxed the information out of him.

However, Xenophilius regrets telling Lockhart about the Alma and agreed to post my letter cautioning them against Lockhart. (Xenophilius did not feel comfortable sharing their location with me, which I don’t blame him for. This precaution limits the possibility of other nefarious characters using them for their own gain. However, I assume he was equally motivated by my deep scepticism towards most of his work.)

On to the main topic of my letter: collecting the dragon beard lichen. It was quite an adventure! I took all the precautions that you listed – two of the spells you recommended had not been on my own list of preparations, if you can believe it. And yet, things got pretty wild. 

I had decided to send Cleo back to the castle under the pretence that the ingredients we had collected so far needed to be laid out to dry immediately. That way, I didn’t need to worry about her fear making everything even more nerve-wracking. I put on the camouflage, scent-dispersion and anti-tracking spells and made my way to the Twysted Beeches. 

How very strange and downright oppressive that part of the forest is! The trees reach and scratch at you with their long, crooked and twisted branches, their crowns looming over you, seeming to weave a tighter and tighter net to catch you… The dead trees among them look like the deformed skeletons of people dying in torment, their blackened arms reaching to the heavens in their last hopeless scream… Those trees have evil in them.

The lichen grew in the highest branches, so I had to climb – the shoe spikes and leather belt were a great help! I got the lichen without problems. But when I was just about to climb down I heard a terrible sound, like a person crying in horrible agony. I cannot describe it. It sounded like someone’s absolutely worst nightmare had come true and their pain was so terrible they couldn’t even scream. 

I got down in a hurry and looked around but couldn’t see anyone. By that point, I was half mad with fear, so I didn’t think straight. I walked around, trying to find whoever was crying. Suddenly, there was this woman, stretching out her hands towards me as if begging or pleading. She was so beautiful it hurt me deep inside. For a second, she looked at me, and suddenly, her features snapped into this grimace of hatred. “You’re the wrong one!” she screamed and lunged at me. 

I managed to throw up a shield in the nick of time. “You must die!” she yelled and raged at my shield spell, but it held up. I felt so bad, but I had to stun her. When she collapsed, Something slid out of the bottom of her dress and fell onto the ground behind her. It was a cow’s tail – she was a Hulda. I had no idea Hulda lived in this forest. 

While I walked back to the castle, I thought about what she had said. “You are the wrong one.” And then I wondered when the last time was that someone had collected dragon beard lichen in the forest. There’d been no lichen left in the potions stores when Cleo started after Slughorn; I remember her complaining about the empty drawer. And somehow I doubt that Slughorn, given his age and penchant for comfort, went that deeply into the forest and climbed a tree. So, the last person to go there was probably you. Which would mean the Hulda had been waiting for you all those years. Thinking about that whole incident still makes me shiver.

However, I’m unharmed, albeit a bit shaken. And I have the lichen, so I consider my little excursion a success. Now the lichen goes to Cleo… I try not to think about that.

Enough about me, how is your journey going? Is Lockhart still being infuriatingly stupid? It sounds like he has gone down an interesting rabbit hole. I’m afraid that you’re correct, though – people will still listen to him. I see his photo on magazine covers every now and then, and they’re painting him as this enlightened person who has healed his own broken mind by meditating and putting crystals on his naked body. I can guarantee you that the sheer mention of his naked body is enough to make a good percentage of witches between twenty-four and sixty-five cream their knickers (excuse my French.) What the magazines conveniently fail to mention is that he broke his own mind because a malicious spell he had aimed at two children backfired. 

I do hope you are rid of him soon. Feel free to tell me about his latest idiocy though.

Kind regards,
Hermione

March 11 th 2004

Dear Hermione,

Thank you for doing everything in your power to warn the group in Mongolia of Lockhart. I rest easier knowing his journey will lead him nowhere.

You are correct about the Hulda – I’m shocked to learn she’s still alive. Had I suspected this, I would have warned you. I met her twice, very early during my time at Hogwarts. The second time, she nearly got me. I remember the sound she made, I felt it in my bones. Just like you, I rushed to find the person who was in so much agony. She pleaded with me to come with her, to help her. And I followed, barely noticing that she never turned her back to me – to hide her tail, I assume.

When she had lured me into a small clearing, she told me to sit in the soft grass. I did. She started telling me of her woe but her words didn’t seem to reach me. Every one of her sentences promised to explain everything, to tell me how I could help. But she never quite got to the point. And I got so drowsy, the grass was so soft and the ground so warm… I was slowly being swallowed by the earth. Some part of me wanted it. To just fade away, out of existence. But then I remembered why I was at Hogwarts, what my purpose was. 

I blasted the earth apart and fled, shooting spells over my shoulder as I ran. It was the last time I collected dragon beard lichen myself. I usually prefer collecting my own ingredients to buying them, especially since the lichen is very expensive. But I could never convince myself to go back there.

As I write this letter I am boarding with a small group of witches and wizards in Nepal, waiting for my journey onwards to Bhutan. The Potioneers’ Society has coordinated this last leg of my journey with potioneers in Asia who are on the same quest as I. Luckily, they could arrange a portkey to take us to the foot of the Himalayas. 

From there, we will all have to go separately, to different areas of the mountains, since even a group of two people would likely attract the attention of the Meh-Teh. The first excursions to find the creatures in the sixteenth century ended disastrously. Through trial and error, future explorers found out that the keen senses of the Meh-Teh pick up something that is only present when two or more people are together. (It has been hypothesised that they can sense bioelectromagnetic fields, similar to sharks). They never attacked or even showed themselves to lone travellers. Hence, I – and everyone else in this group – will go on alone.

I have left Lockhart behind and I couldn’t be more relieved. The story about the crystals and where he puts them seems to be one of his favourites, since he told it to me twice. He offered me a set of his crystals ‘at a discount’. He said I needed them dearly since my chakras were wildly out of balance. (Of course he sells them. If what he offered me was a discount, I don’t want to know what the normal price is.)

Your reply will reach me once I’m back from my excursion. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you. Your letters have been a source of comfort and have given me a sense of camaraderie. I look forward to reading your next letter upon my return.

Kind regards,
Severus

March 14 th 2004

Dear Severus,

I know it’s silly but I’m a bit uneasy about you trekking through a barely-charted area of one of the most hostile places on earth… But I know that everything will be fine. You are perfectly well-prepared and have taken every possible precaution. I’m sure you’ll laugh about me when you read this.

Believe it or not, Lockhart’s travels to Mongolia have already made the press over here. He must have a very quick line of communication with his buddy reporters. I wonder whether he might have a cell phone… It would work as long as both parties aren’t too close to a large concentration of magical energy. 

They didn’t mention the Alma, though. Apparently, his cover story is that he went to Asia to deepen his spiritual knowledge. His plan is to seek out teachers of enlightenment and to find places holding high concentrations of positive energy, where he ‘knows’ he will find especially potent crystals. 

The article does not fail to mention, of course, that the best way to treat all manners of ailments is to stick crystals up your bum. ‘Buy Now! Basic Set of Lockhart’s Crystals for Soul Cleansing and Chakra Balancing, only 25 Galleons!’

That’s right, the ‘basic set’ is twenty-five galleons. That’s a week of groceries for a family of four! However, I would not be surprised at all if his cloudy mineral shards are flying off the shelves. I hate him so much.

As you can tell by my ramblings, there is not much going on at Hogwarts right now. I have mentally recovered from my run-in with the Hulda and am suffering a severe lack of interesting calculations to make, which is mostly your fault.

I really hope that you’ll allow me to assist you again once you’re back. I will bake you brownies. After all these letters, I finally feel comfortable saying that I could tell you really liked my brownies that night you surprised me in the kitchens. Let me know the day you return and I will make them for you.

Do come back safely, and write to me the minute you do.

Love,
Hermione

March 16 th 2004

Dear Hermione,

My expedition was successful, albeit not without perils. I managed to find more faeces than I had hoped. The Potioneers’ Society will be pleased. I will tell you all about the expedition itself once I’m back. I’m quite tired from the last few days, since I barely slept. 

I did have a stroke of good luck in that one of the other people collecting faeces has a portkey taking her back to Kazakhstan, and she has offered the rest of us to take us with her. I have not talked to her much but I suspect she is a high-ranking member of the government and her being here might not have anything to do with the Meh-Teh, even though that’s what she claims. I’m not complaining though, since this shaves several days off my journey home. Hence, if everything goes as planned, I should arrive in England on March 25 th .  

I would welcome having brownies with you upon my return.

The portkey leaves in about an hour, so I should make sure I have packed all my belongings. I will write to you again from the train.

Kind regards,
Severus

March 18 th 2004

Dear Severus,

I’m still shaking. Lockhart was here just now. I don’t know how he got back from Asia so quickly. No, wait, I do know – he didn’t actually go on a spiritual journey or whatever. He just took a plane straight back from Mongolia, probably did a lot of confunding to adjust the airport schedules to his needs. The whole enlightenment story is just marketing.

Anyway, he was here. It was scary. He got hold of the letter I wrote to the Mongolians. I had signed my own name to make it as sincere as possible. I put my Hogwarts address on there and everything. 

Lockhart just came into my office, without knocking. He was beaming, but it was very clear something was going on. He said, “Little Hermione… I remember you as a student. Big hair, hand always up, always knowing better…”

And then he just looked at me with this eerie grin. I should have taken my wand, I should have at least told him to get lost, but somehow, I couldn’t get my brain to communicate with my muscles. He hadn't even done anything to me – it wasn’t magic, I was just frozen.

“You think you knew better this time as well, don’t you?” he said. He picked up my stamp seal, looked at it, laughed a little and said, “I had one of those too when I was a professor. But you and your little friends had to run me out of the school, didn’t you?”

The look he gave me was so hard, so cold. At that point, I didn’t even dare to pick up my wand anymore. He held his, very nonchalantly, but in a way that made sure I saw it. And then he said, “And now, you have to try and destroy my life yet again.” He leaned forward, so close I could see the veins in his eyes. “Let this be a warning, Hermione. Do not meddle in my affairs ever again, or I will show you what someone with a following of millions of devoted fans can do to a sad nobody like you.”

Then he took my chin and tilted my head up, hard. It was over in a flash, and he was gone. I don’t even know why he did that last thing, it was so strange. It did hurt, though.

And now I don’t know what to do. I feel so stupid and useless. I fought in a war, but my reflexes have apparently gone to shit. 

I’m sorry to burden you with my problems yet again. I don’t even know what else to write – except that I wish you were back already. 

Love,
Hermione

March 20 th 2004

Dear Hermione,

I can’t begin to describe how disgusted I am at Lockhart’s behaviour, and how concerned for your safety. I have taken the liberty to write a letter to the Auror Office, not mentioning your name, only saying that Lockhart has physically and verbally threatened someone, and needs to be watched. I am very sorry that my request to you has had such horrible consequences. Please do let me know what I can do to make it up to you once I’m back.

I have also written to the Potioneers’ Society and told them that I’m not sure how long I will be able to keep the Meh-Teh faeces under optimal conditions while changing trains at least once a day, often more. Hence, they have pulled a few strings and organised two consecutive portkeys for me, one from Budapest to Frankfurt and another from Frankfurt to London, where I will deliver the faeces in three days’ time. Once all the administrative steps are taken, I will make my way to Hogwarts.

The journey back feels different from the journey there. I’m not interested in the countries and cities I traverse any more, they are all blending together in a seemingly never-ending string of overcrowded places. It may also have something to do with how tired I still am from the excursion. The details of it are taking more shape in my mind as I process everything that has happened. I will tell you everything in three days – provided that there will be brownies.

Love,
Severus

March 22 nd 2004

Dear Severus,

I can hardly believe you’ll be back tomorrow! It has been a long month. The little glimpses your letters have given me of your excursion sound worrying, though. But I suppose I’ll hear the tale soon.

There was something about Lockhart in a magazine yesterday. Yes, I now buy Witch Weekly , apparently. Unfortunately, he’s abroad again – allegedly – so the Aurors won’t be able to pin him down. But I have placed a number of strong wards and detection spells on my door and windows, so I won’t get any more unwanted visitors. I could have dealt with the occasional self-righteous ex bursting in, but Lockhart… Never again!

Anyway, I will go and bake brownies now!

Love,
Hermione

She sealed the letter and went to the owlery herself to post it. It should just reach him before she saw him in the flesh. There was a tingle in her stomach that she quickly suppressed. Never would she have anticipated she’d strike up a friendship with Severus Snape of all people, but now it felt inevitable. In his letters, he was so much less reserved than he was in person, and Hermione was grateful for the chance she’d been given to get to know him.

Chapter Text

Last time:

She sealed the letter and went to the owlery herself to post it. It should just reach him before she saw him in the flesh. There was a tingle in her stomach that she quickly suppressed. Never would she have anticipated she’d strike up a friendship with Severus Snape of all people, but now it felt inevitable. In his letters, he was so much less reserved than he was in person, and Hermione was grateful for the chance she’d been given to get to know him. 

These brownies had to become the best thing she had ever baked. A nervous look at her watch told her Severus would be here in an hour. She had time for another batch, to try that thing with the brown caster sugar. 

As she poured the thick batter into the baking tray, she wondered whether she would have the guts to call him ‘Severus’ to his face. Their friendship had developed to a first-name basis in their letters, but the thought of addressing him like that while he stood before her made her stomach tingle.

She heard the kitchen door opening as she put the tray into the oven. She suppressed a sigh – today, she really didn’t want any kitchen-raiding students here. Although they were surprisingly quiet for a pack of teenagers.

“Good afternoon,” said a voice that sent a jolt of adrenaline through Hermione’s body. 

She wheeled around. Her lips parted in surprise. “You’re back! You’re early!” Before she could stop herself, she’d embraced him. She breathed deeply, suppressing the sudden tears of relief that pricked at her eyes.

After a surprised intake of breath, he returned the embrace. With a pang of concern, Hermione noticed how skinny his torso was, how bony his shoulders. She took a step back and, with an embarrassed little laugh, said, “Welcome back. I—I’m happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to be back too.” Even though his hollow cheeks made him look austere, there was softness in his expression.

“I’m afraid I’m not quite done baking yet. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head while taking a seat at the end of one of the long tables, close to the oven. “I’m early.”

Hermione sat down as well. She couldn’t keep her eyes from roaming over him. His skin was paler than before, his eyes sunken with deep purple shadows underneath them. Her concern must have shown on her face, for he said, “I haven’t slept very well. Or eaten much, for that matter. The journey back was more exhausting than the journey there. I really wonder why Muggles crank up the air conditioning in their trains so much. It’s only March, one should think that cooling the inside of the train is not yet necessary.”

Hermione nodded, barely registering what she was agreeing with. Sitting across from him again after this past month was so strange and wonderful. “You said that your excursion into the Himalayans was perilous… I have to admit that I was thinking about that quite a bit. Would you be comfortable telling me what happened?”

“Of course. I promised I would.” He cleared his throat. “The trek into the mountain range was relatively easy. While mountaineering is banned in Bhutan, hiking is not. However, what few tourists find their way there are led along a fixed route through the country, so I was alone the entire time, save for some farmers working in their fields. The weather was pleasant the first day, but the deeper I ventured into the mountains, the colder and less hospitable it got. I set up camp just below the treeline the first night to make use of as much shelter as I could as long as that was still possible.

“On the afternoon of the second day, I arrived in the Meh-Teh’s territory. From that time onwards, I moved with extreme caution. There may not be accounts of solo travellers being attacked, but I didn’t want to risk being the first one.

“I found a good amount of faeces within a few more days. A good thing, of course, but it also meant that the group that lived there might be rather large.”

He took a deep breath. 

The oven dinged. “I’m sorry, I’ll just get these out,” said Hermione. Acutely aware of his presence behind her, she retrieved the brownie tray, which filled the air with the scent of warm chocolate. After subjecting them to a cooling charm, she put two each on two plates and joined Severus again.

He closed his eyes very briefly when inhaling the scent, trying even less to conceal his enjoyment than last time. When he had finished the first brownie, he picked up the retelling of his adventures.

“When I realised how much faeces I could collect, I made a grave error. I deviated from my original plan. At that point, I already had a bit more than was necessary to fulfil the requirements, but I got greedy. Just a few yards further, there was more… and a few yards beyond that, more still. Every time I doubted whether I should keep going, I told myself that staying a few more hours wouldn’t make a difference.

“But I went too far. At some point, I crossed a boundary that turned me from a nuisance into a threat. I heard them only when they were already upon me.”

Hermione’s eyes were wide with terror. “What did they do?”

“They threw me out of their territory, quite literally. They hurled me down a snowy slope. The impact was cushioned by the snow, and a reflexive spell my mind managed to form, but it knocked my wand out of my hand. The violence with which they’d thrown me made it impossible for me to gain my bearings. I tumbled down further and further until I dropped off an edge. I didn’t fall far though, as I landed in a crevasse narrow enough to stop my fall.

“My first thought was the faeces, but I had been incredibly lucky – all my satchels were still on my belt and none had opened or been torn. The only thing missing was my wand. And I’m quite sure I’d broken a few ribs, but that could be remedied with a potion. 

“The surface was about ten yards above me. I took some of the Strengthening Solution you helped me develop and managed to climb out.

“Once I was out of the crevasse, I tried to tune in to the magic of my wand to get an idea in which direction I would have to search. But there was nothing, not even the faintest sensation of it. So, I set off back into the direction I had come from, towards the territory of the Meh-Teh. Every thirty minutes or so, I focused my magic to try and find my wand. But no luck. 

“Until darkness fell, I kept searching. Eventually I had to rest. I pitched my small tent on the ice and crawled into the sleeping bag whose warming charm luckily still held up. I drifted in and out of sleep for hours, every sound sending adrenaline coursing through my veins. After all, I might still have been too close to the Meh-Teh territory for their liking.

“At first light, I packed up and took another small amount of the Strengthening Solution – I had packed plenty, but not enough for a prolonged stay in the harshest part of the mountains. That day, I went parallel to the crevasse, in case my wand had been blown away by the wind. By early afternoon, I had covered the area between the Meh-Teh territory and the crevasse, but my wand remained elusive.

“I had to entertain the possibility that it had fallen into the crevasse, and so deeply that it was out of reach for good. But before I gave up, I decided to check the other side of the crevasse, further down the mountain, even though I had lost it quite a bit further up.

“And finally, by evening I felt my magic connect to it. It took another hour to actually find it, but I had it back.”

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief that came out too loudly. To her horror, she noticed she had put her hand on Severus’. She pulled it back hastily. “I’m so sorry, I—it was such a riveting tale…” Her face got hot as the words died on her tongue.

The awkwardness hung between them, made worse by Severus not replying. Eventually, he said, “No need to apologise.” A brief, uneasy smile flickered across his face. His hand, Hermione noticed, remained in the same spot on the table. To disperse her own embarrassment, she quickly asked, “Did you have to spend another night on the mountain?”

“I walked down as far as I could in the twilight but didn’t make it to the treeline before I had to set up camp. At least this time I could make a warm meal, heal myself thoroughly and renew all necessary charms. But my provisions were starting to run low, given that the most precarious part of my expedition had taken two days longer than anticipated.

“Hence, the following thirty-six hours it took me to get back to my lodgings were very meagre in terms of food and potions. Even though I frequently travel to collect rare ingredients, I am not what one would call an adventurer, so those days in the bitter cold drained my strength.

“I had hoped to be able to rest on the journey back, but my sleep was spiked by nightmares about not being able to find my wand, getting lost, being stuck in the crevasse, missing my train back—” His eyes, whose gaze had wandered, now snapped up at Hermione. He cleared his throat and sat up straight.

She said, “I’m just so relieved you’re safe now. You need a proper meal and a good night’s sleep. I will ask Minerva to give you a room in the castle so you won’t have to travel any more today. And I’ll make dinner.” She got up, charmed the brownies into a container and sealed it, and took her cardigan off the back of her chair.

Severus stood too, albeit hesitantly. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

“You’re not. Please come with me?” That had sounded too pleading. She tried to recover by putting on a resolute face. It seemed to work, for he did follow her.

At her quarters, she gestured at her vast bookcases. “Make yourself at home, I won’t be long.” 

The truth was that she had already prepared a small feast, fully intending to have dinner with him tonight to celebrate his return. A small knot formed in her stomach. The reason she hadn’t mentioned her dinner plans to him when he arrived was because he didn’t seem to be in any state to celebrate at all. In the bright lights of her living room, he looked even more haggard than in the gloominess of the kitchens.

Fifteen minutes later, she served dinner. He quirked an eyebrow when she lifted the cover off the first platter. “I didn’t know you were such an accomplished cook.”

She brushed it off, saying, “I thought it was a useful skill to sharpen.”

“Might this have something to do with a certain person being used to having lavish meals cooked for him by his mother?”

Hermione shot him a glance. “I do think I told you too much about myself.”

“No way to take it back now.” A mischievous twinkle appeared in his eyes.

Hermione laughed, mostly out of relief that he felt well enough to make jokes. “I suppose not.”

“Truly, thank you for this. I appreciate it.”

After they’d started eating, he said, “I meant to ask you whether you have recovered from the shock of Lockhart barging in on you.”

“I think so… I had some nightmares, but only for a couple of nights. On the list of bad things that have happened to me, this one is fairly low.”

Severus exhaled, nodding slowly. “I’m sorry you’ve led such a life. Having a group of children be the lynchpin of a war was a cruel thing to do.”

Hermione shot him a quick glance, debating with herself how close she felt to Severus now, and whether she could breach a difficult topic. “I don’t want to overstep, so please tell me if I do… just… you were recruited to the war as a child too, weren’t you? Only—”

“To the other side, yes.” His voice had a sharp edge, but it wasn’t directed at her. “I made the wrong choice and have paid dearly for it.”

This time, Hermione put her hand on his deliberately. “You had hardly any say in the matter. And you did so much to help us. So very much.”

When his eyes met hers, her heart rate spiked. Back in her schooldays, his gaze had been cold and empty. Now, emotions were chasing each other in those black depths – but only for a second. He dropped his gaze to his plate and she took her hand away.

“This has been delicious,” he said when they had finished dessert. “You really are a good cook. I shouldn’t impose on you any longer, so I will take my leave.”

“Oh shit, I forgot to ask Minerva whether you could get a room in the castle! I’m not sure how quickly she will reply now.” Should she ask the house elves to prepare an available room? Could she call Minerva through her fireplace, risking the headmistress’ ire at being disturbed at this time? Or should she—

“That’s quite all right,” said Severus. “I don’t want to outstay my welcome. I can travel to my own flat.”

But he proved himself wrong when he stood from the table – his face grew ashen and he had to sit right back down. It was an unsettling sight.

“No, you’re staying here.” Hermione said, trying to not let her worry show in her voice. “I will put fresh linens on my bed so you can sleep there. I’ll take the sofa. No more discussion,” she said sternly when he showed every sign of wanting to protest.

He’ll be much better tomorrow , she thought while changing her sheets. The idea of him sleeping in her bed made her stomach flutter. She brushed the feeling aside – he would get a good night’s sleep and leave in the morning, and that was that.

Luckily, Hermione always bought toothbrushes in packs of three. As the child of dentists she had learned early on that not even the fanciest toothbrush could replace avid flossing, so she did that and bought the cheap brushes, which had served her well for years. 

Although, if she was perfectly honest with herself, she had also always had all amenities ready in case Ron stayed the night. She looked at herself in the mirror, the never-opened pack of toothbrushes in hand. It was only right that the conveniences meant for Ron now went to Severus.

Her sofa made up with the second set of bedding she kept in her closet – again, for Ron – she lay down. But she just stared at the ceiling, restless and unable to go to sleep. The way Severus’ legs had given out… What if there was more going on than just fatigue and jet lag? Then again, his journey had been harrowing. And sleeping in an uncomfortable bunk on a train, then sitting all day probably also hadn’t done him any good. He’d be better tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Last time:

Her sofa made up with the second set of bedding she kept in her closet – again, for Ron – she lay down. But she just stared at the ceiling, restless and unable to go to sleep. The way Severus’ legs had given out… What if there was more going on than just fatigue and jet lag? Then again, his journey had been harrowing. And sleeping in an uncomfortable bunk on a train, then sitting all day probably also hadn’t done him any good. He’d be better tomorrow.

As always, Hermione awoke early the next morning. All was still quiet behind her bedroom door. She would let him sleep in. Maybe she should prepare breakfast for when he woke up. She’d get some supplies from the kitchens.

When she came back some twenty minutes later, the note she had left Severus was still in the same place. He needed his sleep, of course… still, there was the twinge of disappointment. No matter, she’d need some time to cook anyway.

He still hadn’t woken up when she was done. Putting everything under a stasis spell, she tidied up the sofa, folding the bedding and putting it in a neat pile next to the bedroom door. No sounds from inside. 

There were papers to grade. She sat down to do it but couldn’t focus. He would be an early riser, wouldn’t he? Then again, his inner clock was probably off after his travels. If only she could shake this uneasy feeling…

Finally, she gave herself a push and knocked on the bedroom door. No answer. She knocked again, louder. Still nothing. After a deep breath, she opened the door a little and called his name. Opened it wider and called again. Still no reply.

She went inside. There he lay, rolled up in a foetal position, the duvet pulled up to his chin. Hermione’s breath hitched – something was wrong. “Severus?” she called, then touched his shoulder. He was breathing, but didn’t react to her touch in any way. She shook him, gently at first, then more rigorously, but to no avail.

“Shit,” she hissed and pulled the duvet away. He was wearing what looked like all his clothes and there was a warming charm on the duvet. And yet, his skin was almost blue. A touch to his forehead revealed that it was cold, very much so. 

“Oh no, what did you do?” Hermione whispered into the silence. After a very short hesitation, she opened his travel bag. It was neatly organised, so she quickly found his satchel full of potions. She picked a half-empty vial with a deep purple liquid that said Spiritus geli Sagarmatha Antivenom . 

But he wouldn’t be able to drink it if he didn’t wake up. Unless… Hermione brushed her misgivings aside. This was an emergency. With a carefully enunciated spell, she charmed the contents of the vial directly into Severus’ stomach. 

Then, she waited.

He stirred. Breathed more deeply than before and turned around. 

“Severus?” She rubbed his shoulder and felt his forehead again. Was it wishful thinking or had he warmed up a little? His eyes fluttered open.

“Severus! Can you hear me? What’s wrong?”

He blinked at her, then his eyelids drooped and closed.

“No, no, no, don’t fall back asleep. Talk to me, please! Severus? Severus!”

It was no use. His breath grew shallower and his skin went back to its unhealthy blue-grey hue.

“Fuck…” Hermione took a few deep, heaving breaths and settled on a course of action. First, she called Poppy through her fireplace. The matron arrived at Hermione’s quarters five minutes later.

“Oh my…” she said when she saw Severus. The alarmed look on Poppy’s face stirred Hermione’s panic again, but she swallowed it. The matron cast a number of diagnostic spells on Severus. “And you’ve already tried the frost sprite antivenom?”

“Yes, half a vial. And I suspect he drank the other half earlier. He doesn’t seem the type to take half-empty vials on a journey like this.”

“Indeed. An entire vial should have been more than enough to counteract the venom. How often was he bitten, did he say?”

“He didn’t talk about it. I think he may not have even noticed that he was bitten at all; he would have told me otherwise. He told me everything else that happened…”

“If what you say is true, this is a curious case indeed. I will call St. Mungo’s, he needs to go there.”

Hermione nodded, cautiously hopeful that the experts at St. Mungo’s would be able to restore Severus’ health in no time.

Hermione and Poppy brought Severus to the castle’s Hospital Wing, from whose back entrance the healers could pick him up more easily and discreetly than if they had to traverse half the castle. Hermione sat by his side, nervously checking his vitals every minute and willing the healers to arrive already.

The door opened and two witches in lime green robes strode in, making a beeline for Severus. Hermione jumped up. “Thank you for coming.” There were so many other things she wanted to say but her brain refused to form coherent sentences. So, she merely gestured at Severus.

“Good evening, this is Healer Loughrey, I’m Healer Nettleship. He was bitten by a frost sprite?” She talked in a hard, businesslike manner.

“Um, we’re not sure. He’s already had a whole vial of antivenom but it doesn’t seem to help. So, the symptoms would fit a frost sprite incident but…” Hermione lifted her shoulders.

With brows creased, the two healers performed a number of spells. Healer Nettleship said, “His vitals are weak. We’ll need to do an in-depth diagnosis. We’ll take him with us. You’re family?”

Healer Nettleship had Hermione like a deer in the headlights. Hermione nodded reflexively, her eyes widening in surprise about her deceit. But the healers were already transferring Severus to a stretcher. “You can come with us,” said Healer Loughrey, who seemed much more sympathetic.

Hermione climbed into the back of the ambulance. She didn’t dare perform any more diagnostic spells of her own in the presence of the two healers. The car swayed gently, but Hermione was quite sure that it was going at top speed, zipping away in between Muggle traffic.

Indeed, she only had to endure the awkward silence for a few minutes before the ambulance stopped and the doors opened. She hurried after the healers as they levitated Severus through a number of corridors, past many more people in St. Mungo’s lime-green robes, into an elevator and out again after a short ride. Two more corridors and they had arrived at the animal poisoning ward.

“Wait here,” commanded Healer Nettleship, nodding at a row of seats. Obedient, Hermione sat down while the healers disappeared into a room with Severus. She took a deep breath. They’d find out what was wrong with him in no time. After all, they had healed Mr. Weasley after he had been bitten by Nagini, and that snake had been one of a kind, hadn’t she?

The minutes turned into an hour, then two. She should have brought a book. Her tongue felt strange since she hadn’t had a chance to brush her teeth. Something to drink would be nice. She hadn’t eaten, either. But she couldn’t leave – the healers might be out any minute.

But another hour passed without any news. Hermione got up and walked to the door through which they had taken Severus, just to stand uselessly in front of it. What she wouldn’t give for a pair of Extendable Ears!

After another fifteen minutes she gave in. She desperately had to pee now, too. Walking as fast as she could without running, she went to the loo, then flitted down the stairs to the cafeteria where she bought tea and a sandwich, nervously bouncing on her toes while she waited to pay.

The sandwich and tea only kept her busy so long. She was about to get up to try and find someone to ask about Severus when the door they had taken him through opened. Healer Loughrey came out. Hermione’s heart jumped into her throat.

“We’ve run all the standard tests for patients with his symptoms, and a few others as well. But nothing came up. We’re sorry. We’ll try and keep his vitals up for now.”

“What—what do you mean? What does he have?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“Will you run more tests then?”

“We’ve run all the appropriate tests, and taken some blood, but testing that will take time. There’s nothing more we can do at this point.”

Hermione shook her head. Her brain refused to process this information. It couldn’t be true. They were healers at St. Mungo’s, they couldn’t simply be out of options. There had to be more tests. “Isn’t there—isn’t there an expert for this kind of stuff?”

“Healer Nettleship is the expert. As I said, we will try to keep him stable. I’m very sorry, that’s all I can say.” With a last apologetic look, Healer Loughrey walked away.

Hermione put her hands on her head. This was impossible. What did this mean? ‘Keep him stable’? Was he in a coma? Did that even exist in the wizarding world?  Hermione’s breath grew shallow and ragged. Her diaphragm convulsed in a dry sob. No no no, she had to keep a clear head. 

The door opened again and Healer Nettleship came out. “What is happening?” Hermione blurted, faintly aware of the panic in her voice. 

Healer Nettleship’s face gave away nothing. “You can go in now. He’s under a number of spells but it’s not looking good.”

“Wh—Not looking good? What does that mean? I thought you were keeping him stable!” 

“We’re doing what we can.”

Was that all these healers knew how to say? Hermione was about to ask the same questions she had asked before but Healer Nettleship cut her off. “I’ll come by again later. You can see him if you want.” Then she was off too.

With a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach, Hermione pushed the door open. Severus looked even grayer then before, his eyes rimmed in dark purple. There was no holding back the sobs that forced their way out of her and made her double over. She stumbled to the chair that stood by Severus’ bedside and sank into it. Her arms resting on his mattress and her forehead falling onto them, she cried loudly.

Ten, fifteen minutes must have passed before her sobs became hiccups and the tears dried out. Severus never so much as twitched a finger. Hermione cast another sequence of diagnostic spells. He was alive, but barely. His breath was so slow and shallow, his heart beating so feebly… Terror threatened to incapacitate her but she willed it down. There had to be something that could be done. 

She sat back, casting a quick charm to unstuff her nose. She had to think. The frost sprite antivenom had revived him momentarily. So, whatever had poisoned him had to have at least a passing resemblance to frost sprite venom. Maybe a different subspecies of frost sprite? But he had taken the antivenom specifically developed against the Himalayan one. It couldn’t have evolved that drastically in only a few decades.

Besides, then his symptoms shouldn’t have gotten so much worse again after he had already drunk half a vial… But what if the venom kept getting replenished from somewhere? Maybe the frost sprite’s tooth had broken off and was still in his skin somewhere. But no, the teeth were very small and their poison glands were in their necks. One tooth couldn’t hold much venom at all.

Was there such a thing as parasitic frost sprites? They held a certain resemblance to pixies – Nothing about their anatomy or physiology suggested they would be able to survive inside a mammal. Then again, they were magic. Hermione got up off the chair. Thinking only got her so far, she needed more information. She knew St. Mungo’s had a library; she had killed some time there when she had been a patient right after the battle of Hogwarts. With one last, resolved look at Severus, she left his room.

The library was closed, but that’s what wands were for. The upside was that Hermione didn’t have to compete with anyone for the books she needed.

The first few books contained no more than one paragraph on frost sprites, describing facts Hermione already knew. She used the references to work her way to tomes containing more details on the creatures, but they, too, did not mention anything about parasitism.

Forty-five minutes later, Hermione’s frantic research had yielded a sizable stack of books on her desk, but nothing that might help Severus. She buried her face in her hands. She had to think. Think.

She went over her notes again: Frost sprites produce a powerful venom that acts as a freezing agent. Within hours of their painful bite, the venom can cause frostbite starting at the first point of contact, potentially leading to loss of limb. The venom spreads along major blood vessels towards the patient’s heart. If left untreated, a frost sprite bite will lead to freezing of heart and lungs and therefore death.

The antivenom should have worked. Even only the dose Hermione had charmed into his stomach should have been more than enough. 

Frost sprites can be found at the foot of snow-covered mountains. They live in groups, making their homes in dense bushes and thick underbrush. To the keen observer, frost sprite lairs are easily recognizable by the thin cover of ice crystals on the plants in their immediate vicinity. However, these little creatures are quite elusive and one will have to venture far into the wilderness to find them. Even then, they will not attack unless provoked.

Could Severus have camped too close to a frost sprite lair? But even so, he wasn’t bitten. The healers would have found a bite mark easily. Something didn’t add up. Hermione got up, slowly wandering through the library while putting the books back into their designated shelf spaces. It was clear that her current line of reasoning didn’t lead her anywhere. But she had to solve this – there was no way she’d let her friend die.

What if his condition had nothing to do with frost sprites? Maybe it was a virus? He could have caught something from the Meh-Teh, since he came in close contact with them… Jerking into motion, the flash of inspiration fresh in her mind, Hermione pulled out a number of books dealing with magical humanoids.

Once again, she had to consult the references of several works to find more detailed information. One book she found on her search seemed to be a recent acquisition – the leather was smooth and shiny, creaking when she opened the book. She found the section about the Meh-Teh. Her eyes flitted over lines of information she already knew until they caught on a table and a figure depicting some kind of network, referencing recent findings about the creature.

The network had small and large dots, interconnected by differently-coloured lines. Some dots had many lines leading to them, others only few or even just one. As it turned out, this was an attempt to show all species in the ecosystem of which the Meh-Teh was the top predator, and their relationships. The table listed all the species’ names, the type of relationship to the Meh-Teh and references to more information about them.

Hermione ran her finger down the table, noting down all species who had either the word commensalism or parasitism in the column describing their relationship with the Meh-Teh – she hadn’t given up on that idea yet, and there was a good chance that a parasite or illness hosted by the Meh-Teh could survive in a human as well. They were both primates after all.

There were eight in total, two of them parasites. Both, it turned out, rather harmless bloodsuckers that caused not much more than an irritating itch. So, Hermione moved on to the commensals – species who benefitted from the Meh-Teh without giving anything back, but also without harming them. But just because they didn’t harm a being thrice the size of a human didn’t mean that humans would be unaffected by them.

There was a sort of bug that nested in the Meh-Teh’s armpits for warmth. A small mammal that was frequently found living in the same caves as them. A fungus that grew in their fur.  A mite that ate the skin cells they shed. And so on.

Hermione considered her list. The most conspicuous entry was the fungus. She may be an Arithmancy master, but she knew that fungi could invade and take over the body of the species they were associated with – even fungi that were widely considered benevolent. Trees who lived in symbiosis with mushrooms usually protected their cells with a chemical to keep the mushroom from taking more than it was due and spreading their mycelium inside the tree. A type of yeast living on human skin could kill when it got the chance to proliferate inside the body. Much more sinister was a fungus that took control of insect’s’ brains, making them climb up to the highest leaf of a plant, then grew their fruit bodies out of the insect’s head to distribute their spores as widely as possible. Fungi could be very invasive if given the chance, and could wreak havoc on their host. 

Hence, a fungus was Hermione’s best bet. A mycology book gave details about the fungus that afflicted the Meh-Teh. 

Histoplasma nyalmoi frequently grows on the Meh-Teh’s skin, causing a flaking of the epidermis similar to dandruff in humans. The Meh-Teh’s saliva is believed to contain antibodies against the spores of Histoplasma nyalmoi to keep it from invading warmer places inside the Meh-Teh’s body. However, to date, only one study has analysed Meh-Teh saliva.

Hermione’s eyes had darted over the text. Humans would not have those antibodies. And Severus could have easily inhaled some dandruff while being manhandled by a Meh-Teh. And the fact that frost sprite antivenom had briefly helped his condition may just have been from the reviving components in it – nothing to do with frost sprite venom in particular.

A healer gave her a surprised look when she dashed out of the library, shooting a quick locking spell over her shoulder. She’d gladly get in trouble for using the library out of hours if it meant she could save Severus.

Chapter Text

Last time:

Hermione’s eyes had darted over the text. Humans would not have those antibodies. And Severus could have easily inhaled some dandruff while being manhandled by a Meh-Teh. And the fact that frost sprite antivenom had briefly helped his condition may just have been from the reviving components in it – nothing to do with frost sprite venom in particular.

A healer gave her a surprised look when she dashed out of the library, shooting a quick locking spell over her shoulder. She’d gladly get in trouble for using the library out of hours if it meant she could save Severus.

When she arrived in the animal poisoning ward, Hermione immediately began to call out for Healer Nettleship, earning her more disapproving glares. The healer soon stuck her head out of a room, looking annoyed. “I told you I would—”

“It’s a fungus,” Hermione cut her off. “It must be.”

“How would you suddenly know that?”

“I went to the library. Severus had a close encounter with a Meh-Teh. I read up on all the parasites and commensals the Meh-Teh can have, and found a fungus that the Meh-Teh has to actively keep from getting inside his body by making antibodies against it. Humans don’t have those antibodies. Severus could easily have inhaled some spores and—”

“Isn’t the library closed?”

Hermione almost stamped her foot in exasperation. “Never mind that now. I’ll make a donation or something. Just, please, will you do whatever test you need to do to check for fungi? Please? Now?”

Healer Nettleship exhaled. “We already took his blood, but it’s still being analysed. These kinds of tests take a while, since we’re looking for something very evasive and possibly unknown.”

“Does he have that much time left, though?” Hermione was faintly aware of how high-pitched her voice was. Healer Nettleship’s silence did not bode well at all. Hermione pleaded, “Isn’t there anything else you can do? Something quicker? Or administer an anti-fungal potion? Anything at all?”

The healer slowly shook her head. “That could kill him in his state. He’s very weak. Taking that risk isn’t worth it when we don’t even know that he has a fungus.”

“There is another test, though, isn’t there? I can tell you’re holding back information.”

The healer shot her a stern look. “I don’t like your accusatory tone. Although yes, there is something, a spell. But it won’t do you any good because I’m not authorised to perform it and it needs two healers to cast. 

“And before you ask, the ones that are authorised to perform it are in the plant poisoning ward and do not have time to come over here and perform a spell for an hour. A whole bunch of Muggles came in earlier. They’d gone to gawk at a plant that blooms only once in a hundred years or something, but the botanists of Kew Gardens mistook a hallucinogen-spouting chameleon fume othus for whatever plant they actually wanted. Every plant poisoning specialist we have already has twice the workload they can take on.”

Hermione’s mind had gone calm. She knew what to do now. “You said you’re not authorised, which sounds like you do know the spell. Teach it to me and we can perform it together. I’m a quick study and I won’t leave you alone until you agree. I’m desperate.”

Healer Nettleship started to shake her head, but a fire flared up inside Hermione. “Look, I never do this but I’m Hermione Granger, okay? The ‘Brains of the Golden Trio’ – you know me, don’t you? I assure you I can learn this spell very quickly.”

Healer Nettleship blinked. “I—you—you said you were the patient’s family. That was a lie, then?”

“Speaking about the patient,” Hermione glossed over the accusation, “He’s a war hero, which I’m sure you also know. Severus Snape? He’s given most of his bloody life to rid us of Voldemort, and  almost died an agonising death – and for what? Just to barely get the chance to enjoy the peace he significantly helped to bring about? If you want to do the right thing in the eyes of the world, you will teach me that spell right now.”

For a moment, it seemed like Healer Nettleship might get upset and argue back, but she just heaved a brow-beaten sigh and said, “Come with me then.” She started walking, but suddenly turned around and got close to Hermione. 

Hermione, her heart jumping to her throat, took a step back. But after only a moment, Healer Nettleship’s face fell and she simply said, “No one must know. Understood?”

Hermione nodded quickly. “Of course.”

They went into a small, untidy room that Hermione took to be Healer Nettleship’s office. “Stand there,” the healer commanded, and Hermione obeyed.

She then showed Hermione the wand movement, a rather long sequence that had to be perfectly synchronous between the two people. Hermione watched Nettleship closely and imitated her as best she could. After about a dozen repeats, the healer started chanting words along with her movements. Hermione paid attention to the cadence of her voice, which syllables she stressed and how long they were. Eventually, she started chanting along.

After about fifteen minutes, Healer Nettleship let her wand arm sink. “You actually are a quick study. I guess your nickname has some basis in reality.” For a moment, she was quiet, creasing her brow. “Are you sure—”

“Yes. Let’s go.” Hermione whirled around and marched out of the office, along the corridor and into Severus’ room. She forced herself not to look at his face, not to think about how frail and lifeless he looked, not to think about what would happen if—

Healer Nettleship positioned herself on the other side of his bed, folded back the covers and removed his gown. Hermione averted her gaze. She would perform the incantation, but the healer would be the one scrutinising him for any signs of fungal life highlighted by the spell.

Nettleship threw Hermione a glance, who inclined her head. They raised their wands and, with a pointed nod like a conductor might give her orchestra, Nettleship signalled to begin the incantation.

The minutes passed. Hermione’s eyes never left the healer’s wand, while the healer stared at Severus’ exposed body. The words of the incantation became a mantra that Hermione’s mouth formed almost by itself, over and over again.

Her mouth began to feel dry. She hadn’t had any water in hours. But she kept chanting and moving her wand, pushing away the burning feeling in her shoulder muscles.

Something about Healer Nettleship’s face changed. Hermione squared her shoulders and renewed her focus. The spell was connecting to something; Hermione felt it too. There was an intensity in the air between them now, almost like electricity. It reached a crescendo, a palpable revelation whose nature Hermione couldn’t quite grasp. She did know, however, that they had been successful.

“Well, fuck me,” breathed Nettleship. “It’s in his liver. No wonder he’s so cold. You were right, it’s a fungus.”

Hermione, staunchly focusing on Nettleship and doing her best to not let her eyes flit to Severus’ nearly naked body, exhaled shakily. “What now? Can you do anything?”

“Yeah, a potion won’t do much. That parasite is in there too deep. Before any antivenom can reach it, his liver will have broken down most of the working agent. Clever parasite, really.” She exhaled, ruffling her hair. “There’s no other way – I’ll have to extract it surgically. I’ll see if I can find an assistant who is available. And no, you can’t assist,” she cut Hermione off. Hermione’s face got warm. Was she so transparent?

What followed were among the longest hours in Hermione’s life, save for some days during their Horcrux hunt. She drank from the tap in the bathroom and found a lone, sad-looking sandwich in the cafeteria which the one staff member still on duty let her have for free. Other than that, she paced. She tried to sit still for a while because of how terribly exhausted she was, but all she could do when her legs were forced to be still was to pick at her cuticles until she drew blood.

Her feet ached, her eyes burned and she felt sore and miserable, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t rest until she knew Severus was safe. 

A lifetime later, Healer Nettleship walked towards Hermione, who hurried up to her, sick with anticipation. 

The healer said, “We got it all out. He’ll recover.”

She had barely finished speaking when Hermione flung her arms around her, making her stumble backwards a step or two, and started sobbing. Nettleship patted her back, saying, “There, there. It’ll be all right.” When Hermione didn’t let go, she added, “You did well. But I really have to stress that you must tell no one what happened tonight, yeah? I’d lose my job.”

Hermione released the healer and wiped her face, nodding. “Of course.” She sniffled. “I’ll swear an oath,” she said, taking her wand out of her purse.

The healer looked at it for a moment, evidently considering the offer.  Eventually, she said, “That’s all right. Given who you are… I trust your word.”

A smile flickered over Hermione’s face. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am. You’re a life-saver.”

Healer Nettleship shrugged. “That’s what they pay me for. Anyway, I need to go home now, I’ve been up and about for eighteen hours. You should get some rest too, you look awful.”

“Okay,” replied Hermione weakly. Nettleship nodded and disappeared in her office, where Hermione heard the whoosh of a fireplace taking her away.

She ached to sneak into the recovery area of the surgery to see Severus, but she was also afraid she might collapse any minute. So, she went into the atrium and took a fireplace home.

After letting Minerva know what had happened, and that she wouldn’t be able to teach the next day, she thought she’d fall asleep instantly. But anytime she drifted off, her brain suddenly flashed an image of Severus before her inner eye, emaciated, with white-blue skin, showing no signs of life. A peak of adrenaline would send  her heart hammering, waking her back up. 

He’ll be fine , she kept trying to convince her brain. The worst is behind us. He’s recovering right now . As long as she was properly awake, she knew it was true. But just before sleep could fully claim her, the images popped back up, playing out one horrifying scenario after the other. The sun had long since come up before Hermione finally found rest.

Her alarm jerked her awake. Visiting hours at St. Mungo’s started in thirty minutes. After a quick shower and a trip to the kitchens to grab something to eat, she took the Floo network to the hospital. 

Her heart beat rapidly in her throat when she pushed down the door handle to Severus’ room. Would he even be here; was he out of the recovery room? Only one way to find out. Hermione stepped inside, half hopeful, half afraid. 

She clapped her hand to her mouth, tears falling onto her cheeks, when she saw him. Relief, and gratitude for Healer Nettleship, flooded her anew. The colour had returned to Severus’ face and the dark purple shadows around his eyes were much less pronounced. She pulled up a chair to sit by his bedside.

After a short deliberation with herself, she dared to put the back of her fingers on his cheek. His skin was warm again. Although he still seemed to be unconscious, or at least in a very deep sleep, everything about him reassured Hermione that he would be fine. She stayed by his side, letting her tears of joy flow as she watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. After an hour, she took her leave, albeit reluctantly. She’d be back tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Last time:

She clapped her hand to her mouth, tears falling onto her cheeks, when she saw him. Relief, and gratitude for Healer Nettleship, flooded her anew. The colour had returned to Severus’ face and the dark purple shadows around his eyes were much less pronounced. She pulled up a chair to sit by his bedside.

After a short deliberation with herself, she dared to put the back of her fingers on his cheek. His skin was warm again. Although he still seemed to be unconscious, or at least in a very deep sleep, everything about him reassured Hermione that he would be fine. She stayed by his side, letting her tears of joy flow as she watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. After an hour, she took her leave, albeit reluctantly. She’d be back tomorrow.

Finally, Hermione was able to find some peace of mind. It seemed like weeks since Severus had come back when it had only been two days. Still, there were a few letters and rolls of parchment on her desk. Two of them, she realised excitedly, were from members of the Potioneers’ Society enquiring after her rates. As it turned out, Severus had recommended her to his colleagues. She laughed, shaking her head.

There was a letter from Xenophilius Lovegood as well. Hermione frowned, wondering what might warrant him writing to her. The whole business with Lockhart was done, wasn’t it? She read,

Dear Hermione,

I have received word from our friends in Mongolia that a strange illness has broken out among them shortly after Lockhart left their settlement. 

He seems to have been there for a few days before your letter reached them. Who knows what he got up to during that time! Do you know more about his plans in Mongolia, or anything else that may help me understand the source of the illness?

It starts with red blotches on the skin, almost like mosquito bites, but they grow and blister and become extremely itchy. It has made some of the villagers so wretched that they lash out at their friends and family, causing rifts. Half the village is fighting with each other.

Please, if there is anything else you know about Lockhart, even if it seems irrelevant, do let me know.

Sincerely,
Xenophilius Lovegood

Hermione re-read the letter. Could Lockhart have cursed them as revenge for throwing him out? She wouldn’t put it past him. But there wasn’t much she could do – everything she knew about Lockhart, she had already told Xenophilius. She had even sent him a few magazine cuttings of articles, including a full-page ad for his crystals. 

She scribbled out a note to Xenophilius, telling him as much, along with her regrets and the request to keep her updated.

The next day, she had lessons until the afternoon. It was not an easy feat to keep her mind on the subject. In times like these, she admired the endless strength Severus must have had to teach a classroom full of erratic teenagers day after day, week after week, while also spying on the most dangerous wizard alive.

As soon as her last lesson had concluded, she rushed to St. Mungo’s. She couldn’t suppress a pang of disappointment when she found Severus sleeping still. Was it a bad sign that he was still unconscious? She checked the chart that displayed his vitals in real time. It all looked normal, as far as she could tell. There was a blue heart in the upper left corner and next to it the words “In recovery, prognosis: good”. That was reassuring at least.

And he looked even better than yesterday. He’d wake up soon, she told herself. Just to be sure, she gently touched the back of her fingers to his cheek to check his temperature.

A thrill shot through her when he slowly opened his eyes. Jerking her hand back, she stammered, “I’m sorry,” while simultaneously being overjoyed. 

He looked at her, his eyelids half closed. “What for?” he murmured.

“Oh—nothing… for waking you up.” Her heart jumped into her throat. “Should I call a healer?”

“No, they know I’m awake.” His voice was slow and groggy without even a hint of its usual, perfectly measured sharpness. He turned towards Hermione. “Healer Loughrey told me that you bullied Healer Nettleship into running some special test on me, which found a parasite in my liver?”

“Yes, I did some research on all the species associated with Meh-Teh and took an educated guess about which one could cause your symptoms. It was a fungus.”

The ghost of a smile flitted over his features as his eyes fell shut. Barely audible, he said, “You saved me, Hermione.”

“It… was only research. I’m good at research.” She lifted her shoulders, a sheepish smile on her face.

No reply. He’d fallen back asleep. As she studied his features, she remembered how he had come up to their table at the pub she’d gone to with Ginny. How tall and formidable he had towered over them, just like he always had at Hogwarts. The fact that this same man lay here before her, weak and vulnerable, touched a place deep in her heart. It cost her much not to stroke his hair out of his sleeping face.

With a deep, resolute inhale, she got up and left his room. On her way to the lobby, a sign for the library made her stop in her tracks. Her promise of a donation had not been an empty one. She turned and followed the sign.

This time, the library was open. Hermione went up to the wizard at the front desk and said, “I would like to make a donation. How do I go about that?”

The young man started and blinked at her through a pair of tiny spectacles. “A… donation? To the library?”

“Yes. To buy new books or update the cataloguing system or whatever else needs to be done. I assume you’re underfunded?”

The wizard chuckled uncomfortably. “All public institutions are, aren’t they? Um, if you want to make a donation, you can do that at Gringotts, with St. Mungo’s Hospital Library as the benefactor.”

“Great, I will do that.” She smiled and was about to turn around when another thought crossed her mind. “Could you point me to a few books that might contain something on illnesses causing rashes that start itching very badly after a few days?”

The librarian looked relieved to be asked something within his expertise and jumped up to consult his catalogue. Ten minutes later – aided by a few spells even Hermione didn’t know – he had curated a list of suitable books, which he handed to her.

Once again, she sat in the hospital library reading and consulting references, but feeling infinitely more at peace than the last time. By the time the library closed, she had a few possibilities for the cause of the mysterious illness in the Mongolian village.

Back at Hogwarts, she started tackling the stack of students’ homework that had piled up on her desk. Sighing, she considered – and not for the first time – whether she should assign less homework, both for her own and the students’ sake.

A few hours later, she put the lid back on her pot of red ink and rubbed her face, allowing all thoughts of Arithmancy to drain away. In their place came thoughts of Severus. How wonderful it was to not be sick with fear anymore! You saved me, Hermione , echoed his words in her mind, making her smile. She almost felt grateful for having been bitten by the frost sprite, otherwise Severus and she might never have crossed paths.

The next day, she got off work at noon. She used the hours until she could go to St. Mungo’s to read through her notes on the mysterious illness. Xenophilius’ letter had said, It starts with red blotches on the skin, almost like mosquito bites, but they grow and blister and become extremely itchy. 

Hermione had found illnesses that had blistering skin as a symptom, but without itching. She had found itching ailments, but not to the point that people flew into a rage. She had found diseases that caused red blotches, but not ones that grew in size. None of the magical maladies she had studied showed all the symptoms Xenophilius had described.

And what was more, the Mongolians themselves didn’t seem to know what ailed them either, so it was unlikely that it was a plant or animal from their region, since they would know those very well. She decided to take her research further and dive into Hogwarts’ restricted section. But that would have to wait. 

She tidied up her desk, took her bag and, with a flutter in her stomach, stepped into her fireplace to travel to St. Mungo’s.

Severus sat in his bed, a book in his lap. “You’re awake!” she breathed and strode to his side, then stood there, suddenly unsure what to do with herself. “I’m relieved,” she said lamely.

“So am I.” He exhaled. “Hermione… I can’t even tell you how grateful I am to you. I owe you my life.”

She quickly shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything. Besides, Healer Nettleship was the one who got the fungus out. If anything, it was a collaboration.”

“She told me that you were very, ah, persuasive .”

Hermione’s face grew warm. “Yeah, well… I didn’t want to—I didn’t want you to die.” It was hard to meet his gaze after saying these words, even though they were perfectly ordinary. Anyone would have done the same, given the chance. “So, did they say how soon you would be allowed to leave the hospital?”

“Possibly as soon as tomorrow. I will still have to rest, but they don’t need to keep me under observation any longer.”

“Tomorrow! That’s great to hear. You, um… you haven’t been in your flat in over a month, right? So you won’t have any food and it’s probably a bit dusty…” she watched her hands as they fidgeted on her lap. “I, er… only if you would agree, of course, but… I could go and get everything ready? Do some shopping?”

He didn’t reply for such a long time that Hermione finally dared to look up.

He wasn’t meeting her gaze when he said, “I have imposed upon you enough. You’ve done your part and much more than that. You shouldn’t keep wasting your time by coming here.” His eyes snapped up at hers, their hard stare matching the edge that had crept into his voice.

“It’s—it’s not an imposition, I just want to help. I’m sorry if I overstepped… I just thought we… had an understanding of some kind?”

“I thank you for the company you have kept me, but you’ve done enough. Go back to your own life.” The sharpness of his voice pierced through Hermione, slicing her heart open. 

“Go,” he repeated, sounding like the Professor Snape of her school days.

A large lump in her throat, she stood. “I’m sorry. I will go. I’m sorry.”

Back in her office, she put down her bag, barely registering where she left it. Her mind felt numb. What had just happened? Had she utterly misinterpreted their friendship? Why would he dismiss her so rudely after he himself had admitted that she’d saved his life?

Breathing deeply, trying to quell her tears, she racked her brain for any signs that he had felt pressured by her, that he didn’t actually want to be in her presence. Nothing came to mind. He had seemed to enjoy her company just as much as she had enjoyed his, had been kind and open… She breathed deeply a few times. Only a few months ago, Ron had put her through the wringer; she couldn’t do this again. She needed to aggressively distract herself, deal with the pain some other time – if at all.

It had been too long since she had visited Harry and Ginny. Via the Floo Network, she called to check whether they would agree with her dropping by – they did. Grabbing a bottle of elf-made wine she had snuck from the kitchens since Severus had introduced her to it, she went to Grimmauld Place.

Sitting in Harry and Ginny’s cosy living room, drinking wine and talking, calmed her down. Thoughts of Severus stirred in her mind every now and then, but she shut them down. At some point, Harry gave her a shrewd look, asking, “Is something the matter? You seem a bit… sad?”

“Oh, it’s just… Lockhart accosted me a few weeks ago. Came barging into my office and threatened me.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me, what? Lockhart? How, why?”

“Well, I seem to have crossed plans he had for writing another book, probably about Alma, a humanoid species in Mongolia that remains as yet barely studied by the world in general.”

“How did you do that?” asked Harry.

Hermione explained, carefully avoiding mentioning Severus’ name.

“Huh,” said Harry, looking at her and nodding appreciatively. “That’s a good thing, I’d say. How horrible that he assaulted you, though! Do I need to do something about it? Auror-wise, I mean?”

“The Auror office knows, but Lockhart is out of the country a lot, so…”

“Harry will keep his eyes and ears open, right?” said Ginny. Harry nodded fervently.

“Speaking about Harry’s job – Hermione, do you have time on Friday by any chance? Harry has to work late and I haven’t been out in ages. Don’t worry, I won’t try to set you up this time.” She grinned apologetically.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile. “That sounds great. I could use some distraction.”

Come Friday, Hermione dolled herself up, just for the heck of it. She had no intentions of catching anyone’s eye, but looking pretty made her feel empowered. When she arrived at Grimmauld Place, Ginny’s mouth fell open in surprise. “You look so beautiful! Did you change your mind about potentially taking someone home?”

Hermione smiled and shook her head. “I just felt like making an effort. Mostly for me, but also a little for you. So people don’t go, ‘Hey, who is that sad slob next to the star chaser of the Holyhead Harpies?’”

Ginny laughed and took Hermione’s arm. “If anyone says that, I’ll hex them.”

They went to the Knot and Pickaxe again but took a different table. Hermione tried not to look at the table where she’d had dinner with Severus.

“Are you still troubled about Lockhart?” asked Ginny sympathetically. 

“What? Oh, no. It’s just that I remembered I need to answer a few letters from people from the Potioneers’ Society. They want me to do some calculations for them but I have no idea how much to ask or on what to base the price.”

“Oh, that’s awesome though, right? Let’s see, Harry sometimes does freelance work for companies, it’s how the Auror Office subsidises their income. The fee goes to the Auror Office too, not even to Harry.” Ginny rolled her eyes, then delved into explanations about how much those services cost.

After about fifteen minutes, they had worked out a pricing model that Hermione felt was fair to both parties. “Thanks Ginny, that really helped!”

“Well, I’m glad.” 

They sipped their drinks for a moment. Hermione jumped when Ginny put her mug down with a thump. “There’s something else going on, isn’t there? I thought so the other day as well. You seem… sad. Like, deeply sad, even though you’re trying to hide it. It doesn’t match with the stuff that you say is troubling you. You’ve made big strides in getting over Ron – whenever you talked about him, you seemed exasperated rather than sad, so that’s not it, right?”

Hermione shook her head, only briefly meeting Ginny’s eyes.

“Let’s see, if you were afraid or outraged about Lockhart, I would understand. If you were nervous about freelancing as an Arithmancer, that would be logical. But I get a different vibe from you. What’s going on?”

Hermione took a deep breath and put her hands to her face, then remembered her make-up and quickly took them away. Shaking her head, she tried to explain. “I had a friend. Someone I only recently met. Well, got re-acquainted with, really. And I thought we were solid, since everything seemed to go so well. But then they told me that ‘I’d done enough’ and to ‘get back to my own life’ in a way that made it very clear they wanted me gone. I just don’t understand… It was so sudden.”

“Okay…” Ginny knitted her brow for a moment, thinking. “What made you think you two were solid?”

“Just… every time we were together, they seemed to enjoy themselves, as far as I could tell. They were travelling for a while and we wrote letters back and forth. We got to know each other pretty well through those letters. And they even said that they valued our friendship very much. And when they got back, the very first thing they did was visit me!”

“Hm, that does sound like you’re close. Did anything happen after he came back?”

Hermione looked at Ginny. “I never said they were a ‘he’.”

Ginny merely cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. 

Hermione groaned, “Yes, okay, it’s a man. And yes, something did happen after he came back. On his journey, he caught a parasite that wasn’t well-known before. He collapsed in my quarters and went to St. Mungo’s. The healers couldn’t figure out what was wrong because, again, unknown parasite. So, I did some research and got an idea which turned out to be right. The healers extracted the parasite, his life was saved, hurrah. So far, so good. But then, I offered to get his flat ready for his return home – just get some groceries and perform some cleaning spells and that’s when he flipped out.”

“Wait a moment, did you just say your research saved his life? Did he appreciate that at all?”

“Yes, he was very appreciative. At first.”

“Wow… it’s a pretty amazing feat, Hermione. I’m proud of you.”

Hermione grinned sheepishly and squirmed under Ginny’s awed look. “Anyone would have done the same…”

“Maybe, but you can still be proud of it. Now, let’s see, you said he flipped out when you mentioned going to his flat. Maybe he hides something terrible there. Or he is a hoarder and his flat is full of rubbish. Or maybe he’s just a very private person?”

“Well, yeah. He’s very private.”

“Right, so that might be it. On a level from one to ten, with one being Lockhart – shoves his business into everyone’s face – and ten being Snape – keeps everything from everyone all the time – how private is he?”

“Erm…” Hermione’s voice had gotten very small. She should have played it cool, just said, “Snape” and moved on like he was really only an illustration of a concept. But she couldn’t keep the emotion out of her face when she said his name to Ginny.

“Why are you so—” Ginny’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh! I just remembered that you worked with him! Merlin, it’s Snape ? I mean, he seemed… nicer than usual when he came to our table to talk to you, but you became friends ? And, wait, you saved his bloody life ? Hermione!”

Despite herself, Hermione gave a chuckle, albeit a pained one. “I mean, I thought we were good friends… you should have seen his letters. He was so kind. I don’t understand…”

Ginny considered her mug of beer and chewed her lower lip, shooting Hermione a strange, almost guilty glance.

Knitting her brow, Hermione slowly sat up. “You know something!”

“Well… yes. You remember that Snape gave Harry a bunch of his memories the night of the battle, right?”

“How could I forget…” Inwardly, Hermione shuddered. “It was awful, watching someone almost die. At the time, I was convinced he was dead. Just… horrible”

Ginny nodded sympathetically. “That sounds nightmarish. The thing is… Harry told me about Snape’s memories. He shouldn’t have, but it was troubling him – he had to tell someone . I promised Harry not to repeat any of it to anyone because the story isn’t ours to tell. What I can say is that Snape’s sudden hostility is likely not really about you. 

“I mean, you know that he was a double agent, so he’s been through some messed-up shit. But even before that… his childhood was… let’s just say his life wasn’t easy. I’d wager that scolding you was a knee-jerk reaction, some old reflex of self-protection.”

As much as Hermione wanted to know, she didn’t press Ginny for details. But there was a glimmer of hope in her heart. “I see. So, I suppose the proper thing to do is to give him space.” She sighed, “Why do I always have to be the patient one? I had to walk on eggshells around Ron so as not to scare him away, and now I have to step back and wait and hope again?”

Ginny quirked an eyebrow at her. “Well, first of all, believe me when I tell you that this is different. My brother is a commitment-phobe who very obviously strung you along, dropping just enough tiny little love kernels to keep you hooked. From what you told me, Snape didn’t seem elusive when it came to you. And he doesn’t seem the type for silly games, either. Secondly… why do you even compare the two at all? You were in love with Ron. Are you telling me—”

“No of course not,” Hermione laughed. “No, just… the general feeling of getting rebuffed really stings, regardless of my relationship with that person.”

“Hm. Right…”

“Let’s talk about something else. I went out with you to distract myself, not to wallow. How is your training going? Are you excited for the match against the Chudley Cannons?”

Ginny gave her a surprised look. “You know about that? I thought you would toss out the sports part of the Daily Prophet without so much as a glance?”

With a little twinkle in her eye, Hermione said, “I make a point to skim it now that my close friend and her team may be in it.”

It was late, and Hermione was a bit tipsy when she arrived back at her quarters. She took off her coat and went into the bathroom, but just when she took her toothbrush out of the cupboard, she noticed that she was hungry again – the chips she’d had at the very beginning of their girl’s night had only lasted so long. She’d get something from the kitchens.

As she locked her door, something moved in the shadows of the corridor, saying, “Hermione.”

Chapter Text

Last time:

 It was late, and Hermione was a bit tipsy when she arrived back at her quarters. She took off her coat and went into the bathroom, but just when she took her toothbrush out of the cupboard, she noticed that she was hungry again – the chips she’d had at the very beginning of their girl’s night had only lasted so long. She’d get something from the kitchens.

As she locked her door, something moved in the shadows of the corridor, saying, “Hermione.”

She yelped, throwing a reflexive spell in the direction the voice had come from. The spell was rendered harmless by a subtle wand movement, and out of the shadows stepped Severus. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Hermione exhaled, her heart still hammering. “You’re out of the hospital.”

“Thanks to you.” He averted his eyes. “I know you have no reason to, but would you agree to talk to me for a few minutes? Please?”

His uncharacteristic display of deference softened the resentment she had started to feel towards him. Maybe this situation really was different from what it had been like with Ron. “Okay. I’ll just quickly go get some food. Do you also want something?”

After a short hesitation, he nodded once.

Down in the kitchens, while she filled the pot she was using to transport the food, her insides squirmed. This reminded her a little too much of how she had lovingly fed another man for years and had gotten mostly indifference in return. Was she falling into the same trap now, doting on someone who was using her for his convenience?

She debated with herself the whole way upstairs. Severus’ treatment of her had been a knee-jerk reaction, Ginny had said - reflexive defensiveness. Wasn’t she doing the exact same thing right now – taking the hurt someone else had caused her and fearing the same from Severus? 

He still stood by the large stained-glass window opposite Hermione’s door. The moonlight painted patterns on his black cloak. 

With a stiff smile, she invited him in.

She declined his help as she laid out the food, then sat down and looked at him, her jaw set, her eyebrows slightly raised in expectation.

“I am so sorry, Hermione. The way I talked to you – there is really no excuse. I destroyed the amiable relationship we had begun to foster, and I regret that very much.”

Hermione slowly shook her head, saying, “I thought we were friends. I thought you trusted me. Why did you say those things?”

He swallowed. “I…” He slowly shook his head, exhaling. “There’s no justifiable reason I treated you like that. Hermione, tell me what I can do to make this right.”

“I don’t know,” she murmured. As much as she wanted to simply believe him and jump right back into being friends, her fear had more convincing arguments:

Didn’t you see how content and at peace your parents are now that they don’t know they even have a daughter? Didn’t Ron casually discard you the moment you’d stopped living your life solely for his enjoyment? Didn’t Severus throw you out the minute his life was saved? The moment you stop being of use, people leave – why should now be any different?

“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “This is so pathetic. I shouldn’t have assumed that… there was anything there. That we were friends.”

“We are,” he murmured. “The fault is mine.”

Hanging her head, she breathed deeply to keep control over herself.

“Hermione…” Severus said quietly. He moved his chair closer to hers. “I’m so sorry. You’ve been wonderful… I wish I hadn’t added to your burden the way I did. If I could go back and change my behaviour, I would.”

His words softened a spot in her heart that had been hardened by decades of self-protection. Her diaphragm constricted, forcing out a harsh sob.  “This year has been shit so far.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” The warmth in his voice finally made her tears flow. She sat, her face in her hands, sobbing out all the fear and hurt she had experienced in these past months.

But he was still here. And he wasn’t telling her to stop crying, to be strong, to get a grip. She wished he’d hug her and stroke her head. 

The thought was surprising enough to kick her mind off its spiral of despair. She he5aved a few deep breaths as the sobs quieted. The strange peace that only came after crying out all her sorrows slowly spread through her veins, filling her limbs with warmth.

After wiping her face with her sleeve, she chanced a brief, self-conscious look at Severus. “Sorry,” she murmured.

He quickly shook his head, his expression still concerned. “Is there anything I can do?”

Hermione lifted her shoulders. “Thank you for coming here tonight. That was a good start.”

“If you still want to see me, I will strive to do better.”

Hermione nodded. “I do.” 

“I should probably take my leave so you can rest.”

“You don’t have to leave. I want to know how you are.”

His features relaxed a little and he leaned back in the chair. “I’m still a bit tired, but getting better every day.” He was quiet for a moment. “Hermione, I cannot stress this enough: I owe you my life. I am so grateful for that.”

She shook her head, her stomach twinging. “Don’t say that. I don’t want you to feel an obligation to repay me. And it’s not like you haven’t gone to great lengths to protect our lives. If anything, we’re closer to being even now.”

“All right,” Severus said in a resolute tone and held out his hand. “We’re even.”

Hermione blinked, then shook his hand, smiling hesitantly.

Finally, they turned their attention to the food.  She barely dared to admit it to herself, and she would certainly not tell him, but her heart felt lighter. Her chest expanded with a few deep, freeing breaths.

They ate in silence for a while until Hermione said, “Lockhart seems to have poisoned the villagers in Mongolia.”

“Oh? How?”

She told him everything she knew while he listened with raised eyebrows. “Interesting,” he said when she was finished. “I have never heard of that combination of symptoms before. I’m not a healer, of course, but still.”

“I was thinking that I could ask Healer Nettleship. She’s specialised in animal poisoning, but she seems to know a lot of stuff outside of her area of expertise as well. Although… I scoured the hospital library and couldn’t find anything. But we should ask her anyway, I could easily have overlooked something.”

“She’ll be so happy to see you again.”

Hermione stared at him, an incredulous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. With a hint of mischief, she said, “Careful now, you’re not out of the woods yet.”

He chuckled quietly, a sound that made Hermione’s heart do a tiny somersault.

Severus left soon after dinner, well past midnight – but not before asking her whether he could join her for her research in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. She slept deeply and peacefully that night. 

On Monday morning at breakfast Hermione sat next to Cleo, who was leafing through a magazine while munching her toast. It wasn’t like Hermione to pry, but the photo on the page practically assaulted her with its dazzling colours. It was Lockhart, wearing a bright turquoise shirt whose collar and fastenings were of a distinctive Asian style. He held his hands in front of his chest as if in prayer, his facial expression a ridiculous attempt at humility. The title read, “Eastern Religion has Taught Me the True Meaning of Life.”

Hermione snorted, prompting Cleo to turn to her. The expression on her face made the hairs on Hermione’s neck stand up. 

“Isn’t he amazing?” Cleo sighed. “He’s so smart, he really understands how to unlock your true inner self and find happiness!”

Staring at her in disbelief, Hermione said, “I didn’t know you liked Lockhart.”

“I only found him recently. I can’t believe how blind I was! I only just started reading his books and I already understand myself so much better!”

“I see. What does Ron think about that?”

Cleo sullenly shook her head. “Ronny doesn’t understand women the way Gilderoy does. Gilderoy just has this… I don’t even know how to describe it. He gets us, you know?”

“Did… did Ron tell you about his history with Lockhart?”

With a dismissive wave of her hand, Cleo replied, “That was so long ago. Gilderoy is a changed man who regrets his past actions very much!”

Hermione highly doubted that, although something told her that Cleo wouldn’t be receptive to criticism about ‘Gilderoy’. With a shudder, Hermione remembered her own childhood infatuation with the idiot. “What do you mean by ‘he understands women’?”

“He’s not afraid to talk about topics that are still a bit taboo. Like, you know…” Cleo lowered her voice, “sexual wellbeing.”

“What does he say about that?”

“He has researched ancient traditions from India and China or something and has developed his own teachings based on his studies. Like, he makes these crystals—” Cleo turned a few pages in the magazine until she reached the full-page ad that tried to pass itself off as part of the article. Her face turning red, she tapped the picture of an oblong, rounded stone in soft pink. Still whispering, she explained, “Women in India have been using these yoni crystals for centuries. They go in your… you know… Anyway, they unblock the root chakra by directing the energy in your body. It helps women fully realise their female and, um, sexual energy. They also help with all sorts of female problems.”

“Right.” It took Hermione a moment to process this information. “Did you buy one of those?”

Cleo gave a start. “That’s a bit of a personal question, isn’t it?” After a forbidding look, she added, “I can lend you some of Gilderoy’s books, then you can read about it yourself. But you absolutely must promise to give them back to me!”

“Of course. I’d love to borrow one or two books.” It might not tell Hermione anything about the disease in Mongolia, but knowing more about Lockhart’s “teachings” definitely wouldn’t hurt.

Cleo brought the books to Hermione’s classroom after the first double period, making no effort to hide Lockhart’s dementedly grinning face on the covers. One student gave Hermione a shy but encouraging smile on her way out.

In a free period, Hermione started leafing through the books. Almost every single page made outrageous claims. The book detailed in which specific ways a crystal had to be “energised” and what one had to do with it to heal any and all ailments and solve every problem.

One chapter even claimed that malachite cut into the shape of the sun – which Lockhart sold, of course – would protect the wearer from all infectious diseases, including those that were hard to cure. As proof, Lockhart cited a case in which a man had worn such an amulet while caring for his wife, who was dying from the highly contagious Dragon Pox. Not only did the man not get infected, but the wife unexpectedly recovered as well.

Lockhart gave no concrete numbers, no sources for his claims. Other chapters promised similar miracles in all spheres of life. Struggling to make ends meet? Put this crystal in your coin pouch and the Galleons will start pouring in! Fighting with your spouse? Lay this crystal under their mattress to balance the humours of their body! Period cramps? Shove this crystal stick up your vagina! And on and on he went.

Female sexual wellbeing was indeed a topic he highlighted especially. His yoni crystals had the honour of being front and centre in the longest chapter of the book. According to Lockhart, women had been using them for thousands of years, especially in India and China. If two ancient cultures, who each had developed their own complex system of medicine, used the magic of the yoni crystals, they had to work, right?

And their benefits were legion. Not only did they help with period pains, but also the women’s mood shifts, pain during intercourse, and even childbirth (It was a small relief that he specified that you had to take the crystal out during intercourse and childbirth). If that wasn’t enough, they also unlocked a woman’s full potential to self-realisation.

The last chapter explained that, while crystals were wonderful, they weren’t the only thing needed for living a fulfilled and deeply healthy life. There are many wonderful substances in this world whose endless benefits I’ve dedicated my life to uncovering, he wrote. Once I’m certain that my research on them is exhaustive, I will make them and the wisdom behind them available to the world, so keep your eyes open, dear reader!

Hermione rolled her eyes. How did his “dear readers” not realise that this entire book was a giant advertisement, down to the very last sentence? Sighing, she snatched this book shut and grabbed the other one.

This one dealt with creating energetic flows through one’s house. According to Lockhart, Each room could be perfectly tuned to its purpose if the correct crystals were put on key points throughout the house. Of course, especially large and pure crystals would work best. How convenient that Lockhart sold hand-polished crystals, painstakingly selected by his very self for that purpose.

Since Hermione’s head was already reeling with all that snake oil salesman talk, she decided to make a day of it. When her lessons were finished, she travelled to London to visit the library of the British Museum. Using their computer catalogue, she searched for the words yoni and yoni crystals . To her surprise, three articles on the matter came up, all in archaeological journals. Apparently, Muggles knew of them too, although they mostly seemed to be called yoni eggs. One promising title read, Vaginal Jade Eggs: Ancient Chinese Practice or Modern Marketing Myth? 

The authors had perused the four largest collections of Chinese archaeology and had not found a single object that resembled the yoni eggs. Shaking her head, Hermione checked one of the cited sources. In it, the authors had analysed historic texts detailing the life of concubines. Nowhere did they mention jade eggs or anything similar being put into vaginas. The third article was about the potential use of yoni eggs in India. Again, the authors hadn’t found any indication, textual or physical, that yoni eggs had existed.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, exhaling and rubbing her eyes. Apparently, Muggles had recently come up with the idea to sell polished minerals at fifty times their market value to desperate women. Lockhart had simply copied it. He was nothing but a travelling salesman scamming people with his miracle cures – a practice as old as civilization itself. 

The question that remained was what the illness in the Mongolian village had to do with Lockhart’s crystals. A smile sprung to Hermione’s face when she thought of the coming weekend, when Severus would help her do research in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. Hopefully, they’d find some answers there. 

The next day, Hermione went to Cleo’s office during lunch to return the books. Before she could knock, the door opened and two girls came out, looking serene and clutching books to their chests – more of Lockhart’s. Hermione did a double take. The girls’ eyes fell on the books in Hermione’s hand. 

“Professor Granger,” one of them exclaimed, “are you a follower of Lockhart too? Isn’t he just wonderful?”

Before Hermione could stop herself, she snorted, “Certainly not!”

The girl who had spoken looked crestfallen. Her friend, on the other hand, took offence. “What could anyone possibly have against him?”

The middle of the corridor was not a suitable place for a lengthy lecture, so Hermione only said, “He tried to obliviate my friends when we were children, because they had found out that he was a fraud. He’s not harmless, and he certainly doesn’t have anyone’s best interest at heart.”

The girl scoffed, “That was ages ago. He is a changed man who regrets his past actions very much!”

Hermione blinked. “He’s… that’s… Of course he would say that.” Had she just lost a debate with two fifth-years? 

They walked off, the second girl shooting her a disdainful look over her shoulder. 

Cleo was visibly disappointed that Hermione brought the books back so soon. “You didn’t even read them, did you?”

“I skimmed them. Thanks for lending them to me. Say, the two girls just now, did they borrow books from you as well? I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to share your private interests with students.”

“There aren’t any rules against it, as far as I know,” said Cleo coldly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Hermione understood herself to be dismissed.

The idea of Cleo infecting students with her infatuation with Lockhart bothered Hermione for the rest of the week. She managed to distract herself with the first calculations a member of the Potioneers’ Society had asked her to do, but it kept popping into her brain. Although it was probably entirely coincidental that the girl had used the exact same phrase as Cleo in regards to Lockhart being a changed man.

Chapter Text

Last time:

The idea of Cleo infecting students with her infatuation with Lockhart bothered Hermione for the rest of the week. She managed to distract herself with the first calculations a member of the Potioneers’ Society had asked her to do, but it kept popping into her brain. Although it was probably entirely coincidental that the girl had used the exact same phrase as Cleo in regards to Lockhart being a changed man.

“Isn’t the library wonderful when it’s empty?” asked Hermione as she unlocked the richly decorated cast-iron gates that separated the Restricted Section from the rest of the Hogwarts library. The walk from her quarters had been quite exciting – it was interesting to be on the other side of Severus’ formidable demeanour. Students seemed to naturally make way as he strode alongside her, some giving them startled looks. It was especially remarkable given that the vast majority didn’t even know Severus – more than a decade had passed since he’d last been a professor.

It wasn’t that the students didn’t respect Hermione, but she made a point of relating to them while still maintaining authority. It wasn’t always an easy line to toe. She had been tempted many times to snap, “Because I say so!” but had always taken a breath and explained her reasoning instead. Some days, she wished she could just silence them with a glare that made them shrink, that she could part their crowds with her sheer presence. As much as she had sometimes resented Severus as a student, it felt exhilarating to now be his equal. He would not have deflated in front of those two fifth-years.

The vines and flowers of the gates to the Restricted Section curled back to grant them entrance. Severus audibly inhaled. “I had almost forgotten how the Restricted Section feels.” He cast his eyes around.

“I know what you mean. I only started noticing how saturated with magic the air is in here once I had developed my skills during my Mastery.” She took a resolute breath, “Right, to work. At St. Mungo’s library, I focused on illnesses caused by viruses or bacteria that could cause itchy blisters. I also looked at plants, animals and fungi. What I didn’t cover at all were curses and hexes and the like.”

Severus nodded thoughtfully. “How about magical concoctions?”

She couldn’t help a smile. “No, I haven’t checked those, either. Since that’s your expertise, how about you start with them?”

“Very well. Be careful, some of these books have quite a life of their own.”

“I know –  I’ve worked here for five years.” Hermione said, half annoyed, half amused.

They walked to the end of the row, where each turned to a different shelf and began studying spines. For a while, they stood with their backs towards each other, pulling out a book, then walking a few slow steps, perusing the shelves.

Each book they took out was subjected to spells to detect any traps or other nasty surprises they might hold. Only when those had been disabled did they open the books. That was, until Hermione pulled out an especially old tome with splotchy and threadbare linen binding. It looked like it was going to fall apart any minute, so Hermione pulled it out with the utmost care. 

The second it was released from the confines of its shelf neighbours, the book burst open, sending rusty bits flying everywhere, and started attacking Hermione like an angry and very heavy paper bat. It hit her over the head repeatedly while flapping its pages in her face, making her stumble backwards. 

Instead of hitting the shelf behind her, her shoulders were caught in Severus’ arms.  With a decisive slash of her wand, she fended off the book, grabbed it out of the air and forced it shut, conjuring a belt to keep it that way. “The lock has rusted through,” she panted.

Severus had let go of her by then, but she could still feel the ghost of his hands on her shoulders. Wiping her hair out of her face, she said, “I’ll tie this one to the reading stand. Let’s see if there’s anything useful in there or if I was just assaulted for nothing.”

Held open forcibly by heavy leather straps, the book had to give up its contents. What had drawn Hermione to this particular tome was its peculiar title, Howe to Force Frendscipes and Infatuate People . It was clear that it would tell her nothing about itchy blisters, but something compelled her to investigate it nonetheless.

She skimmed the introduction. The author promised to teach the reader to manipulate everyone around them efficiently and permanently so that the reader would become the most valued person wherever they went. Once again, Hermione thought about Cleo and the two students. Could it really be coincidence that both had used the exact same phrase about Lockhart being a changed man? There were ample ways to put ideas into someone's head using magic. And this book seemed to contain them.

There were charms that, contrary to what the author claimed, would wear off quickly and would have to be recast frequently. Other spells that he detailed, however, might do the trick. The author didn’t use the word outright, but they were curses. Not quite the Imperius , but they very much altered the victim’s mind. And then, there were also potions and salves. Some had to be drunk, others worked when sprayed in the air and inhaled, others again had to be applied to skin.

“Severus, could you come here for a moment?” Hermione called. He put down a small stack of books and bent over the stand, his eyes racing over the lines Hermione pointed out. 

He scoffed quietly, his eyebrows rising. “These would work in the way the author says. They are also highly addictive and can have horrible side effects, including death, in extreme cases. Although…” He turned a page and read on. “With some tweaks, this salve could be made relatively safe. The effect would be much weaker but it would be enough to sway someone who already had a positive opinion of the person, changing sympathy into devotion.”

“Or Indifference to sympathy?”

“Indeed. But why are you looking at this? I thought we were researching skin blistering.”

“I think it’s worth checking out because the title is pretty much what Lockhart does, isn’t it? He has followers at Hogwarts and they seem to be a little too enthusiastic about him.”

Severus turned to face her, cocking an eyebrow. “Oh, are they now?”

Hermione’s face got hot. “I know, I… liked him too, back in the day. I was young and stupid, okay? But something about the way they talk about him seems off. It’s just a hunch, but I don’t want to ignore it.”

“By all means,” Severus said, gesturing at the book.

Hermione turned her attention to the section Severus had pointed out. “This salve – how would it be applied?”

“To the skin, and on as large an area as possible to maximise the amount that is absorbed.”

“Would it irritate the skin? And how about mucosa?”

Severus gave her a shrewd look. “It should not normally irritate skin, unless the person is allergic or very sensitive. Not mucosa, either. And yes, before you ask, it would be absorbed much more efficiently by mucosa. But then, it would have to be applied to the inside of the cheek or inside the nose. I don’t see how—”

“Lockhart has Yoni Crystals in his product line,” said Hermione, feeling her face flush.

Severus looked at her blankly.

“Yoni is a sanskrit word for female reproductive organs.”

Severus’ eyes widened a fraction and he directed his gaze back to the book. “I see. And Lockhart sells crystals that…?”

“Yeah. They’re supposed to unlock sexual and life energy, alleviate pain during intercourse, lessen menstrual cramps, and all-around empower women. In truth, they’re just minerals that have microscopic pores which can hold nasty bacteria and, well, anything else they come in contact with.”

“Such as a salve like this.”

Hermione nodded. “I know it’s a long shot but… ever since I wrote that letter to Mongolia I’ve been reading articles about him. I haven’t found a single one that is critical, or even neutral. They are all full of praise, even ones in magazines with a high standard of journalism. I noticed that all the journalists who wrote bigger articles about him so far were women. Maybe he gifted them a set of his crystals, encouraged them to try them out before meeting him… And they did, for the sake of journalism. I know I would have. You have to know what you write about, even if you think it’s rubbish. But if the crystals are imbued with something like this…” She nodded at the book.

“It’s something worth keeping in mind,” Severus said.

“Should I copy these pages?”

“No need, I’ll write down the most likely recipes and their key ingredients. That way, we will know what to test for, if it comes to that.”

With a critical look at the book, Hermione voiced something else she’d had in the back of her mind for a while. “Lockhart’s whole thing – the overpriced crystals, the lecture circuits, the visits to far corners of the earth – he has bigger plans than before.”

Severus nodded pensively. “He got his drivel approved as Hogwarts textbooks back in the day. Garnering influence is not new to him.”

“I want to find out what he’s up to. He was ruthless fifteen years ago, willing to accept the destruction of children’s minds and even their deaths to protect his legacy. And from the way he seemed when he barged into my office, he’s gotten only more power-hungry. I want to stop him.”

With a shrewd look, Severus said, “You miss the thrill of adventure.”

Hermione’s eyes snapped up at his. “I… no, it’s just… he can’t be allowed to dupe innocent people and use them for his own gains. Lives could be destroyed. They may already be, from what we’ve heard.”

“You could get the Auror office involved, send your friend Potter to chase Lockhart down…”

Heatedly, Hermione shook her head. “With what evidence? Selling overpriced trinkets isn’t a crime. Harry doesn’t get to choose his own cases either. Plus, it’s the Ministry. They’re not exactly famed for stepping in to ward off danger. I don’t trust them.” She glowered at Severus who had the audacity to have an amused glint in his eye.

“I agree with you,” he said. “And I don’t think you should do this alone.”

“I’m not though, am I?”

“No. You’re not.” 

They each went back to the task at hand, Hermione refocusing her efforts on curses and hexes. When she had collected enough books for one evening of work, she found a desk close to where Severus already sat. For a while, the only sounds were the rustling of pages and the scratching of quill on parchment – although Hermione didn’t have much to write down, since barely any of the spells she read about came close to what she was looking for.

After two hours, she snapped the sixth book shut with a frustrated groan. “Maybe he developed his own curse. I can’t find anything. There are many that cause somewhat similar effects but differ in one fundamental way. And it’s not like we have a lot to go on. Two sentences about the symptoms is all the description I got.” She jumped up and moodily reshelved the books before plopping back down onto her chair. 

After a moment, she’d made up her mind. “I will write to Xenophilius again.”

Severus looked up from his work, considering her.

“No, better yet,” said Hermione, “I’ll go visit him. It will be easier for him to tell me everything he knows face to face. And faster, too.”

“How anxious did Xenophilius seem in his letter to you?”

“He implored me to tell him if I knew anything else about Lockhart’s plans, so pretty anxious, I would say.”

“Don’t you think that he would have told you every detail if he was that anxious? And he was the one asking you for information. Judging from those facts, it’s unlikely he knows much more than he told you already. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t try it, I’m just cautioning you against undue optimism.”

Hermione’s shoulders sagged. Severus had a point. And now that she thought about it, there was something else. “If I’m honest… he might not be the most reliable source in any case. He tends to interpret facts in rather… fanciful ways.”

Severus took an audible breath. “We need to find another way.”

“Right. Then I’ll ask Xenophilius to put me in direct contact with the villagers so I can ask them myself. It’s not very convenient, this game of telephone with him as the middleman.”

Hermione wrote another letter to Xenophilius that very night, detailing her thoughts and telling him about the research she and Severus had done. If she could  convince Xenophilius without a doubt that she was trustworthy and only wanted to help, maybe he would tell her the location of the village so she could contact them herself.

It seemed to have worked, for Xenophilius soon invited her for a visit. Before she went, she meticulously gathered everything she and Severus had written down so she could properly argue her case.

Chapter Text

Last time:

Hermione wrote another letter to Xenophilius that very night, detailing her thoughts and telling him about the research she and Severus had done. If she could  convince Xenophilius without a doubt that she was trustworthy and only wanted to help, maybe he would tell her the location of the village so she could contact them herself.

It seemed to have worked, for Xenophilius soon invited her for a visit. Before she went, she meticulously gathered everything she and Severus had written down so she could properly argue her case.

However, it turned out that Hermione didn’t have to argue her case with Xenophilius. 

“I have the cure right here,” said Xenophilius after they had sat down and Hermione had taken a polite sip of the unidentifiable tea he had poured. From a shelf lining the rounded walls of the tower, Xenophilius retrieved a small linen bag with a drawstring and gave it to Hermione. She started to open it but Xenophilius stopped her. “There’s a vial inside with an extremely potent toxin from the gympie-gympie plant. I was hoping you and Professor Snape could prepare it in the necessary way to make it into a treatment for the skin condition the villagers in Mongolia suffer from.”

“Oh, er… how did you manage to work out that this is the cure? Did they write to you again with more details about their illness? Did you check with a specialised healer?”

Xenophilius had narrowed his eyes. “I don’t appreciate your obvious distrust in my skills.”

Hermione wanted very much to point out that her distrust was warranted, given the fact that neither the medical nor the magical literature she and Severus had combed through had anything about that particular combination of symptoms. But she forced herself to smile and say, “I apologise. Please, go on.”

Xenophilius took a discontent breath. “This tincture needs to be prepared in a very specific way. You will have noticed that there is a very small amount. It will still be enough to make a large amount of the cure.”

“Because of how concentrated it is?”

“Well, yes and no. Please let me finish, will you?” He shot Hermione another annoyed glance. She had to tread even more lightly. “The tincture needs to be diluted one in one hundred. That solution has to be made in a large glass bottle, which then must be tapped vigorously onto a leather pad filled with straw, one hundred and four times in total. Thereafter, the resulting solution must be diluted one in one hundred again, and tapped in the same way.

“This cycle of dilution and tapping has to be repeated fourteen times in total, including the very first dilution. After the fourteenth time, the water molecules will have developed a memory of the tonic’s properties. All you will need to do then is to put one drop of this solution on the tongue of each person afflicted with the illness and they will be cured.”

Hermione blinked. She had never heard a protocol like this before. “The water molecules—”

“—will have developed a memory of the tonic. Please try to listen to me more carefully.”

“Yes, sorry. Um… have you tested this in some way?”

“Of course. Well, someone else has. The gympie-gympie plant causes painful stings that trouble the afflicted for days, sometimes weeks or even months. And the patient can get incredibly short-tempered because of how awful it is. Now, since the water molecules are imbued with the memory of the toxin, they can teach the body to fight those very same symptoms itself.”

“So… you know that the villagers got stung but this plant? I’m still not sure I understand how—”

“No, they did not get stung by that plant, that plant only grows in Australia. But it causes similar symptoms. So, it can teach the body to fight the symptoms, too – no matter where the symptoms come from.”

Hermione nodded slowly, a careful smile installed on her face. Pushing Xenophilius even an inch further seemed unwise, so she said, “I see. I’m sure we can prepare this solution as you specified and then bring it to the villagers. Could you tell me where exactly we can find them? You can just give me the return address from their letters.”

Xenophilius drew himself up. “I will do that once you’ve made the solution. Bring me a vial of it once it’s done so I can test it.”

“Of course. Thank you, Xeno.”

Back at Hogwarts, Hermione put the little bag with the vial on her desk and sat down. After she had stared at it for a while, replaying her conversation with Xenophilius in her mind, she shook her head, groaning. She’d forgotten just how outlandish the man’s theories could get, and how utterly useless it was to try and discuss his beliefs with him. The name of the plant, at least, had rung a bell. A page in one of Hermione’s herbology encyclopaedias confirmed that the gympie-gympie plant was real and caused the symptoms Xenophilius had described. 

Hermione had come across it during her research at St. Mungo’s library as well but had discounted it as a possible cause because its symptoms barely matched with what little she knew about the affliction of the Mongolian villagers. The plant caused painful stings with small dots. Nowhere had it said anything about itchiness. Besides, the plant was indeed native to the Australian jungle and would not grow in Mongolian climate.

But, according to Xenophilius, none of that mattered. Hermione kept herself from trying to wrap her head around the convoluted explanations of how the tincture was supposed to work. 

Sighing, she went to her fireplace to call Severus. It took a while before his face appeared among the flames. Hermione told him about her visit to Xenophilius.

Severus exhaled, his brow knitted. “We can still get what we need. All we have to do is bring him a vial with water in a day or two, telling him it’s his diluted tincture. Once we have the address, we can begin our own investigations. I will come with you when you bring him the vial.”

“I’d like to do it sooner rather than later. We shouldn’t lose too much time.”

“Tomorrow then.”

The evening sun cast a beautiful light on Xenophilius’ garden, making it look downright enchanted. A cloud of midges hovered over a patch of intertwined bean stalks, their tiny wings catching the sunlight every now and then. But Hermione and Severus couldn’t linger. The sooner they got the location of the Mongolian village, the better.

Xenophilius’ eyes widened when he saw the two of them.

Hermione said, “Hi, Xeno, we have the dilution of the tincture for you to test. May we come in?” 

He stood back but didn’t say anything. The three of them ascended the stairs. 

“Very well then…” Xenophilius’ eyes darted between the two. “You have the dilution, you said?”

Hermione gave it to him, feeling a little nervous. Would he notice that it was plain water, entirely unshaken?

Xenophilius held the vial against the light, squinting at it, then nodding. “The test will only take a moment. Have a seat.”

While Hermione and Severus sat down, Xenophilius tapped a large armchair with his wand. The backrest reclined and he lay down on it, putting the vial Hermione had given him on a small table beside him, along with a few other vials.

He then proceeded to close his eyes and put one of the vials on his stomach. He breathed a few times, then replaced the vial with another one. He repeated the operation with another two vials, one after the other, before sitting back up and saying, “You made it the right way” while smiling nervously.

Severus stood up. “We fulfilled our end of the bargain. If you give us the location of the village, we will deliver the cure.”

“Right, yes. The location… of the village.” Xenophilius looked around the room as if he expected the address to spontaneously materialise. Then, he looked at Hermione with a pained expression. “I don’t have it, strictly speaking. They always send their own bird and all I do is give my letter to it and send it back. The bird should come back in a couple of weeks, I just sent a letter to them. You could follow it…”

Hermione scoffed, her patience running out. “Follow it how? On broomsticks? Over mountains and forests and thousands of miles of steppe? Birds don’t have to rest as humans do, they can fly for days on end, weeks even! We can’t follow a bird over an entire continent without resting!”

“I’m sorry…” stammered Xenophilius. “Maybe a trace—”

“Delivery birds cannot be traced,” snarled Severus.

“Oh, I see… I really am sorry…”

Xenophilius was still stammering apologies when Hermione and Severus strode down his garden path. 

Back at the gates of Hogwarts, Hermione snapped, “That was a waste of time! What do we do now?”

“We will think of something. For now, we should get some rest.”

“Right,” she sighed. “Listen, um… would you like to stay for dinner?”

Severus looked at her, his brow furrowed

“If you’re worried about imposing, you needn’t be,” Hermione cautiously said. “I’d be happy to get something from the kitchens, it’s no trouble at all. After all, I’ve dragged you along on this wild goose chase. One might say feeding you is the least I could do.”

He let out a breath of air that almost sounded like a chuckle. “When you put it like that…”

Hermione smiled. “Earnestly though, thank you for helping with this research. I’m very sorry it didn’t lead to anything.”

“You can still look into that idea about the salve on those crystals.”

“Ugh, that means I have to buy one, doesn’t it? I will have to come up with a fake address. There’s no way Lockhart can think I actually wanted to do business with him.”

“I’d be happy to share the cost.”

At her quarters, Severus offered to go to the kitchens and get them dinner. While he was gone, Hermione laid the table, smiling to herself. 

Her fireplace sprung to life. For a confused second, she thought Severus was coming through, but her fireplace wasn’t connected to the kitchens. Someone with flaming red hair spelled the soot off their clothes and stood up straight.

“What the fuck, Ron! You nearly scared me to death!”

With a sheepish grin, he replied, “You always said you’d love it if I surprised you like this.”

“Why are you disturbing me at this time of night?”

“Um, first of all, Hi, Mione. And it’s only half past eight. Hardly a time I would call ‘night’.” 

“Right, yeah, that’s great, Ronald. You have the audacity to come through my fireplace unannounced, after everything that happened, and the first thing you do is tell me off?”

“You kept the connection open. So, some part of you must have wanted me to come see you.”

“I forgot about the stupid connection,” she snapped. “Now leave, I’ve got company.”

Ron looked at her like she’d just slapped him. “Like… who? A man?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“It’s the bloke Ginny was talking about, isn’t it? She said it was no use coming to you because there was someone new.”

Hermione hated the fact that the blood rose in her face, but she didn’t reply. 

“But that’s just it,” Ron said, his tone suddenly pleading. “He’s new, that bloke. He and you don’t have the history we do. You and I – our foundation is thick as the earth’s crust, right? He doesn’t know you like I do, Mione. Right?”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “What are you saying?”

To her utter shock, Ron went down on his knees. “I was so wrong, Mione! You were there, always there for me. I should have seen that you’re the right girl for me. It’s you, Mione – it’s always been you.”

“Get up,” she barked. “Leave me alone. I can’t do this. Not again.”

“No, Mione, please! Nothing makes sense anymore, Cleo has completely lost her mind. You’re the only stable, normal thing in my life, and you always have been. You’re my rock, I was just too blind to see it!”

Hermione chuckled tiredly. “Listen carefully, Ron: There is nothing that I can or want to do for you. I don’t feel anything for you anymore. It’s much, much too late. Go away.”

The door to her quarters opened. “I took the liberty of bringing—”

Ron’s face went from confusion to fury as he hastily got to his feet. “You!” he growled, taking two steps towards Severus, who stood in Hermione’s door, looking at Ron evenly.

Hermione put her hand on Ron’s shoulder, saying, “You need to leave right now!”

He wheeled round to her, his eyes wide with fury. “And leave you alone with him? Mione, how can you want to spend even just a second with him? How can you throw away us, the seven years we shared, just like that?”

“Seven years of what, Ron? Of my unrequited pining after you? I’m sure it looked nice from where you’re standing, but it felt like shit for me.” She hated how her blood began to boil yet again. She’d explained herself to him three times now, and it didn’t seem to make any difference. Helplessly lifting her shoulders, she said, “Please just go, Ron. If you really like me, you’ll do this for me.”

Ron suddenly grinned, looking quite deranged. “Oh yeah? What about him then, huh?” He jerked his head at Severus. “He really liked Harry’s mum and dedicated most of his life to her, even though she chose someone else, married someone else. But you’re all right with him, are you? I’m getting yelled at for not giving up after a few months, but he gets to obsess over someone for decades ?”

Severus stirred. With the quiet voice that cut like glass he said, “The woman you refer to told me in no uncertain terms that she wished to never speak to me again long before she even went out with James Potter. I left her alone, never so much as uttered her name again, let alone approached her. Everything her memory motivated me to do significantly helped us win the war and saved you and your friends’ lives on several occasions, Mister Weasley. There are no parallels between yourself and me. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” On anyone else, the basket on his arm would have spoiled the effect – not so on Severus.

Ron gaped at him “Yeah, right…” Only now did Hermione realise how unsteady Ron seemed on his legs, how he slightly slurred his words.

“Ron, go home,” Hermione said, more sympathetically than before.

“Not before I have your answer.”

“My answer is no. No to everything. And, by the way, if you respect Cleo even a little bit, you’ll break up with her. In a gentle and dignified manner!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Mione! What, you want me to be entirely alone?”

“I think it might do you good to sort yourself out before you have a relationship.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” he repeated. “‘Sort myself out’,” he snorted. “That doesn’t even mean anything! You know, even for a woman, you have a lot of needs. I was willing to put up with it, but you won’t find anyone else who is so patient.” He jerked his head towards Severus. “He can’t give you what you want, mark my words!”

Hermione couldn’t keep down a derisive laugh, her momentary sympathy evaporated. “He’s already giving it to me.” Belatedly, she realised what she had said. But seeing Ron splutter in shock was too satisfying to correct herself. “Leave now, Ron, or I’ll have to forcibly remove you.”

“You’ll regret this!” He said dramatically, then turned on the spot, wobbling, apparently having forgotten that you couldn’t apparate inside Hogwarts. With one last, ugly look at Hermione, he finally disappeared through her fireplace.

Defeated, Hermione slumped onto the dining chair and put her face in her hands, groaning. “That fucking bloke.”

Severus, unpacking the basket of food, asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She took her hands off her face, nodding. “How was I ever with that person? I was so pathetic.”

“It happens to the best of us. Understanding that one is looking for love or even just acceptance in all the wrong places can be a long and gruelling process. Recognizing one’s error and deciding to course-correct is hard, but you’ve done it. You have nothing to feel ashamed about.”

Hermione looked at him with a small smile. “That’s… very kind of you to say.”

“It’s not kind, just true.”

“I’m so sorry about that scene, I warded my door, but had entirely forgotten about the open connection I put on my fireplace for him. Which reminds me—” She faced her fireplace and performed an incantation to close off its connection to Ron’s home before slumping back in her chair and rubbing her face. “There’s so many things happening. Lockhart, and Ron, and bratty students, and we’re barely getting anywhere with our research… I feel guilty I dragged you into this mess.”

“Don’t be. I’m more than capable of saying no if I don’t want to be somewhere.”

Hermione smiled weakly before knitting her brow again. “He said that Cleo had ‘lost her mind’. I wonder if that has anything to do with her obsession with Lockhart. I want to find out what Lockhart is up to. For that, we need the address of the Mongolian village, which we can’t get. So, we’re back to square one and there’s no solution.”

Severus inhaled. “I do have a plan, but you may not like it.”

Chapter Text

Last time:

“There’s so many things happening. Lockhart, and Ron, and bratty students, and we’re barely getting anywhere with our research… I feel guilty I dragged you into this mess.”

“Don’t be. I’m more than capable of saying no if I don’t want to be somewhere.”

Hermione smiled weakly before knitting her brow again. “He said that Cleo had ‘lost her mind’. I wonder if that has anything to do with her obsession with Lockhart. I want to find out what Lockhart is up to. For that, we need the address of the Mongolian village, which we can’t get. So, we’re back to square one and there’s no solution.”

Severus inhaled. “I do have a plan, but you may not like it.” 

Less than a week later, Hermione received the letter that would decide whether the past days of feverish work had been a productive effort or a stupid waste of time. With trembling fingers, she broke the seal.

On her desktop lay Lockhart’s books, the spines cracked, coloured tabs sticking out of it all around the pages. Cleo had been thrilled when Hermione had “admitted” how “wrong” she had been, and that she had bought her own copies of the books, which she couldn’t put down.

“I wish you’d told me, you could have bought them from me!” Cleo had said. And, with a teasing smile that didn’t seem quite genuine, she had added, “Don’t you go selling crystals now!”

“Sell? Why would I do that?”

“Gilderoy likes to focus on his writing, and to do research. Always improving for his customers! So, he asked some of his most loyal followers to help him out. We’re the ones who receive the orders and send out the products, and he pays us for our work.”

“I see. I wasn’t aware you were helping him. Didn’t you say you only discovered him recently?”

“I’m very dedicated,” Cleo had sniffed.

“Well, that’s good, because I wanted to buy a yoni crystal.”

Cleo had perked up at that, and even more so when Hermione had taken two.

That night, Hermione had sat down to write a letter she never thought she’d write.

Dear Professor Lockhart , it went,

I must offer my sincerest apologies to you. You were right – I was too blinded by my own hubris to understand what you’re doing. I have since educated myself thoroughly, and I see now how wonderful the gift is that you give to the world.

I know that there is very little chance of you agreeing to what I’m about to ask, since you have no reason to forgive me. Also, you are of course a very busy man. And yet, I just have to ask: Would you allow me to visit you, so I can apologise to you personally?

There is another reason I would like to speak to you. Since I have read your latest books, I feel a passion in my heart for the work you do. There’s nothing I want more than to help your cause. It is time I use my knowledge and skills for something that is truly worthwhile. Since I’m still a novice in your teachings, I would be happy to work for very little pay. Learning from you would be compensation enough!

I would be humbled to receive a reply from you.

Truly Yours,

Hermione Granger

And here was his reply, the very thing she had worked towards. She unfurled the parchment and read,

Dear Ms Granger,

I’m very happy to hear about your interest in Gilded Aura. You’re cordially invited to come to my retreat in Barmouth, Wales on April 10th. There, we will spend an afternoon together and I will answer all your questions.

I’m looking forward to seeing you!

Kind regards,

Gilderoy

Hermione exhaled and leaned back. While she was relieved that the first part of the plan had worked, she’d also have to be cautious – Lockhart wouldn’t have invited her if he didn’t see some kind of benefit in it, a use she might have to him. She’d have to be careful.

When she told Severus the good news through her fireplace, he was quiet for a moment, knitting his brow before replying, “You can still back out.”

“I want to go.”

“Then we should talk about what you need to do when you’re there. I have a few big orders to fulfil this week, but I will do my best to be done by Friday. Then I will come to your quarters and we can talk things through.”

“Sounds good.”

“I would come earlier, but I’m afraid I won’t have enough time. I’ll be sure to keep Friday afternoon open.”

“It’s fine, really,” Hermione reassured him. “I have homework and lesson plans to catch up with anyway. I will see you on Friday. Goodnight, Severus.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

She sat back onto her hearth rug, smiling. Friday was only four days away.

When she got up off the floor, her eyes fell onto the satchel with the yoni crystals. Severus and she had spent last Sunday running tests on them, indeed finding traces of some compounds that were used in certain kinds of potions.

However, they had come to the conclusion that it was likely a simple invigoration draught that Lockhart had put on the crystals. It hadn’t been anything even close to the things Hermione had found in that book in the restricted section.

“I suppose that makes the crystals feel like they empower the wearer, at least for a little while,” Hermione had said, then shaken her head. “Maybe my idea is a dead end.”

“It was worth a try,” Severus had said.

Hermione had barely eaten anything at lunch, so nervous was she about her visit to Lockhart’s retreat tomorrow. Hopefully, going over the plan with Severus today would calm her a little. Although every time she thought about it, a little knot of adrenaline exploded in her stomach.

At one on the dot, a whoosh in her fireplace announced Severus’ arrival. She jumped up and walked towards him as he drew himself up, but then she just stood there, unsure why she had walked towards him in the first place.

She tried to hide how sheepish she felt when she said, “Hi. I’m happy you could make it.”

He nodded in return. After accepting a cup of tea, he summarised their plans one last time. “We will travel to Barmouth separately. Ideally, we shouldn’t have any contact before you go in or after you come out. I’m merely standing by in case you need assistance.”

“Right,” Hermione said. “After I meet him, I will go along with whatever he has planned. I hope that he will meet me in his office. If so, I will ask him about an item that is behind him, so he’ll have to turn his back on me. Then, I will use the locator spell to find anything with one or several of the keywords written on it. If I find something and can duplicate it safely then and there, I will. If not, I will do it at a later moment, through his window if I must. If he doesn’t meet me in his office, I will find a way to get there.

“I will stay for as long as he wants me to stay, avoiding raising suspicions by suddenly excusing myself. At six o’clock, you and I will meet back here. Earlier, if my meeting with him is shorter, which I will communicate to you via patronus.” She exhaled. Talking it through made her fully realise that it would have to happen tomorrow. She couldn't fail.

Severus asked, “Have you found a way to bundle all keywords into one query, so you’ll have to perform the spell only once?”

Hermione nodded. “The librarian at St. Mungo’s used a spell like that. I asked Madam Pince, and she taught it to me.”

“Good. That should cover everything. There are many variables, but you can always send me your patronus if you run into trouble. Do you feel ready for the task?”

Hermione made a non-committal head movement. “I’ll just have to go and do it.”

Severus left after dinner – earlier than usual, so that Hermione could get enough sleep. Just this once, she allowed herself a sip of Dreamless Sleep, which Severus had brought for her. She needed to be well-rested and have her wits about her tomorrow.

She had to kill the entire morning before she could leave for Lockhart’s retreat. Her eyes briefly fell on a stack of homework, but that wouldn’t distract her enough. Instead, she opted for preparing the data she’d need for one of the calculations she’d been sent by a member of the Potioneers’ Society.

Finally, it was twelve o’clock. She checked her clothes and hair one last time – something told her Lockhart would be more receptive to her if she looked alluring – and stepped into her fireplace.

Walking from the wizard pub in Barmouth to Lockhart’s retreat, Hermione idly wondered if Severus was close, if he saw her. It was unlikely that she’d spot him, though. If the man wanted to stay hidden, no one would see him.

The retreat was larger than expected. Two wooden gates with a big flower carved into them swung open, splitting the flower in half. Beyond the gates, a walkway covered in white seashell gravel undulated towards a sprawling three-storey manor built from greenish-grey stones.

As she approached, Hermione noticed a group of people standing in front of the house, a little to the left of the stairs leading up to the entrance. When she came closer, one of the women – for they were all women – stepped forward, holding out her hand. “Welcome to Gilded Aura,” she said. “May I have your name, please?”

“Oh, er… Hermione Granger. I have an appointment—”

“Ah, yes, here you are.” The woman made a mark on a piece of parchment. “We’re almost complete. Oh, I see our last two participants are just coming in. Wonderful, then we can begin right on schedule.”

Hermione’s mind reeled. Now Lockhart’s quick acceptance of her request to visit made sense. He had likely never seen her letter. She’d just been lumped in with a group of fans who would be… doing what, exactly?

Bemused, Hermione followed the group into the manor. The inside must have undergone extensive renovations, for daylight flooded in through several skylights high up in the ceiling. The smooth white plasterwork exposed rectangles of rough stone in strategic spots, giving the place a very stylish look. Instead of the super-sized portraits of Lockhart Hermione had expected, there were large photographs of temples from different Asian religions. She had to admit the place was tasteful.

The woman who had greeted her led everyone through a pair of light wooden doors, down an airy corridor and into a room that drew gasps from the entire group. There were bamboo chairs grouped around a large table made from a section of raw-edged tree trunk. A split down its middle followed the natural lines of the wood and was filled with a tiny tropical river, complete with colourful, miniscule fish. Everyone, including Hermione, marvelled at it. What a beautiful piece of magic! Lockhart’s organisation seemed much more professional than she had expected.

Once everyone had looked their fill of the little river, their attention turned to the wall of windows that opened to a lush garden. The wing of the manor they were in seemed to be a modern addition, mirrored by an identical wing protruding from the other end of the building. Together, they formed a U-shape around the garden. A sudden longing to spend as much time as possible in this paradise took hold of Hermione.

The woman asked them to sit down and took her place at the front of the room. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Petra. I have studied religions all over the world before I met Gilderoy. He was so kind as to offer me a position at Gilded Aura, where I have now been working for about a year and a half.

“You’re probably wondering what it is we do here, exactly.” Most women nodded, but a few sported the barely-concealed superior smiles of those already in the know. Hermione sat up, curiously listening.

“Gilded Aura started out as a small publishing house with the goal to deliver teachings that would allow readers to unfold their full potential. At first, this happened through Gilderoy’s wonderful books, many of which were bestsellers and are now a staple for all of those who seek self-realisation.

“However, Gilded Aura has quickly grown to be so much more than a publisher. When Gilderoy had deepened his understanding of the remarkable potential of crystals, he started looking for the best ways to let you benefit from them as well. But he didn’t stop there, either. We are now developing a range of supplements and ointments that can heal your body and soul.”

She waved her wand and from the ceiling small packages gently floated down, one for each guest. When they landed, they unfolded like a flower, revealing a range of tiny glass containers. Everyone oohed and aahed, picking up the little containers and marvelling at the pastel-coloured contents.

“If you’d be so kind as to open the green salve,” prompted Petra, and everyone complied. The sweet scent of patchouli rose from the salve and Hermione couldn’t help but inhale deeply. An image of a tropical waterfall came to mind, the sun glittering on a crystal-clear pool. “This salve will get rid of any skin impurities. Blemishes are caused by toxins trapped in the uppermost skin layer. This salve will draw them out and restore your skin to its original beauty.”

Many of the women were dabbing the salve onto their skin, but Hermione didn’t want to draw any undue attention to her imperfections. Hopefully, they would be allowed to take all these samples home, then she could try it when she was alone.

“Now if you’d turn your attention to the white powder… This powder can be mixed with a moisturiser and applied to the skin, where it will help improve your skin’s structure and make it youthful and elastic again. But the powder can also be mixed with water and taken internally. It will balance your digestive system, helping you feel full for longer and therefore eat less – it’s really wonderful for everyone who aspires to restore their beautiful natural body but is too tempted by food to reach that goal.” Petra smiled indulgently, and some of the women looked very excited.

Hermione tried to remain impassive, but something stirred within herself too. The way Ron had talked to her that day at the beach had been horrible, but hadn’t he had a point? It wouldn’t be such a bad idea to lose some weight, would it? Surely, it would make her more attractive. She sucked in her stomach.

“How much of the powder would one have to take every day?” someone asked.

“Half a teaspoon is the usual recommendation.”

The disappointment was palpable. The tiny glass pot barely contained a teaspoon’s worth of the stuff.

“I will tell you more about it later,” Petra promised. She went on explaining the contents of all the little pots, each more marvellous than the one before. Hermione listened intently. Maybe she really hadn’t given Lockhart enough credit.

The group received the most delicious sandwiches for tea. They were vegetarian, seasoned in a way that was to die for. Hermione drank in the scents and sounds of the paradise garden, making pleasant conversation with two of the other members of her group. It had been a very long time since she’d felt this at peace and carefree. Had she ever felt like this? She was so glad she had come here.

Chapter Text

Last time:

“I will tell you more about it later,” Petra promised. She went on explaining the contents of all the little pots, each more marvellous than the one before. Hermione listened intently. Maybe she really hadn’t given Lockhart enough credit.

The group received the most delicious sandwiches for tea. They were vegetarian, seasoned in a way that was to die for. Hermione drank in the scents and sounds of the paradise garden, making pleasant conversation with two of the other members of her group. It had been a very long time since she’d felt this at peace and carefree. Had she ever felt like this? She was so glad she had come here. 

After tea, Petra led them around the premises. Eventually, they found themselves in the other modern wing, where Petra stopped in front of a door. “This is our laboratory,” she explained. “Some of the best healers and potioneers work here to refine our latest products to perfection, making sure they are flawless and as effective as possible before they go into production. We will go inside now, but I must ask you not to touch anything and to keep your voices down.”

She opened the door and everyone filed in, looking around reverently. One of the women gave a short, muffled shriek. The group turned their heads to where she was pointing. And there he was. Gilderoy Lockhart himself, squinting critically at a light blue liquid in a vial and then writing something on a parchment. He looked up and broke into a delighted smile when he saw the visitors.

“Welcome, welcome, my friends,” he beamed as he approached them. “I hope Petra has made you feel at home here at Gilded Aura.” Fervent nods from the group. “She really knows all about our operations. I’m grateful that she keeps all the balls rolling; I can get so engrossed in my work that I lose track of all the administrative tasks – the numbers and the paperwork that an organisation like ours requires.” He sighed. “What can I say, I just love my work! I can’t bother with the maths.” This was met with benevolent laughter.

“Has Petra already told you about some of our best products?” Everyone nodded again. “Excellent!” said Lockhart. “I’m so sorry that she can only give you such small samples! Our ingredients are the purest you will find anywhere, and they cost a bit more than the impure stuff. If it was me, I would give you full-sized samples, but Petra insists that we must make enough money to give fair pay to everyone who works for me.” He winked, then gave Petra a look that turned from pensive to decisive.

She cocked her head with pursed lips. “Gilderoy…” she said with a warning undertone. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“This is the last time, I promise!” He turned around and went to a white cupboard, from which he took a box of glass pots ten times the size of the tiny ones they had received earlier. Hermione craned her neck and felt an excited flutter in her stomach when she noticed it was the white powder.

“Ladies,” he said, “I keep promising Petra not to do this, but I just can’t help myself. I want to give you access to these wonderful products. I can sell them to you at cost, only today, and only one per person.”

Petra pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes, but looked amused rather than annoyed.

“Or…” Lockhart paused with a sideways glance at Petra, who threw her arms up in capitulation, albeit smiling. “Listen, Ladies, I don’t actually have any spots left and Petra will have to do some magic with the numbers, but you all are so lovely, I want to offer each of you a spot on my sales team. If you accept, you will get a set of all our products at an incredible price. And you will get a commission for every single product you sell! Doesn’t that sound great?”

At that point, everyone had forgotten about keeping their voices down and started talking ecstatically, each trying to be the first to get a scroll of parchment from Lockhart to sign up. Hermione hung back a little, afraid that Lockhart would remember their awkward encounter in her office and tell her off in front of everyone. Maybe she could ask Petra later if she could get one of those parchments too.

Everyone was still chattering and in high spirits as they walked back through the corridor. There was a door, set back into an Alcove, that Hermione hadn’t noticed on the way there. It was a smaller version of the gates outside, with the same intricately cut flower. As she walked past, the light reflected off golden lettering spelling out the name Gilderoy Lockhart, Founder & CEO .

There was a small flash in her mind. Wasn’t she supposed to do something? No, it was just her longing to see Gilderoy one-on-one, to be invited into his office. Determination filled her chest – she was smarter than all the other women here, and good with numbers, too. She’d be the best sales representative Lockhart had ever seen; she’d climb the ranks and become his new right hand, pushing Petra from her throne.

Since they had all vowed to become sales representatives – Hermione, too, had received her sign-up parchment – Petra decided to prolong the afternoon and give a little impromptu workshop on marketing and sales.

Time flew by, and dusk began to settle when Hermione’s day at Gilded Aura drew to a close. She was sad to say goodbye to the place, even including Petra. But she’d be back. She’d show her worth and then get a job here in no time.

Saying her farewells to the other women as well, she ambled down the seashell gravel path, her heart full of gratitude and confidence. She jumped when someone just outside the flower gates said, “Where were you? You were supposed to send me a message if plans changed.”

Hermione blinked. It was Snape. Now she remembered that he had put her up to spying on Gilderoy. Why on earth had she agreed to that? “First of all, I don’t appreciate being apprehended like that,” she snapped, “Secondly, nice try roping me into your little plan. I’m not interested any more.” She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her arm.

“You’re not in your right mind, Hermione. What did Lockhart do to you?”

Hermione pulled her arm free. He let go surprisingly easily. “Gilderoy did nothing to me except show me my true potential.”

Snape exhaled, “It’s ‘Gilderoy’, is it?”

“What, are you jealous?” She laughed derisively. “Gilderoy has opened his heart. You could really learn something from him, Mister ‘I push everyone away who gets close to me because I’m scared of getting my feelings hurt’.”

A muscle jumped in Snape’s jaw but he didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled back his cloak and opened a satchel at his hip. From it, he took a vial, uncorked it and held it out to Hermione. “Drink this,” he commanded.

She wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What? No. Why?”

“You’ve been poisoned. Drink this right now.”

“No, I haven’t! I feel better than I ever have.”

“Drink it, or I will charm it right into your stomach.”

Hermione scoffed. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fine!” She snatched the vial out of his hand and gulped down the contents, looking forward to the stupid expression on his face when—

The world shifted, throwing her off balance. Something twisted in her mind, turning itself inside out. Her knees buckled, but Snape – no, Severus – caught her by the arm and helped her remain on her feet. Standing with her hands on her knees, she breathed deeply until the universe was right side up again.

She clapped her hand to her mouth. Her eyes fell on Severus’ unmoving features. “Gods, Severus, I’m so sorry! I was horrible… I don’t know how that could happen. And I completely blew the mission!”

“Not yet, but we have no time to lose. You know where his office is, I assume.”

“It’s on the ground floor, we can get there from outside. Severus, I—”

“No time. Camouflage yourself.”

She obeyed, moving her wand over her body while he did the same. Muffling their footsteps, they hastened to the manor, Hermione leading them towards its left side and around to the modern wing. Luckily, the windows were huge and the curtains merely decorative.

Hermione cast Alohomora on the window, but Lockhart seemed to have at least some security in place, for the window didn’t budge. A more sophisticated unlocking spell didn’t do the trick, either. Maybe if she stripped away security first… but the window remained tightly shut. Severus stepped forward, casting a more complex enchantment – and the lock finally clicked open.

“Wait,” Severus said when Hermione wanted to step over the low windowsill. “When did you start feeling different? ”

Hermione took a deep, pensive breath, thinking back to the early afternoon. “I remember that I was positively surprised when I went inside… I felt like maybe I hadn’t given Lockhart enough credit, that the manor looked very put-together. From there, I only felt better and better.”

“I see,” Severus said. Hermione watched, bemused, as he stuck his head into Lockhart’s office and stayed there for a moment, unmoving. Eventually, he turned to Hermione and said, “It should be safe to come inside.”

Once inside, Hermione pulled the parchment with all the words she wanted to search for out of her pocket. Just in case Lockhart had letters from Mongolia, she had included some keywords in Mongolian as well.

Her hands trembled when she unfolded the parchment. Even though she couldn't see Severus in the dark office, she felt his gaze on her. The shame of having fallen into Lockhart’s trap so easily burned in her chest and clouded her mind. Let alone how she had spoken to Severus… Letting out an unsteady breath, she cast the searching spell, using the parchment with the keywords as the query.

Nothing happened. Any documents including the keywords should have lit up so brightly they’d even be visible in full daylight. Hermione took a calming breath, trying to focus her mind only on the spell, keeping her shame at bay.

The glow was weak, but there were some documents on Lockhart’s desk that fit the query. Severus duplicated them, then pulled open Lockhart’s drawers, whispering, “Again.”

Hermione managed to perform the spell with more confidence, revealing a few more things containing her search terms. Just as Severus tapped his wand to them for duplication, voices could be heard outside the door. The lock clicked.

With a swish of his wand, Severus closed the drawers. There was no time to hide, but if they didn’t move at all, their camouflage just might conceal them. All they could hope for was that Lockhart didn’t bump into them.

This was the first time Hermione was deeply grateful for Lockhart’s wellness shtick, for the lights in his office were soft and dim. Whistling, Lockhart walked to his desk. If he sat down, he would be mere inches from where Severus stood. But he just pulled open a drawer and took out a glossy magazine.

His fart came as such a surprise, Hermione inhaled sharply. Lockhart looked up at one of his lamps, apparently under the impression that the sound had emanated from there. Hermione bit her tongue, cursing her poor sneaking skills. Finally, Lockhart walked towards a door within his office and entered the room beyond.

Severus soundlessly reopened the drawers, duplicated the rest of the documents, and then whispered, “Let’s leave.”

Once they were outside, the window locked once more, Hermione felt even more awful than before. Her stomach twisted with guilt and shame. And then it twisted some more. In fact, within a few seconds, her entire insides felt like they were tying themselves into knots while simultaneously trying to get as far away from each other as possible.

“Hermione? What’s wrong?”

She braced her hands against a tree, leaning over, waiting for the horrible sensations to pass. They only got worse. Faintly aware that her camouflage flickered and failed, she weakly pawed for her wand before giving up the thought of casting a spell. The pain made her want to cry, but she didn’t dare make another sound for fear of getting caught. Instead of leaving the premises as quickly and inconspicuously as they could, they stood around here, in plain sight of a wall of windows. But there was no way Hermione could take even a single step.

Finally, her stomach cramped, pushing out its contents. Her hair was scooped up and tied back with a quick spell from Severus when the second wave hit, making her vomit violently into Lockhart’s pristine landscaping. Severus swore under his breath and put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. Her stomach cramped again, but nothing more came up. Shaking, she straightened up as best she could, wiping her mouth and casting a feeble spell to dispel the awful taste.

Letting go of the tree trunk and attempting to walk had been a bad idea. Her field of vision shrank rapidly, its edges blurring. She bumped into something.

“Fuck, I was afraid that this might happen,” Severus muttered. “We need to get you out of here…” She was scooped up carefully, and Severus’ voice, sounding very close, said, “Sorry.”

“Sfine…” mumbled Hermione, her head lolling against his shoulder. Severus exhaled, standing still for a moment. His footsteps muffled once again, he hastened down the path, stopped for a moment to turn his head left and right before setting off again. Hermione’s eyelids drooped.

Next thing she knew, she was put into a cushioned seat. There was a click, then a thud. The sounds were repeated one more time before an engine sprung to life. Surprised enough for a brief spell of lucidity, Hermione mumbled, “I din’t know y’could drive. Or ‘ad a car.”

“It’s not mine. But I can’t apparate you side-along in this state. I don’t live far from here, though, so this is the best way.”

“Oh,” was the only thing she could enunciate. Less than a minute later, the softly rumbling engine had lulled her to sleep.

Chapter Text

Last time:

“Fuck, I was afraid that this might happen,” Severus muttered. “We need to get you out of here…” She was scooped up carefully, and Severus’ voice, sounding very close, said, “Sorry.”

“Sfine…” mumbled Hermione, her head lolling against his shoulder. Severus exhaled, standing still for a moment. His footsteps muffled once again, he hastened down the path, stopped for a moment to turn his head left and right before setting off again. Hermione’s eyelids drooped.

Next thing she knew, she was put into a cushioned seat. There was a click, then a thud. The sounds were repeated one more time before an engine sprung to life. Surprised enough for a brief spell of lucidity, Hermione mumbled, “I din’t know y’could drive. Or ‘ad a car.”

“It’s not mine. But I can’t apparate you side-along in this state. I don’t live far from here, though, so this is the best way.”

“Oh,” was the only thing she could enunciate. Less than a minute later, the softly rumbling engine had lulled her to sleep. 

After a while, Hermione was faintly aware of being carried into a small building and put into a bed. Soon, her stomach woke her up, her innards once again tying themselves into torturous knots. She cried from pain that was so all-consuming she barely even registered Severus being there. When the vomiting finally brought release, he made sure her hair was out of the way, cleansed her afterwards, and made her drink lukewarm water that tasted of salt. The ordeal repeated itself several times throughout the night, interspersed with fits of restless sleep

The next time she awoke, it was day. Her stomach felt delicate, but she had the distinct sense that the worst was over. She sat up, looking around. The bed she was in was a wide four-poster with thin, white curtains that were currently tied back. Opposite the bed stood a wardrobe made of the same dark wood, decorated with woodcuts of leaves and flowers.

She gingerly got up and walked barefoot into a small corridor. Everything was quiet. “Severus?” she called. A door opened.

He invited her into his living room. For some reason, it irked her that he was dressed in black, buttoned up to his chin as usual. A vision from the night before, of him in loose-fitting trousers and a white shirt, flashed before her inner eye – but that may have only been a dream.

Severus directed her to a sofa, on which lay two sheepskin rugs. When she attempted to move them, he said, “No, sit on them. You need warmth.”

The soft wool felt wonderful, making her want to cuddle into it and fall asleep again. But first, she needed to know a few things, even though speaking was exhausting. “So, there’s something in the air at Gilded Aura. But what was wrong with me last night? You said that you were afraid something like this might happen. What did you mean by that?”

“It was clear from the way you acted that you had been exposed to a poison that altered your perception of reality. Something so powerful is bound to have side effects, especially if it was thrown together by Lockhart.”

Hermione let out a humourless chuckle. “Yeah, I’d think so too… But, wait – if everyone feels terrible after visiting him, why are people not complaining, why did no one go to the press, or alerted the Auror Office?”

“Well…” Severus exhaled, “The violence of your symptoms was likely brought on by an interaction of Lockhart’s draught with the antidote I gave you.”

“Oh…” Hermione swallowed. “So, when you said you were ‘afraid something like this might happen’ you were talking about the side effects of the antidote, not the potion?” She shot him a quick glance. “Why did you give it to me then?”

Severus sat up, considering her, his posture stiffer than before. “Our window of opportunity was closing. We had a plan and I intended to see it through.”

Her brain was slow to process his words. “The… the plan? That’s what was foremost on your mind?”

“What else do you think should have been on the forefront of my mind?” His tone held a challenge.

Now, Hermione sat up too, her brow knitted. “My wellbeing, maybe?”

Something flashed in his eyes, like light reflecting off obsidian blades. “What would you have me do, then, if I wasn’t to give you the antidote? Drag you away against your will, kicking and screaming, alerting Lockhart’s minions? Or leave you to deal with the aftermath of the love potion yourself? Would you have preferred to abandon the plan entirely, come back some other time, just to run into the same problem? I needed you to be lucid because we had an opportunity to gather information, which I didn’t want to waste.”

Hermione stared at him. “You… gave me a potion that you knew might send my body into a tailspin because we needed to gather information?”

“You’re the one who wanted to find out where that Mongolian village is,” he spat.

Hermione opened her mouth but didn’t dare speak for fear of starting to cry. After swallowing a few times, she squeezed out, “I see. You said that you wanted to do this, wanted to help me, that you’d let me know if any of that changed. I guess that wasn’t the truth, then.”

The corners of his mouth were pulled down in an angry sneer, the muscles in his jaw moving furiously. “I have work to do.” The slam of the cellar door left nothing but silence in its wake.

Hermione put her hands to her face, her laboured breath hissing through her fingers. 

Her breath hitched. 

She’d said something to him yesterday, something she only now remembered. Mister ‘I push everyone away who gets close to me because I’m scared of getting my feelings hurt’.

A wave of dread ran through her body. She knew enough of his past to understand that taunting Severus, of all people, about being emotionally closed-off was the worst she could have done. She groaned. What an absolute mess yesterday had created! And all that for barely a handful of documents!

What now? Should she go downstairs and try to talk to him? Maybe it would be better to let him cool off first. When she did eventually talk to him, how should she begin? She ran through several scenarios in her head, each with the potential to go wonderfully well or terribly awry.

“Hermione.”

She blinked and pushed herself out of the sheepskin rug that she’d fallen asleep on. Severus stood by the sofa, his expression unreadable. 

Hermione said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” 

He sat on the armchair, looking down and wringing his hands without speaking.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked.

He briefly looked up and shook his head.

“Severus, I’m very sorry about what I said yesterday. I don’t—”

“You weren’t wrong,” he interrupted her, his voice low. “And you weren’t in control of your mind, so it’s not your fault you said it.”

“Listen, I… it was the right thing to do, giving me the antidote. I would have done the same thing if the roles had been reversed. If I’d seen you lose yourself like that…” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “… I would have wanted to get you out of that state, too.”

He didn’t meet her eyes. His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed.

Cautiously, Hermione continued, “I think that me being here after a plan going awry reminds you of the fact that I’m in your life now – and I think you want me here, too. But I’m not strong enough to keep a stiff upper lip while you’re being horrible. If you’re afraid, tell me you’re afraid. Don’t hide behind that cold, hard facade of yours. You’re hurting me.”

He made a small strangled noise before saying, “Every time I apologise for the same thing, it seems less genuine, because if I really was sorry, I would simply not do it again.”

The hollowness of his voice made Hermione think that he was repeating words someone else had said to him.

He looked up at her, his jaw squared. “For all it’s worth, I am sorry. And I want to promise you that it won’t happen again, but I can’t. Because I don’t trust myself to keep such promises.” He got up and went to his bookcase, taking out a slim folder. “I will still help you with the documents we got from Lockhart. I’m sorry. About everything.”

“Wh—what do you mean, you’ll ‘still’ help me?”

“I can’t be what you deserve in a friend. I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

She got up too, shaking her head. “Listen, you’ll have to let me be the judge of that. We’ve both been through difficult times and may have developed some… unfortunate coping mechanisms. But the joy I get from spending time with you far outweighs the difficulties. We’ve had an argument. It happens. I still want to be your friend, Severus.”

He looked at her, his hand with the folder hanging by his side, his chest rising and falling noticeably. Seeing this man, who was feared and loathed by so many, looking so forlorn made Hermione’s heart twinge. The urge to jump up and fold her arms around him, to tell him that everything would be all right, threatened to overtake her.

Eventually, he nodded slowly and sat down again. It was a while before he murmured, “I will try to control myself.”

“You don’t have to hide anything. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ll try.”

To dissipate the heaviness that hung between them, Hermione nodded at the folder. “Should we take a look?”

“Aren’t you still tired? Hungry? You haven’t eaten all day. Are you feeling better?”

“I am. And I think I could stomach a small meal.”

He got up. “I’ll make you something.” He went into the small, open kitchen that abutted his living room and started opening cupboards.

His cooking process was much like his potion brewing: fast, yet meticulous. Just like last time, Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off his hands.

When they sat at the round table that stood by the large, arched window looking out over the countryside, their food in front of them, Hermione said, “May I ask you a question about the interaction between your antidote and Lockhart’s potion? Purely academic, I promise.”

He nodded.

“What could have happened to make them clash so violently? What did Lockhart do wrong in his brewing process?”

“Do you know why complex potions require so many Arithmantic calculations?”

“I don’t recall all the details, but it has something to do with the interactions between the ingredients.”

“Yes. A potion is more than the sum of its ingredients. Well-made magical concoctions take into account not only the immediate effects of each ingredient, but also the effects that arise from its interaction with other ingredients; a secondary effect, if you will. The secondary effects also interact with each other, creating tertiary effects. A skilled potioneer must be aware of all of those and carefully balance and bind them to make the potion safe.”

“Are there even higher-level effects too? Like, quaternary effects resulting from the interactions of the tertiary effects?”

“They exist, but only in incredibly complicated potions. The liquid that goes into a pensieve is one example. Even tertiary effects only occur in a few potions that are widely used. Most of the time, potioneers deal only with the secondary effects. By adding a suitable ingredient as a binding agent, those can be rendered harmless. Sometimes, simmering for the correct time at the correct temperature, or stirring in the right direction the right number of times, can dissipate the errant magic unleashed by the higher-level effects.”

“I see. And Lockhart didn’t do any of that.”

“Presumably not. The unbound magic may have caused only minor, maybe even unnoticeable symptoms if I hadn’t added another potion to the mix.”

Smoothing over the still-awkward topic, Hermione said, “I suppose casting a spell may have had similar consequences?”

“Yes. Any magic entering your body may have become a target for the errant effects of Lockhart’s potion. The only thing that could have stopped it is the appropriate binding agent, but for that, one would have to know the formulation of the potion.”

“Do you have any idea what kind of potion it might be?”

“It seems to belong in the category of love potions, and I have a few ideas about key ingredients.” He hesitated, giving her a brief glance. “Would you be comfortable answering a few questions about what you felt and thought while you were there? It would help me narrow down the possibilities.”

“Of course.”

They talked until early evening, Hermione delving into her hazy recollections, trying to look behind the veil of wonder and awe the love potion had clouded her memory with. Severus wrote down every clue she could give him.

She went home, and straight to bed, feeling exhausted. But she slept easy that night, knowing Severus and she had weathered a storm together and come out the other end being all right.

After getting through her Monday lessons, Hermione finally tackled the sign-up sheet from Gilded Aura. The parchment was long, and the print small. 

One paragraph said, Your starter kit contains one full-sized tub of each of Gilded Aura’s amazing products and a basic set of our crystals.

(The Yoni Crystal, Hermione noticed, was not part of the basic set.)

To give you a head start, the kit also contains three small samples of each product, so your clients can try before they buy. As if that wasn’t enough, you will also receive a bundle of information parchments to give to your clients! Make sure to personalise those with your own name and address, so your clients know you’re a trusted source of Gilded Aura’s wonderful products.

Hermione skimmed the rest until she arrived at a sum of money printed in the middle of a paragraph. The air went out of her lungs and she read the entire paragraph again carefully. She had to pay a hefty amount for the starter kit – although the text assured her that this was “a great discount”. Since when did sales representatives have to buy the products they sold from the company they worked for?

After she’d read the entire contract, she came to the conclusion that anyone who signed up for this wasn’t a sales representative of Gilded Aura, but their customer. She wouldn’t receive any salary. It also didn’t matter how many products Hermione would sell to other people, it only mattered that she bought them from Lockhart. And she would have to keep buying, for anyone “earning” less than a certain amount in “sales” – that was, anyone who didn’t buy enough from him – would be kicked out of the “team”. 

The commission Cleo had mentioned was simply the margin between what Hermione would pay for the products and the price her clients would pay to her. Not that she planned to sell. But now she understood why Cleo had seemed miffed when Hermione mentioned she had bought Lockhart’s books from somewhere else.

She hesitated. Lockhart was once again making heaps and bounds of money by exploiting people. There was no way she’d finance his scheme. She’d been willing to do the bare minimum to remain in his good graces, appearing to be reformed, just to keep the door open to maybe gain some information. But not for that price.

Besides, they had already gained some information entirely outside of Lockhart’s good graces. Hermione put the duplicated documents from Lockhart’s office on her desk side by side. There were five of them, and, to make things easier, they were all in English. Unfortunately, none of them said, “The Mongolian village is at these exact coordinates.” 

Two sheets held long tables with numbers in narrow columns. Another two looked like scrap parchment, with only a few lines of writing on them. The fifth and largest one held a diagram of lines that branched and fanned out towards the bottom of the parchment – or was it the top? There were no markings to indicate which way was up. In fact, there was no text at all. How had this one even shown up in the search?

That one she would keep for last. First, the scribbled notes. One word caught her attention: Alma. The note said, Fat, bone, liver, gall bladder. Skin? Alma (Mongolia). Yield? Mountains bigger – no mountaineers . The other note said, Fur grease eaten by mites – concentrated. Extraction process suboptimal. Visit less often. Mongolia b—p . The last word was illegible due to a drop of ink in the middle of it. 

Then, there were the tables. The first column was a list of places, dozens of them, with the country written next to them in parentheses. While the majority were Asian countries, there were also places in Europe and South America. The two sheets of tables seemed to be part of a bigger overview, for the places were ordered alphabetically and stopped at the letter K. 

The other columns were filled with numbers, some positive, some negative. The column titles were all abbreviations that Hermione tried in vain to make sense of. Using a finely tuned query spell, she highlighted the word Mongolia . If she found an entry in the first column that was a place in Mongolia, they might have their answer. However, her spell highlighted not one, but nine occurrences of the word. She groaned. 

There was no other way: Hermione went to the library. On her walk there, she barely registered students flocking past, alone or in small groups, heading for dinner. She’d had a sandwich earlier, since her stomach still felt a little too delicate for the heavy food Hogwarts served. 

The library was almost empty as she made her way to the atlases. The one covering Eastern and Central Asia should hold the information she needed.

After half an hour, she had found only four of the nine places. She had to assume that the others were too small to be on this map. What was more, the places were far away from each other, scattered across the scarcely populated south of Mongolia. Two of them were at the foot of mountain reigns, a fact that had momentarily seemed promising, given that one of Lockhart’s notes had contained the words mountains bigger . But beyond that, there was no way to tell which of these places might be the one.

Hence, she went on to compare Lockhart’s drawing of the forking, fanning lines with river systems in Mongolia, but none of them looked right. With a frustrated sigh, she rubbed her face, trying to come up with another idea, but she was more tired than she’d thought. After her love potion poisoning, she wasn’t quite up to speed yet.

She went to bed frustrated, trying to squash not only her dissatisfaction with her research, but also the fact that there was another pile of student’s homework that she had procrastinated on yet again.

Chapter Text

Last time:

After half an hour, she had found only four of the nine places. She had to assume that the others were too small to be on this map. What was more, the places were far away from each other, scattered across the scarcely populated south of Mongolia. Two of them were at the foot of mountain reigns, a fact that had momentarily seemed promising, given that one of Lockhart’s notes had contained the words mountains bigger . But beyond that, there was no way to tell which of these places might be the one.

Hence, she went on to compare Lockhart’s drawing of the forking, fanning lines with river systems in Mongolia, but none of them looked right. With a frustrated sigh, she rubbed her face, trying to come up with another idea, but she was more tired than she’d thought. After her love potion poisoning, she wasn’t quite up to speed yet.

She went to bed frustrated, trying to squash not only her dissatisfaction with her research, but also the fact that there was another pile of student’s homework that she had procrastinated on yet again.

She jerked awake. Something didn’t add up. If Lockhart was doing extensive reconnaissance in Mongolia, scouting a number of places for his purposes, how come there were so few documents? Why were there no travel itineraries, plane or train tickets, and, most importantly, letters to and from the country, or at least mentioning it?

She jumped out of bed and hurried into her office. The sky turned pale when she finally went to bed again, exhausted but full of new theories to pursue.

After she had successfully held herself upright and delivered surely not her best, but at least decent lessons, she almost ran back to her quarters to call Severus. Kneeling on her hearthrug, she waited, calling his name into the green flames. After a solid minute, she gave up. He was probably out making a delivery.

At least now there was no more excuse. She could finally get to correcting that last batch of homework. Normally, she didn’t mind it – until a year ago, she had even enjoyed it. But her pursuit of Lockhart had made painfully obvious what had been brewing at the back of her mind for a while now: she was bored being a teacher.

In the beginning, she had loved making lesson plans, figuring out the best, most efficient ways to explain even the more intricate principles of Arithmancy. She had spent years optimising them, and now, she was proud to say they were as dunderhead-proof as they could be. 

And that was an issue. All she had to do now was to recite these explanations she had crafted, then answer the same inevitable questions, and assign and correct the same homework. Not too long ago, she had considered automating the correction process, because, after all, there was one correct answer to every Arithmancy problem. However, that had felt unfair to her students. It wasn’t their fault she no longer enjoyed her job.

Trying to solve this mystery Lockhart had put before her was so much more satisfying, felt so much more impactful. And her brain just sang whenever she did calculations for a member of the Potioneers’ Society. Given that she already had a handful of happy clients, she was confident she could expand that business and make it her only source of income. She could go into business with Severus, developing and refining potions to a point where they were the best in Europe, exporting all over—no, her fantasy was running away with her.

From her quarters, someone called her name. A smile sprung onto her face – Severus was calling her back. She took the notes she’d made in the small hours of the morning and went into her living room. 

“Do you have news?” Severus asked after they had exchanged greetings. 

Hermione told him about her theories. He gave her a pensive look. “I’ve had some ideas, too. Might I come through to discuss them?”

“I need to finish some work first, but you can come at around seven.”

“That will be fine.”

After quickly eating a light dinner, she rushed back to her quarters to do some last-minute clean-up. Although, since she had lived for seven years with the daily hope that Ron might pay her a surprise visit, she had always picked up after herself.

She wiped her hands on her trousers while looking over her living room one last time. It looked inviting, cosy, even. With an exhale, she took a book from her shelf and sat on the armchair that stood at an angle to her fireplace. Sitting on her sofa directly in front of it seemed too aggressive, somehow.

Severus came through at one minute to seven. Hermione stood up, her book sliding to the floor. “Hi,” she said and gestured at the sofa. Severus picked up the book and handed it to her before sitting down. From his bag, he took a few books of his own and put them on Hermione’s coffee table. The title of the uppermost book read: Creatures of the Mountains.

“I see you’ve thought about this whole Mongolia fallacy too,” Hermione said. “By the way, would you like something to drink?”

Once she had brought herbal tea for both of them, Hermione sat beside him on the sofa, spreading Lockhart’s documents on the coffee table. She leafed through her notebook. “Here,” she said, holding it so that they both could see it. “On one of the documents, it said ‘Mongolia b—p’. I assumed it’s a word beginning with b and ending on p, so I made this list.” 

The list read,

Blackcap
Bishop
Blow up
Backflip
Backup

“I think the real operations are happening somewhere else. It would explain why we found so few documents mentioning Mongolia, and no train or plane tickets. And then these tables here –” she ran her finger along the columns – “All places in Mongolia have really low numbers compared to some other places mentioned. Granted, I don’t know what the numbers mean, but it might be another clue. What do you think?”

Severus looked at the tables for a while before saying, “The fact that we found so few documents also caught my attention. It’s possible that he keeps the more sensitive papers in a different place and that’s why we didn’t find them. However, these tables seem like they may be sensitive, and they were in his office. Your theory has some merit to it; I’ve been considering the same thing.”

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “There’s more. Here, he wrote ‘mountains bigger’. I wondered what on earth that meant. Mountains are bigger than what? Which mountains are bigger? But then it occurred to me that he might not be talking about mountains themselves but something located there – something in the mountains is bigger than the same thing in the Steppe or wherever.

“He also mentions Alma. And that was my final clue. What is comparable to Alma, lives in the mountains and is bigger than them?”

“The Meh-Teh.”

Hermione nodded. “Where did Lockhart get off the train when you met him?”

“At the same station I did. He said he was travelling on into India. But that may have been a lie.”

“Did you… sense anything from him? You know, using Legilimency?” Hermione nervously watched Severus’ profile, hoping her question wasn’t impertinent

He turned towards her, his gaze sinking into her eyes while the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

Hermione slid back, scandalised. “You’re not doing it to me right now, are you?”

He smiled, a sight that made her stomach flutter. “Of course not. But it’s amusing to see you squirm.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, although she couldn’t suppress a smile. “Are you teasing me?”

“It must be this tea you served me.”

“Oh, it must, must it?” she laughed. 

He lifted his cup and inclined his head to her with a hint of sarcasm, his eyes never leaving hers. Hermione blinked, feeling the heat rise in her face.

“In all seriousness though,” he said when he had put the cup down, “It’s very hard to gauge whether someone like Lockhart is lying at any specific moment because in some way, he’s always lying, embellishing, or deflecting. It has become second nature to him so much that he barely even notices it himself.”

“Right, so we only have these documents to go on. If we assume that Lockhart is indeed after the Meh-Teh, what is he doing with them? From the notes, it seems like he extracts something from the grease in their fur?”

“Which gets concentrated in the mites that eat the grease.”

“Yes, I read about those mites at St. Mungo’s library. They are commensals of the Meh-Teh. I really wonder how he gets his hands on them. You can’t exactly stroll up to the Meh-Teh and offer to comb out their fur, can you?”

Severus chuckled drily. “I’m assuming he kills the Meh-Teh.”

“What? Merlin… would he really do that?”

“If the Meh-Teh were on high alert during the time I collected the faeces, it would explain why they attacked me, even though I was a solo traveller. Of course, that is only a circumstantial observation which doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I may really just have ventured too far into their territory.”

“Still… Is the Meh-Teh endangered? How many known groups are there? Where do they live?”

“There are six known habitats, four of them in Bhutan.” He paused, staring into space for a second before asking, “That map from Lockhart’s office, do you have it here?”

“Yes.” She put it on top of the other documents. 

“We will need a map of Bhutan too.”

Hermione retrieved the atlas of Central and Southern Asia that she had borrowed from the library. Bhutan was spread over one double page. After searching the map for ten minutes or so, Severus pointed to an area in the country’s northern regions. 

Hermione leaned close, studying the hairlines demarcating the glaciers between the Himalayan peaks. She couldn’t help but notice Severus’ slender forefinger, the way it lay on the map while his other fingers were curled towards his palm, and the elegant line of his thumb. 

She caught herself – glaciers, she should be looking at the glaciers… It took only a moment of comparing them to the crudely drawn map from Lockhart’s office to make her exclaim, “This is it. You found it! How did you even know to copy this map? It doesn’t have text anywhere, so it can’t have come up with the query spell.”

“It lay on top of everything in one of Lockhart’s drawers, so he had to have used it recently. I thought it was worth taking along.”

“Excellent thinking.” Hermione beamed. “Is this the same glacier you went to?”

“Not quite, it was this one here. They join further down the mountain, though.”

“Do you think Meh-Teh live on the glacier from Lockhart’s map too?”

“It’s very likely. Each known Meh-Teh habitat houses several clans that have a territory of a few square miles. Two clans living on neighbouring glaciers would not be out of the ordinary.”

Hermione let out a breath and leaned back. “So, we have a few things pointing at the possibility that Lockhart is using the Meh-Teh somewhere in his product chain. Contrary to what Xenophilius told us, Lockhart doesn’t seem to have dealings in Mongolia, at least not to a great extent. The question we need to ask ourselves is this: Do we follow a trail that is very vague and likely not to lead anywhere, or a trail that is… somewhat less vague and a little more likely to lead to something concrete?”

“Or,” interjected Severus, “do we not follow any trails at all because we don’t have any reason to?”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. “Wh… why… what…” She fell silent. Eventually, she quietly said, “I want to do this. Lockhart is building up his unethical empire and I don’t just want to stand by and watch.”

“How much does this have to do with you being bored with your job? Missing the thrill of adventure?”

“I—It’s not—Don’t…” She exhaled, then looked at him, her gaze steadfast. “All right, yes, a lot! How about you then? Why are you helping me with this? You have no reason to, either!”

“Have you not considered my reasons may be the same as yours? A quiet life with a calm daily routine is good and well – but danger is addictive to the mind. If it sees a chance to experience it again, it will try to seize it. And a body that was used to function under the most dire circumstances will revolt against too much comfort. You feel this just as much as I do.”

Hermione slung her arms around her stomach defensively, murmuring with a bitter little laugh, “My body apparently shows the consequences of too much comfort.”

Severus looked at her blankly. Regretting her momentary lapse, she gave him a sheepish look, shaking her head in dismissal of her words. 

His eyes widened a fraction. “That’s not what I meant at all.” Quieter, he added, “Weasley is a fool.”

“Yeah.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, I don’t even know why I’m trying to deceive myself. It’s not like we can actually do anything about Lockhart. We have an idea of what might be happening, and that’s where it ends.”

“We can go to Bhutan. If a species with only a few thousand individuals is being exploited, someone should at least investigate.”

Hermione laughed bitterly. “I can’t leave here, not even during summer holidays. There’s maybe two weeks I can take off in between all the administration and preparation. Two weeks is never going to be enough.” She put her hands to her face. “Fuck, I want to leave so badly.”

“Someone could replace you.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll never find someone. And there’s no way Minerva would agree to look for another professor herself. She’ll kill me if I leave before the school year ends.”

“How long did Minerva say she’d need you until she’d found someone permanent?”

“A year,” Hermione murmured.

“And it’s been…”

“...five years.”

“There you go. She has no leg to stand on.”

“Well, okay, maybe I’ve been doing her a favour for longer than initially agreed, but it would still be pretty shit to just leave her hanging now without a replacement.”

“I may know someone.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up, “You do? Who?”

“One of my colleagues at the society has an apprentice. A young man who is very talented with the theoretical side of potions – a lot of which is Arithmancy – but rather hopeless with the practical side. With your lesson plans, he could take over for you.”

Hermione stared. “Would he want that?”

“I’m sure he could be… persuaded.”

“Are you going to…” She made a face that she hoped was an approximation of Severus’ most dangerous, professorly glare.

He laughed. “If that’s what it takes.”

The sound of his laughter and the light in his eyes made her want to fling her arms around him, knock him onto his back on her sofa and—But it was only her enthusiasm, of course, her hope to get out of this stuffy castle. 

“If you could ask him, that would be fantastic!” she said.

He nodded. “I will do it as soon as possible. And leave Minerva to me as well. Oh, and before I forget: I brought you something.” He retrieved a small glass jar from his bag and handed it to Hermione. “This should neutralise the love potion before it can enter your body. You have to apply it under your nose every twelve hours.”

“Wow… Thank you, Severus. That’s very thoughtful. I hope I won’t have to go back to Gilded Aura any time soon.”

Severus shook his head. “It’s not just there, I believe. You were a little too reluctant to give up those crystals for analysis.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. “Oh shit, I was, wasn’t I? So the stuff is on the crystals too?”

“On the packaging, I’d assume. It will hold up better the more porous the carrier material is.”

“Right…” Hermione sat up. “It must be in the books, too! So much paper, that’s perfect to imbue with a potion! No wonder Cleo got into Lockhart so deeply so quickly. Thank goodness I got my books second-hand…”

“As long as there’s even the slightest chance you might come in contact with his products, you should use this salve. I’ve had to make some educated guesses based on your experience, so it might be a little crude and impair your ability to smell certain herbs and flowers. If it interferes with your ability to taste food, let me know.”

Hermione nodded, opening the jar and taking out a dab of the salve to apply under her nose. “I’ll use it every day, just to be sure. You should, too.”

With a small smile, he said, “Of course.”

Chapter Text

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“As long as there’s even the slightest chance you might come in contact with his products, you should use this salve. I’ve had to make some educated guesses based on your experience, so it might be a little crude and impair your ability to smell certain herbs and flowers. If it interferes with your ability to taste food, let me know.”

Hermione nodded, opening the jar and taking out a dab of the salve to apply under her nose. “I’ll use it every day, just to be sure. You should, too.”

With a small smile, he said, “Of course.” 

Miraculously, everything had been put into place only a few weeks later. Hermione’s replacement reminded her an awful lot of herself when she was younger. He always sat up straight, his eyes gleaming with eagerness, and he nodded enthusiastically to everything Hermione explained. The test calculations he did for her were flawless, and his trial lecture was that of a slightly batty, but knowledgeable and passionate professor.

Minerva had seemed happy, too, which had made Hermione wary at first. Whatever Severus had said to her seemed to have tided over any misgivings she may have had about allowing Hermione to leave her post. She hadn’t even seemed overly concerned when Hermione had hinted she might not want to come back in September. 

There had been other preparations Hermione had seen to herself. Since she was afraid that it was not only the Meh-Teh who could be in danger, but also the people who might be forced to hunt it, she had decided to recruit a medical professional. To Hermione’s surprise, Healer Nettleship had agreed immediately, citing ‘about seventy-three unused days of leave’ and even asked if she could bring a colleague who frequently travelled to broaden his professional horizon.

Healer Nettleship and her colleague now stepped out of the taxi, followed by Hermione and Severus. The other healer was called Xanimus Caedmon and had worked at the Obliviation Ward for a long time before becoming “independent” – whatever that meant. Hermione was dying to ask him if Lockhart had been one of his patients, but the taxi hadn’t seemed like the proper place for such a conversation. Especially since the Muggle driver had covertly eyed them when they’d gotten in.

Ria – which is what Healer Nettleship had told them to call her – did look a little off-base with her faded, baggy tracksuit and neon-purple, zebra-striped neck pillow. Xanimus’ off-white linen trousers and baja jacket starkly contrasted his colleague’s attire. They were dressed like Muggles all right, but clashed with the London backdrop.

When they walked into the terminal building, Hermione did her best not to stare at the way Severus’ black button-down shirt tapered towards his waist, tried not to imagine the crests of his pelvis under his slacks. 

Xanimus offered to get their boarding passes, leaving the other three standing around in the midst of thousands of people.

“What was the Society’s exact reasoning to not let you take a plane to Bhutan?” Hermione asked Severus. 

“Because the train was a few pounds cheaper and because the people sitting on the Society’s board are hopelessly stuck in the past.”

Hermione chuckled. “Living like it’s 1899.”

Ria offered, “I’m sure a lot of them were teenagers in the 1890’s, and now they can’t let go of their glory days. How many sentences of theirs start with the words, ‘Back in my day’?”

The corner of Severus’ mouth quirked up. “I believe that was the very argument as to why I should take the train. It did have a few upsides, though. I had the opportunity to visit some vendors in other countries. And to write some letters.” His eyes flitted to Hermione for a split second.

Xanimus came back surprisingly quickly to hand out the boarding passes. Hermione stole a glance at the one he gave to Severus and was monumentally relieved that his seat was next to hers, at least on the flight to Delhi. She couldn’t see the other pass.

Xanimus also applied a bit of magic to the security scanners, so their bags would seem to be filled with perfectly ordinary carry-on items instead of the shrunken necessities for a well-equipped hiking expedition.

While they waited for boarding, Hermione took the opportunity to ask Xanimus about Lockhart. 

“He wasn’t in my care,” said the healer. “But I heard about him from my colleagues. His case was… curious. He had reportedly received a full obliviation from a broken wand. That in itself was remarkable. I have never heard of a broken wand being able to deliver such a complex spell at full force. I’m not an expert in wandlore, of course, but my colleagues consulted Mr. Ollivander and he, too, said that it was very unusual. Apparently, broken wands may carry out the intended spell, but the effect would be much weaker than with a functional wand.”

“I see… he was going to obliviate an entire school year’s worth of memories. That spell must have been quite complex.”

Xanimus raised his eyebrows. “How do you know that? Oh, you were at Hogwarts at the time, of course.”

“Well, yes… my friends were also the people he tried to obliviate.”

“Oh, wow. That explains your curiosity!”

“But if you’re saying the spell that backfired on him must have been much weaker than he originally intended… how come he lost his memory entirely? All of it? When we saw him once, years later, he still didn’t even know his own name. And now, over a decade after that, he has built up an empire. How did he recover so quickly?”

Xanimus took a deep breath. After looking around himself in a covert way, he bent a little towards Hermione. “I will tell you something I witnessed. I will not make any attempts to interpret my findings, only tell you the facts. Or, better yet, demonstrate them to you.”

He took a coin out of his pocket. “I want you to imagine yourself with severe amnesia. As a person who has no recollection of a large part of their life, not even their own name.”

Hermione nodded, briefly closing her eyes to try and put herself in a situation like that. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

“Good. In a second, I will show you which hand the coin is in. Memorise which hand that is. When I close my hand, count backwards from ten, then tell me which hand the coin was in. We will do that ten times and I will randomly switch hands, showing you where the coin is every time. And remember – you’re playing the role of someone with severe amnesia. Answer like you think a person with that predicament would.”

They started the experiment. Hermione didn’t attempt to remember what hand the coin was in, but simply indicated one of Xanimus’ hands randomly. In the end, she had gotten six correct.

Xanimus pocketed the coin and said, quietly, “Lockhart consistently got a similar score as you – something you would expect if the patient chooses hands randomly. The thing is… people who we know for sure have amnesia score perfectly every time. This test isn’t designed for long-term memory loss at all. The brain processes needed for this test aren’t affected by long-term amnesia.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. “Shit… Why would he do that? What did he stand to gain?”

Xanimus lifted his shoulders. “You didn’t hear this from me.”

“My lips are sealed.” After a while, she asked, “Will it be all right if I tell Severus?”

“Yes. I assumed you would, given the nature of this trip.”

“Thank you. Is this why you wanted to come to Bhutan with us? Because of your… findings? We’re glad to have another healer, of course, but I’m curious.”

“Not primarily. I’ve been studying psychedelic-assisted trauma therapy for a few years. The two wars had a great effect on the mental health of thousands of people. I normally use regular, dialogue-based techniques, but Muggle scientists have shown that psychedelic-assisted therapy can have great results after even only one session for severe cases of post-traumatic stress disorder. Only when it’s done in a careful, professional way, of course. 

“So, I have taken a course to learn the technique, and have successfully used it a few times already. But, given the access that wizards have to magical plants and animals, I’m researching other promising substances when the opportunity comes up.

“Now, in the Himalayas, there is a plant that produces a hallucinogenic substance. Honey bees who live there accumulate it in their honey. That honey is used in local rituals, and it sounded like it might be worth studying.”

“That sounds amazing. I had no idea the wizarding world even has therapists.”

“We’re slowly increasing in numbers. There were one or two healers who went to Muggle university to study psychology and psychotherapy after the first war. The old boys weren’t too thrilled about that newfangled approach to mental health. Why have a tedious technique that takes months or even years when we have spells and potions?”

Hermione laughed humourlessly. “If those were an actual solution, a lot of my friends would be in much better shape than they are. So, did you study at a Muggle university as well?”

“I did. Ria, too, has started recently, which is how we know each other. I helped her navigate the enrollment and other things that were new for her. I’m really very grateful that she wants to go into that field. The more we are, the less they can ignore us.”

“Studying and being a healer at St. Mungo’s… that explains why she seems to be stretched so thin.”

“Yes, she’s an incredibly hard worker. I worry about her sometimes, but she seems to thrive when she has lots to do. Nevertheless, I think this break will do her good. I’m also pushing for her to get one of the new time turners, but the Ministry is very reluctant to give them to anyone who’s not an Unspeakable. At least, that’s what they’re saying.“

Hermione followed Xanimus’ gaze to where his colleague sat talking to Severus, splayed out nonchalantly with outstretched legs and still wearing her neck pillow. Her respect for Ria only grew.

Finally, it was time to board. As always when she entered a plane, Hermione briefly touched the outside of it. She’d done this the very first time she had flown, going on holidays with her parents as a child. Back then, she’d been anxious to fly, and the idea had entered her head that everything would be fine if she gave the plane a little pat. And even though now, she would be able to save the entire plane in the event of an emergency by using magic, she held up her little tradition.

When they had put their bags into the overhead compartments, Hermione and Severus filed into their seats. Xanimus and Ria sat a few rows in front of them. The moment they sat, Severus surreptitiously created a ward around them that would, for anyone looking at them,  lievmake them appear to be doing ordinary things, such as reading, listening to the plane’s audio programme or sleeping. They could throw a rowdy party inside the ward and no one would hear or see a thing. Hermione modified the ward so that the flight attendants could interact with them.

“For when they bring food and drinks,” she explained. 

“Good thinking,” said Severus, settling into his seat. There wasn’t much room, but neither of them cast an extension spell.

“Did Xanimus have anything interesting to say about Lockhart?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely!” Hermione relayed the story about the coin-in-hand test to Severus.

His eyebrows rose when she came to the conclusion of the story. “So, he may have faked his amnesia?” He was quiet for a moment, his brows still raised, before saying, “It would give him a compelling origin story for his business. Someone who managed to heal their own obliviation when St. Mungo’s best healers had exhausted all their wisdom… it immediately creates a certain authority for himself.”

Hermione nodded. “He can say that he has developed techniques and knowledge no one else had before him. Although I doubt that this was his plan from the start. At first, he probably feigned his amnesia to avoid persecution by the Wizengamot. The idea to stage a miraculous healing and use that story to get back on top probably came to him while he was biding his time at St. Mungo’s. By the way, what’s the statute of limitations for attempted obliviation?”

“I don’t know. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it ran out just before Lockhart’s condition improved.”

“Yeah, me neither. Although I doubt that we would ever be able to prove any of this.”

The plane was now taxiing to the runway and Hermione looked out of the window at the other planes lined up at the terminal. Severus looked past her, also out of the window. She turned to him, saying, “We can switch seats if you want.”

“No, that’s quite all right.”

“You haven’t flown before, have you?”

“Not in a plane.”

“Oh… right. I forgot you can fly unsupported.”

“Not as well as the Dark Lord.”

“Do you still do it sometimes?”

“No. It reminds me of a time in my life I’d rather leave behind. And since the Dark Lord was known for it, it’s not a skill that is generally looked kindly upon.”

“I understand,” said Hermione softly.

The pilot positioned the plane on the runway. The feeling of being pushed back into her seat as the plane picked up speed was a familiar one to Hermione, but Severus inhaled audibly. She refrained from looking at him, thinking it might make him uncomfortable to admit that he was alarmed.

Her stomach dropped when the plane rose and the gigantic airport rapidly shrunk, becoming nothing but a detailed toy set, along with all the miniscule buildings, roads, and cars around it.

Given the nature of their ward, they could see and hear the crew’s safety instructions. Hermione listened idly, but had the distinct impression that Severus paid close attention. Being with him while he experienced something entirely new touched a tender place in her heart.

Chapter Text

Last time:

The pilot positioned the plane on the runway. The feeling of being pushed back into her seat as the plane picked up speed was a familiar one to Hermione, but Severus inhaled audibly. She refrained from looking at him, thinking it might make him uncomfortable to admit that he was alarmed.

Her stomach dropped when the plane rose and the gigantic airport rapidly shrunk, becoming nothing but a detailed toy set, along with all the miniscule buildings, roads, and cars around it.

Given the nature of their ward, they could see and hear the crew’s safety instructions. Hermione listened idly, but had the distinct impression that Severus paid close attention. Being with him while he experienced something entirely new touched a tender place in her heart. 

For a while, they looked out of the window at the patterns of shadow and light that the sun painted onto the clouds below them. The clouds seemed close, but Hermione spotted another plane – it was a mere speck in the vastness of the sky. The huge, open space suddenly filled her with the certainty that everything would be all right.

Only after a while could she tear her gaze away to reach under the seat in front of her and retrieve her handbag. It was only the afternoon, but she took out the salve Severus had given her and applied it under her nose. Maybe it was silly, given that she was rapidly hurtling away from Lockhart’s compound – but you could never be too careful.

She put the salve back and took out a book. Instead of opening it, she put it on her lap and kept gazing out of the window. The past weeks and months had been so busy. Today was the first day she was forced to have a rest, and her body made it very clear that she needed it, too. Everything felt so heavy.

“‘Watership Down’,” said Severus, reading the title of her book. “I’ve heard that before.”

“Maybe you saw it on the telly. They made an animated film that traumatised a whole generation of children because they stuck it in the afternoon programme. It was very much not for children. But hey, an animated film about bunnies, what could be wrong with that? I’ve always wanted to watch it again to see if I could cope with it as an adult, but I just don’t have the guts. So, I got the book instead. Did you see the film?”

“I never got into the habit of watching television. My father wouldn’t allow it when I was younger. Later, I didn’t quite have the opportunity.”

“Oh, I see… was your father very strict, then?”

Severus’ brows creased. “I assumed Potter would have told you?”

Bemused, Hermione shook her head. “Told me…? Harry doesn’t know anything about your father, does he?”

“He does, if only a bit. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you. It seems I have given Potter too little credit,” he murmured.

Hermione smiled faintly. “You may have, yeah.” Her smile faded when she continued, “I can’t pretend I don’t want to know more about you. But… you don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

Severus exhaled. “‘Strict’ isn’t quite the word I would use to describe my father. That makes it sound like there was a method to it, as if he had a plan for me. That wasn’t the case. His life was consumed by alcohol and the need to keep my mother’s and my magic a secret.”

Hermione swallowed. Maybe this was one of the things Ginny had alluded to when she had said that Severus’ life hadn’t been easy. “That sounds awful. Was there no one you could go to? A teacher or something? Or your mother?”

“I wasn’t allowed to go to school before Hogwarts. The risk of me showing signs of magic were too high. My mother only ever told me to behave, too afraid to stand up to him. She never used magic, not even on the rare occasions he wasn’t in the house, so I wasn’t allowed to, either.”

“He didn’t have work, then?”

Severus shook his head. “Many people didn’t at that time. He was usually at home watching television. The television set was his, neither my mother nor I were allowed to touch it. I managed to watch it anyway on a few occasions.”

“Did he ever catch you?”

With a humourless laugh, Severus nodded.

“What… happened then?” Hermione asked cautiously.

“He replied in the only way he knew how. Used the one thing in his child-rearing toolbox.”

Severus stared at the back of the chair in front of him, but his eyes were focused on something far away.

Not knowing what emboldened her, Hermione raised the armrest and put her hand on his, which was lying on his thigh. After a second of being entirely still, he moved his hand over to her side, so she could hold it between both of hers. Her heart beat in her throat, her senses wholly focused on the sensation of his skin on hers. With effort, she kept herself from caressing him with her thumb.

They sat like this for a moment, experiencing their emotions in silence.

“What else did you watch as a child?” Severus eventually asked.

Hermione chuckled quietly. “In the nineties, there was this series from the US, called The X-Files . The main characters, two FBI agents, investigated paranormal cases involving monsters and aliens and stuff like that. It was a mix of Science Fiction, mystery and horror, and I was definitely too young to watch it. It gave me a few interesting nightmares, but I was too hooked on it to stop.

“One of the FBI agents, Dana Scully, was a forensic pathologist. And… I don’t know what it was about her, but she touched a place deep in my soul. When times were really rough, when I felt like I was entirely alone, I imagined her there with me, telling me that everything would be okay. She was a sceptic, a bit prickly and distant, but in my fantasy, she’d be warm, only for me. She’d be my ally against the whole world.” Hermione looked down, staring absent-mindedly at Severus’ slender wrist. “In my head, I made Dana Scully into the mum I needed.”

Severus had turned to face her, his head leaning against his chair. As his black eyes gently rested on her, a sudden realisation gripped her heart with such vehemence it hurt: he was with her body and soul, he saw her just like she’d imagined Dana Scully had seen her when she was a child. She averted her gaze, swallowing.

“I’m sorry your mother wasn’t there for you,” he said.

She nodded, still in the grip of her emotions. “In our house, my mother was the one doling out the violence. How someone can hold on to so much cold fury towards their own child…”

Severus’ fingers curled around her hand. “Was she violent towards your father as well?”

“No.” Hermione sniffled and hastily wiped the tears off her cheeks. “They were – and still are – devoted to each other. He was nice to me, but my mother came first. I felt so betrayed by him whenever he… just did nothing. Just went along with all of it. And yet, every time, I still thought he’d stand up for me. He never did. He even went along with it when my mother said I should help in their practice during school holidays. How bizarre must it have been for the patients, having a twelve-year-old child hand tools to their dentist?”

“You assisted with dental procedures when you were twelve, without formal training? That must be illegal. Did you ever tell anyone?”

“It probably was illegal, yeah. But I couldn’t really tell anyone because I was already at Hogwarts. My mother said that if the police or some government agency came to investigate, it would jeopardise the Statute of Secrecy, and I’d be expelled from Hogwarts and maybe the wizarding world in general. I was too ashamed to tell Harry and Ron, too. When I was fifteen or so, I refused to keep helping in the practice.” She let out a short, humourless laugh. “My mother was livid!”

“Why did she make you do it in the first place?”

“To save money, I assume. She told me how she always had to help in her parents’ shop when she was little, and that it was normal for children to work in the family business. Another big point of hers was how expensive it was to raise a child, and that I should give back.” A harsh laugh escaped her throat. “They were the ones who decided to have a child; I didn’t ask to be born.”

Severus inhaled as if to say something, but let the breath go. A moment later, he said. “I now understand even better why you didn’t want to bring their memory back.”

Hermione nodded. “We would be going back to the same complicated relationship, with no real solution. My mother isn’t able to face her mistakes, it would destroy her.” She exhaled. “I’m happier now. I shouldn’t be, with my parents gone, but I am.”

Severus gave her a sombre half-smile. “I can relate.”

“How did your parents…”

“Die? My father was hit by a car one night when he went outside to cool off after another fight with my mother. He was drunk. My mother just wasted away after that. You’d think she’d feel free, being allowed to do magic again. But she didn’t know who she was without him.”

“I’m so sorry, Severus.” 

He pensively shook his head. “I was gone by then. My ambitions to prove myself as a worthy follower of the Dark Lord were at their height.” He clenched his jaw and looked at their intertwined hands, his eyes unfocused.

“Do you feel guilty about not being with your mother back then?” Hermione asked quietly.

There was a deep, derisive line around his mouth. “I don’t. I was only ever an afterthought for her. She stuck with my father despite everything, kept justifying his behavious. I, of all people, should know how easy it is to fall prey to manipulation, how hard it is to break the cycle, but I can’t make myself sympathise with her. As a child, I lived for the moments when she’d remember that she was supposed to love me. They were rare.”

Now, she did stroke his hand with her thumb. She gently said, “You’re my best friend, Severus.”

His eyes widened and, after a moment of staring at her with an expression of disgust – fury, almost – he pulled his hand away.

Hermione’s stomach turned to ice. “Severus? What—”

“You say that now,” he growled. 

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Hermione managed to form the words, “It’s happening again, isn’t it?” She swallowed, but the lump in her throat only got bigger. Filled with dread, she asked, “Would you like some time to yourself?”

In lieu of an answer, he flicked his wand, separating his ward from hers. Hermione exhaled, tears running down her face before she even noticed she was crying. She knew, in her mind, that he had to sort out his emotions and would talk to her again. But she was entirely helpless to the ice-cold terror in her heart, which devoured all logic while laughing at her feeble attempts to console herself.

She put the headphones on and stared at the in-flight film without registering anything that happened on screen. There was no way of knowing what Severus was doing. To her, like to everyone else, he looked entirely calm, sitting with headphones on and watching the film as well. 

Minutes passed. Hermione stared at the people moving around on the screen. She heard their words but none of them meant anything. Every passing minute was agony. 

After a while, she didn’t bother to be quiet any more. No one could hear her, so she sat crying, still senselessly staring at the screen. What if this time really was the last time? What if he didn’t come back? Could she still bear working with him on this trip? Although maybe he’d just return to London right away.

So her thoughts spiralled, interspersed with jabs of hope, milliseconds of clear thought before her fear sunk its claws into her heart again.

The ward was lifted and encompassed both of them once more. Severus looked wretched. Hastily, Hermione sorted her features and wiped her cheeks. “I’m still a bit emotional about my parents ,” she forced herself to say, trying to keep her voice from breaking.

“You’re lying,” he said tonelessly.

Hermione’s face twisted again and she took a few gulps of air to steady herself. “I don’t want to burden you with my emotions when you have enough shit to deal with,” she whispered.

“It’s not a burden.” He shook his head, “I can’t keep doing this to you.”

“No, listen; I understand that you’re having trouble with opening up.” She sniffled and used her wand to clear her nose. “I know that you need some time, but… every time you leave I’m so afraid that you won’t come back. And that’s not really fair to you because you’ve always come back. It’s just that your role in my life… triggers my fears sometimes.”

“My role in your life.” His voice was hollow.

Hermione nodded.

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I destroy people who give me that role, Hermione.”

“Is this about Harry’s mum?”

“I was the one who told the Dark Lord about the prophecy. I’m the reason Lily is dead.” He stared at Hermione, challenging her.

She breathed, thinking, then slowly shook her head. “I don’t want to invalidate your feelings, Severus. So, please don’t get mad at me.” She looked into his eyes, trying to find him behind the malice. “Voldemort is the reason she is dead. Peter Pettigrew was the one who betrayed the Potters. The Potters themselves were the ones who made Pettigrew their Secret Keeper at the last second… There were so many moving pieces. But the catalyst of everything was Voldemort.”

“None of that changes anything. I still eavesdropped, I still gave him the information. Without me—”

“They may have died at Voldemort’s hand sooner or later either way. They were in the thick of the war, and from what I’ve heard about Harry’s dad, he wasn’t exactly the cautious type. You made a terrible mistake, but you acknowledged it fully, and you did so much good once you came to the side of the light. You saved our lives several times. Ginny told me the kind of detentions you gave out when you were Headmaster – sending them into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid… And you consistently lied to Voldemort – a master Legilimens and sadist who revelled in torture of not only his enemies but his followers, too…” 

The fire had gone out in Severus’ eyes. 

“In the end, you were fully prepared to die. You almost did. I’m willing to acknowledge that you played a role in Lily’s death, but you mustn’t disregard the role you played in saving so many people’s lives.”

He turned away, working his jaw. “You don’t understand,” he spat.

“I will never know what it feels like to be you. But I refuse to participate in your self-loathing.” She exhaled. “You’re trying to convince me to see you as some kind of monster and won’t accept it if I don’t. But I’m able to form my own opinion of you, based on the way you’ve treated me since we started working together. And this one thing you must believe: You are my friend. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

He took a hissing breath and put his hand to his face. His shoulders rose and fell with another laboured breath. Not knowing what else to do, afraid to say the wrong thing, she sat as close to him as she could and leaned her head against his trembling shoulder.

It took a few minutes before his breathing calmed, before his quiet sobs died down. He kept himself angled away from her but moved his arm in a way that prompted Hermione to thread her hand through it. He put his other hand on hers. 

So they sat for a long time until he hoarsely murmured, “What if it happens again? You will grow tired of me, I know you will.”

“Until now, you’ve always talked to me. That’s the most important thing. We’ll find a way to calm your demons.” 

Exhausted from being thrashed by her emotions, yet calmed by the warmth of Severus’ body, Hermione’s eyelids drooped. As she started to drift off, Severus quietly said, “You’re my best friend too, Hermione.” 

Or maybe she was already dreaming.

Chapter Text

Last time:

It took a few minutes before his breathing calmed, before his quiet sobs died down. He kept himself angled away from her but moved his arm in a way that prompted Hermione to thread her hand through it. He put his other hand on hers. 

So they sat for a long time until he hoarsely murmured, “What if it happens again? You will grow tired of me, I know you will.”

“Until now, you’ve always talked to me. That’s the most important thing. We’ll find a way to calm your demons.” 

Exhausted from being thrashed by her emotions, yet calmed by the warmth of Severus’ body, Hermione’s eyelids drooped. As she started to drift off, Severus quietly said, “You’re my best friend too, Hermione.” 

Or maybe she was already dreaming.

She was awoken by Severus moving beside her, sitting up. A quick look around told her that breakfast was being served. 

They ate quietly, the silence of mutual understanding comfortably settling between them. After breakfast, each of them got out a book and, after a brief look and shy smile, they began reading.

It wasn’t long before the pilot announced that they were beginning their descent on Delhi. The faintest exhale from Severus told Hermione that he found the landing as uncomfortable as the take-off.

They were shepherded to their connecting flight by an impassive airport employee and had to board almost immediately. To Hermione’s utter disappointment, she sat next to a stranger, as did Severus. They exchanged a look, and Hermione knew they were thinking the same thing – they could confund the strangers and change their boarding passes to show a different seat number. But manipulating the minds of innocent people seemed inappropriate after Hermione’s recent experience at Lockhart’s manor, so they accepted their fate. It was only two and a half hours to Bhutan anyway. Hermione applied the salve again and sat back, half dozing, seeking out the back of Severus’ head every now and then.

The airport of Paro was the most beautiful terminal building Hermione had ever seen. Compared to London it was tiny, a three-story building of wood and whitewashed stone. But every single wooden beam had intricate designs painted, etched and inlaid into it, producing incredibly detailed patterns. The interior was similarly stunning, with colourful pillars holding up a tiered ceiling, which itself was beautifully decorated. In her jet-lagged and emotionally agitated state, Hermione briefly wondered if it all was real.

Once they had looked their fill, the four of them, led by Severus, went to the immigration office. After having been apart from Severus for several hours, Hermione’s body gravitated towards him. He uttered a phrase in what Hermione assumed to be Dzongkha, the national language of Bhutan. The immigration officer smiled in a strangely detached way and went through a door, to be replaced by a colleague.

After greetings were exchanged, the man asked, “What is your business in Bhutan?”

“We’re scouting for ingredients in the north of the Lhuntse district.”

The official gave Severus a brief look. “If you are harvesting, you will need a permit.”

“We won’t be harvesting. Only mapping habitats.”

“Okay. Upon your departure, you will have to surrender your luggage, so we can make sure you’re not taking anything away with you.”

“We understand.”

Only when the man behind the counter tapped a document with his wand did Hermione realise he was a wizard.

“A guide will take you to a village north of Saidu. There, you will be assigned a campsite. Travel safely.” He handed them the document, which now bore a seal at its bottom.

In the airport hall, a middle-aged woman came towards them, smiling. “Welcome to Bhutan. My name is Semyang, and I will be your guide for the first part of your journey. We will have to take a car into Paro.”

The car was old and rickety, but comfortable on the inside, thanks to an undetectable extension charm. Despite being tired, they couldn’t help but marvel at the rugged, mountainous landscape. Hermione gave a start when she saw a large, beautifully decorated phallus adorning one of the buildings they drove past. It soon transpired that this was a popular choice of decoration. Ria, who had the widow seat on the opposite side, snickered every now and then, likely about the phalluses on her side of the road. 

At a small Buddhist temple, they got out. “Could you put your neck pillow away, please?” Semyang asked of Ria, who gave her a wide-eyed look like she’d only just noticed the other woman. After a second of confusion, Ria surreptitiously shrunk the pillow and put it in her pocket.

They entered the temple and followed Semyang, treading lightly to not disturb the hushed atmosphere. They met no one else inside; also not in the small courtyard in the middle of the temple. There was a row of prayer wheels along one of the walls. 

Semyang explained, “Walk along the prayer wheels and focus on the word Saidu while turning them. If you have no ill intentions towards our country, you will be transported to the temple of the wizards’ village.”

Xanimus stepped forward and did as Semyang had told them. The quiet confidence in the way he spun the wheels gave Hermione the impression he had done this before. When he had arrived at the last wheel, he disappeared in a whirl of colours.

Semyang nodded to Hermione, who was next in line. She walked along the wheels, giving them a little spin just like Xanimus had, and focused on Saidu. The moment the last wheel was set in motion, a spot of bright colours appeared before her eyes, getting rapidly bigger before swallowing her.

The feeling was much like travelling by floo – being sucked through a tube head-first – but here, she was in the open air, speeding through a whirlwind of colours while catching glimpses of the landscape around her. 

A second later, her feet gently touched the ground. This temple was even smaller than the one where she had started, barely more than a small pagoda. Its prayer wheels were outside, in front of a glassless window with intricate metal latticework. Xanimus stood a few paces away, admiring the deep valley that stretched beyond the temple, and the towering mountains on its other side.

There was a whoosh and Ria joined them. A minute later, Severus arrived, making a smile jump onto Hermione’s face. Semyang was the last to join them. “Very good,” she said, “you have all passed the test. We will now walk to the village, which is about an hour from here.” 

Ria groaned quietly, a sentiment that Hermione shared. Xanimus looked quite content, and Severus, as usual, remained impassive. The hiking backpack Severus had recommended Hermione to purchase came in handy now. With Semyang in the front, they started their trek.

After fifteen minutes or so, Hermione had found her rhythm. Tired and jetlagged, it was easy to let her body take over. She was in the magical zone between too awake, where her mind would be reeling, doubting, overthinking and generally being a nuisance, and too tired, where her muscles would give out. This half-conscious autopilot state was exactly what she needed.

They walked in single file, Xanimus bouncing along chatting to Semyang, then Severus, Hermione, and Ria bringing up the rear.

Just as Hermione’s knees started to ache, a group of small houses came into view, surrounded by fields and meadows in which people were working. Semyang called to them, greeting them. 

At the mouth of the village proper, another woman stood waiting for them. Semyang introduced her. “This is Tshering, she will be your guide from now on.” The woman, who looked to be younger than Semyang, invited them all into one of the almost cube-shaped two-story houses that were grouped around the unpaved village square.

The inside of the house was larger than the outside let on – the result of an extension charm. Despite that, there wasn’t much room left. The entire village had turned up to greet their visitors. People sat on stools, cushions and on the floor around a low table that was laid with food and small earthenware cups arranged around a large jar in the middle. 

Hermione felt entirely overwhelmed by all these new impressions. Seeing how warmly the villagers welcomed them made her feel guilty – all she wanted to do was sleep.

The hours that followed felt like a strange dream. Food and drink were handed to her, and she ate and drank. At one point, Xanimus produced a large package and handed it to one of the older women. During a brief moment of lucidity, Hermione hoped that the gift was from all of them. She had to ask Xanimus how much she owed him for her share.

There was a lot of talking and laughing, some singing and even a little dancing. Tshering relayed everything that happened and was said to the four outsiders. Hermione did her best to smile and nod in all the right places, although she had trouble taking anything in. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the festivities ended and everyone went back outside. Semyang bid them goodbye, and Severus gave a red envelope to her before she left. Tshering led the four travellers to an area a short way outside of the village, a small natural terrace flanked by forest on three sides. Their tents – one for the men, one for the women – were set up with a few spells and everyone finally went to bed.

Hermione awoke to the grey light of dawn, disoriented. It took her a moment to remember where she was. While she didn’t exactly feel ready to seize the day, eleven hours of sleep had revitalised her. She slid off her bunk and went into the bathroom area of the tent. Ria’s sleeping compartment was still zipped up. 

There was just enough water left in the tent’s water bag to brush her teeth. So, Hermione took the bag from its hook and went outside to get more. 

The view greeting her took her breath away. Clouds hung in the valley beyond and the rising sun illuminated them from above. The sunlight reflecting from the clouds below basked the village in warm orange light and made the thin fog that hugged the mountains glow from within.

This was the cleanest air Hermione had ever breathed, even including the Scottish Highlands. She stood for a while, inhaling deeply, and exhaling the tension from her body. Still taking in the landscape, she started walking towards the small stream Tshering had pointed out the previous day.

When she submerged the water bag, the ice-cold glacier stream’s waters wound themselves tightly around her hands. Gasping quietly at the sensation, she pulled the full water bag onto the shore and lifted it up with a spell, suspending it in the air as she walked it back to the tent.

A carefully applied spell warmed the water enough for a quick shower. Ria had woken up when Hermione got out of the shower, and they exchanged good mornings. 

Half an hour later found the four of them sitting around a small fire, frying a mix of eggs, yak cheese and yak butter, which Xanimus assured them tasted fantastic. He was right.

Hermione caught herself looking at Severus a little more often than necessary. His slender hand holding the bowl, his tongue darting out of his mouth to lick his lips. What would it be like to—?

“Hermione and Severus can ask about ingredients and Xanimus and I can inquire about their health,” said Ria, snapping Hermione out of her straying thoughts. “That way, we can approach the subject of Lockhart without being too obvious about it.”

Ria then dove into a lengthy explanation of what she and Xanimus should look out for, which ailments they were most likely to encounter and how to treat them. Hermione offered the symptoms she’d had after the love potion and antidote mishap, assisted by some additional information from Severus.

Their plans for the day laid out, Severus and Hermione walked into the village side by side. “Did you sleep well?” asked Hermione, feeling a bit silly for making inane small talk.

“I have trouble sleeping in unfamiliar places. But I did get some sleep. How about you?”

“I slept quite well and woke up early. I sort of took a walk. This place is the most beautiful I’ve ever been.”

“Yes, it’s quite different from home.”

“You weren’t in this village last time, were you?”

“No, a few dozen miles further west. And yet, getting from here to there would take hours, even travelling by magical means. Life here is much slower than in most of the world.”

They had arrived in the village proper, where they were greeted by Tshering. She offered to take them to a few families who grew potions ingredients.

“These are Dorji and Choden, and their family,” explained Tshering. Two elderly people smiled and inclined their heads in greeting, and Severus and Hermione did the same. The pair, flocked by what Hermione assumed were their grandchildren, led them into a large garden filled with rows and patches of a wide variety of magical and non-magical plants.

Tshering translated how the couple had started the garden as newly-weds, developing an irrigation system and experimenting with different soils and fertilisers to allow every species to flourish. The grandchildren soon got bored and moved away, chattering and shouting over each other.

After calling something after them, which they seemed to ignore, Dorji showed his visitors to a small patch of dark soil with a few scraggly ferns on it. His eyes shone with pride when he explained what they grew there. “If you look closely,” Tshering translated, “You can see these little black stalks sticking out of the soil. This is a mushroom.”

Choden selected a mushroom, pulled it out of the soil and handed it to Severus, who sat on his haunches close to her. “It parasitizes this caterpillar?” he asked as he handed the mushroom to Hermione. Indeed, the slender black fruit body of the fungus had grown out of the end of a caterpillar, now brown and mummified.

“Yes,” Tshering said, paying close attention to Choden’s words. “The caterpillars burrow into the ground, eating old plants. There, the fungus finds the caterpillars and eats them from the inside. It took a long time to find the right soil composition, and the plants that would attract enough moths to their garden to cultivate this fungus.”

“That’s impressive,” said Hermione. “What are the fungi used for?”

“They are very beneficial for male health,” translated Tshering, “Non-magical people collect them in the wild and even fight wars over them because they are very valuable, and are used for virility in many countries. But the Non-magical people do not even know how valuable this fungus really is. If prepared correctly, it can cure many ailments of men.”

“Do you trade them in the bigger cities?” Severus asked.

“That’s what they used to do before they knew everything about the fungus. Now, they sell them to a company who makes them into high-quality products.”

“Does that company pay market value for the fungi?” Hermione asked.

“Yes. Dorji says it saves a lot of time not having to pack everything, to get the stall ready and go to the market. And they can sell their entire harvest at once, so they are very happy with this solution.”

“Can they say what the company’s name is?”

“They say they don’t know the name. A woman comes once every three months to pick up the harvest and pays for it right away.”

“What does the woman look like?” 

Choden described her as short, with brown hair. That description snuffed out the small glimmer of hope that the woman might be Petra. It had been a long shot anyway – Petra was Lockhart’s right hand. Surely, she wouldn’t be the one travelling the world collecting ingredients.

Cautiously, Hermione tried something else. “Does the woman buy any other ingredients too?”

Dorji got up and led them through his garden, pointing out a few plants, while Tshering did her best to translate the names. 

“I see,” said Hermione politely. “Any animal products as well?”

“Dorji and Choden’s family don’t keep animals.”

“What about wild animals?”

“We do not hunt animals. We live in harmony with our land.”

Tension had crept into Tshering’s voice and Hermione thought it prudent not to press their hosts any further. 

After lunch, Tshering led the way to introduce them to another family. On the way there, Hermione caught a glimpse of a young woman standing in a narrow alleyway between two houses, giving her an intense, almost guilty look and showing every sign of wanting to approach her. But the moment Hermione made to turn towards the alley, the woman hurried away.

Hermione still thought about her when they arrived at the next house they were visiting. The family kept a herd of yak just beyond the village, which they happily showed to Hermione and Severus. The yak were smaller than cattle, and much, much hairier. Apparently, though, they had been shorn only weeks ago. 

The yak seemed to be used to humans, for they kept grazing as their owners affectionately scratched them behind their ears. Tshering explained that yak were used for their wool, as beasts of burden, and even for riding.

Back in the family home, a few looms of varying sizes held fabrics in different states of completion. Hermione marvelled at the intricate patterns on one of the largest looms. With visible, well-deserved pride, the family matriarch demonstrated her skill. Soon, Hermione was called to another loom by the family’s youngest child to enjoy her demonstration of skill as well.

Someone put a skein of wool into her hand – it was the softest thing she’d ever felt. She vowed not to leave the village without having bought a scarf.

The wool was dyed in another house, which they visited next. A large number of plants, minerals and other dyes lined shelves, while the wool soaked in tubs filled with hot water of various colours. Outside, the yarn hung to dry in a fenced yard. The colours were so manyfold, Hermione felt like she could never tear her eyes away from the spectacle.

“How do you get the lighter colours? All the yak I saw were brown,” Hermione asked one of the dyers.  

Tshering translated, “There is a bleaching agent that is used before the lighter dyes. It damages the wool a little, so it has to be treated with another potion after dyeing.”

“I see. Do yaks come in white, too, theoretically?”

“There is a breed of white yak, but it is very rare, and the animals are expensive. Unfortunately, the villagers cannot afford them. They have to make do with the brown yaks. But they try to breed the ones that are lighter in colour.”

Severus, in the meantime, talked to the hosts using a translation rune, asking them where they got specific dyes and marking the spots they told him on a map. Hermione felt guilty – she had been so captivated by the beauty and craftsmanship around her, she had almost lost sight of why they were here.

As they walked back to camp for dinner, she said to Severus, “I’m sorry for getting so distracted today. What did you find out?”

“Nothing worth mentioning. I merely asked about the ingredients and the dyes to create a reason for us to go into the wilderness tomorrow.” They walked silently for a while. “I have been wondering whether today’s program was meant to distract us.”

“You think so? I felt like Tshering just wanted to show us what life here is like. Although… I found it interesting that she jumped right to hunting when I asked about animal products. Especially since the yak were right there. I never insinuated they harmed animals, yet that was the foremost thing on her mind.”

“I noticed that, too.”

They arrived at the camp, where Ria and Xanimus had already started a fire.

“How was your day?” asked Hermione of the healers. “Any suspicious ailments?”

“No, just the usual. Some likely allergy-related symptoms, wear and tear related to physical labour, and some parasites that come naturally with living close to nature. All easy to sort out with potions, salves, and spells,” Ria shrugged.

Xanimus nodded, then knitted his brow. “Although… there was a woman lingering in the background, looking… uneasy. I first thought she didn’t trust us, which would be understandable, but she really looked like she wanted to talk to us. After a while, she disappeared. I hadn’t even seen her leave.”

Hermione sat up. “What did she look like?”

“She wore a red kira with yellow stripes, I think.”

“What’s a kira?” asked Ria.

“That’s what the women’s dress is called here.”

Hermione knitted her brow in an effort to remember. “Red, yes. I think I saw that same woman. I also had the impression that she wanted to talk to me.”

“We should keep our eyes open for her tomorrow,” said Severus.

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Xanimus nodded, then knitted his brow. “Although… there was a woman lingering in the background, looking… uneasy. I first thought she didn’t trust us, which would be understandable, but she really looked like she wanted to talk to us. After a while, she disappeared. I hadn’t even seen her leave.”

Hermione sat up. “What did she look like?”

“She wore a red kira with yellow stripes, I think.”

Hermione knitted her brow in an effort to remember. “Red, yes. I think I saw that same woman. I also had the impression that she wanted to talk to me.”

“We should keep our eyes open for her tomorrow,” said Severus. 

The next day, Tshering picked them up after breakfast and led them into the village again. 

“Were you able to arrange a trip into the mountains for today?” Severus asked her. 

“All in due time,” Tshering smiled. “Today, we will visit the rice fields and I will show you how our traditional drink, ara, is made.”

Hermione and Severus exchanged a look, but obediently followed Tshering.

They learned a lot that day and Hermione was once again fascinated by the villagers’ craftsmanship. But more than the day before, Tshering seemed to avoid answering some of their questions, falling back on empty platitudes.

When they bade her goodbye in the evening, Severus once again asked for a trip into the mountains for the next day, and Tshering once again said, “All in due time.”

Dinner was quieter that evening. No one wanted to accuse their hosts of anything, but unspoken misgivings hung in the air. 

Unsurprisingly, Tshering happily rebuffed Severus again the next morning, saying they’d be visiting the takin reservation. Ria and Xanimus tagged along as well.

The walk there took about twenty minutes. Hermione wished she could enjoy the beauty of the mountains, but her mind was preoccupied. Every day, she hoped to find something concrete, proof that their journey here hadn’t been entirely in vain.

When they arrived at the takin reservation, Hermione gave a start – the woman leading it was the one in the red kira with the yellow stripes, the woman who had tried to talk to them. Tshering introduced her as Deki. A surreptitious nod and meaningful glance from Xanimus confirmed that he, too, had recognized Deki. Finally, Hermione would get answers.

She politely observed the takin – large, stocky, goat-like animals. But despite their impressive physique, they couldn’t quite grasp Hermione’s attention. She nodded at what Tshering translated, but was really only waiting for a moment to get Deki alone. Deki seemed perfectly at ease while she talked. Maybe she had to pretend in front of Tshering.

Eventually, Hermione asked, addressing Deki, “Could you show me where the bathroom is?”

Deki, after Tshering had translated for her, beckoned Hermione to come with her. As soon as they were out of earshot, Hermione said, “Excuse me please,” and drew a translation rune into the air with her wand. Deki watched her with mild interest. 

Hermione took a steadying breath, then said, “I’ve seen you around the village, and my friends as well. We had the impression that you wanted to talk to us but didn’t dare approach us. We’re alone now, and I promise I will tell no one what you’ll say, not even my friends, if you don’t want me to.”

Deki still smiled vaguely. For a moment, Hermione worried that the rune wasn’t working, but then Deki said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You wanted to talk to me, didn’t you? The day after we arrived, you were in an alleyway and looked at me, but then you went away. Were you afraid to talk to me?”

“You must have me confused with someone else.”

“No, I… I’m quite sure it was you. You wore a red kira with yellow stripes.”

“More women in the village have a kira like that.”

“Right, um… Is there anything you want to talk about, though?”

Deki looked pensive for just a moment before shaking her head, smiling.

Hermione tried a different approach, “There are other outsiders that visit the village, aren’t there? They buy ingredients and other items. Are you uneasy about them?”

“Not at all. We enjoy getting visitors, and it’s a great fortune that we can sell our goods at fair prices without having to travel to the market.”

Hermione exhaled. “You’re sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”

“No, I’m very happy and content.”

Deki’s effortless denial of ever having attempted to approach them made Hermione think that Deki herself believed what she was saying. It caught Hermione so off guard that she couldn’t come up with another angle of questioning.

After using the small wooden hut that served as an outhouse, just so it wouldn’t all seem like a ruse, Hermione and Deki went back, resuming the tour.

Late in the afternoon, they trudged back to their camp, Tshering once again deflecting Severus’ questions about an excursion into the mountains. If Hermione didn’t feel so utterly demotivated, she’d have admired Severus’ perseverance in asking.

Dinner passed quietly. Hermione didn’t quite dare to breach the topic of Deki. Were the others as frustrated as she was? And did they, deep down, blame her for dragging them halfway around the world on a whim?

Ria stretched. yawning. “I’ll be in the tent. I need to write down some stuff.”

Xanimus got up too, saying he’d go for a walk. 

Despite it being late spring, it never got quite warm in the mountains. As the sun disappeared behind the peaks, the chill of night quickly crept under Hermione’s skin. She sat staring into the embers of their camp fire, trying to push away the whisper of guilt in her conscience.

“Let’s have some tea inside.” Severus’ voice startled her out of her gloom. He got up, went to his and Xanimus’ tent and held the flap open for her. In the small kitchen, Severus set a kettle while Hermione took a seat on one of the cushions that lay on a thick rug. 

She looked around. This tent was much more rustic than hers, speaking of its well-travelled owner. Xanimus had collected not only decor, but also furniture and practical household items, and the customs that came with them. It was not surprising, therefore, that Severus brought a plump, earthenware teapot and two small cups without handles back into the sitting area.

“Did he get this in China?” Hermione asked, nodding at the teapot.

“I seem to recall him talking about Japan when he first served me tea from it.”

“I see.” 

They sipped in silence, Hermione sinking back into her worries. 

“We may need to slip away and explore the mountain on our own,” Severus said.

Hermione nodded slowly. “I didn’t think it would turn out like this. I should have researched more, should have thought about what we can do if met with these kinds of obstacles. I’m starting to feel ashamed for dragging all of us here.” She nervously chewed her lower lip. “I feel kind of stupid.”

“Hermione…” Severus’ soft, gentle voice made her look up. He had stretched out his arm towards her. Her body reacted before her mind could, sliding into his arm, hiding her face against his chest.

His cheek against her head, he muttered, “We all came here willingly, not because of you, but for the sake of learning, studying, helping, and hopefully righting a wrong. No one could have known about the situation here beforehand, that’s the whole reason we came here. You’re not stupid.”

Hermione breathed deeply, taking in his words. It was then, finally, that it dawned on her that Severus Snape might discuss a project with a friend, would maybe allow them to assist him in his work. He would sit up at a friend’s sickbed, he might even go on harebrained adventures with a friend. But Severus Snape would never, ever, hold a friend in his arms, murmuring words of comfort while burying his face in their hair. 

Before she could sit up to look at him, he whispered, “Someone’s coming,” and pushed her away gently but firmly. Before she knew it, she sat opposite him again, flustered.

The tent flap was thrown back. “I think I’ll—Oh, hi, Hermione.” Xanimus blinked a few times. “It’s actually good you’re here, because… er… I meant to ask you something. Ria needs my help with… filling out order forms for the healing potions’ ingredients, so she won’t have to stay up all night. Would you mind terribly if Ria and Severus switched tents, meaning Ria would sleep here and Severus in your tent? I know it’s a lot to ask, especially this late in the day, but you would really help us out.”

“Um… yeah, sure. Absolutely. That is, if Severus is all right with it, too?”

Severus nodded and got up to collect his belongings, while Xanimus profusely thanked Hermione.

Hermione, with Severus in tow, went over to the other tent. “Hi, Ria. Severus has agreed to switch tents. Um… do you need help with your stuff?”

Ria looked at Hermione with big eyes. “Agreed to—? Oh, yeah, right. Switch tents. Of course. Yes. Sorry, it’s been a long day, my brain is on the fritz. I’ll be all right with my stuff, it’ll only be a minute.”

When Ria was gone and Severus had moved in his belongings, Hermione and Severus stood in the middle of the living area, looking at each other in the darkness. Eventually, Hermione said, “Should we turn in?”

They took turns brushing their teeth and taking a quick shower. When Hermione came out of the little bathroom, Severus stood in the small space between the two sleeping compartments, evidently waiting for her. Her heart jumped into her throat.

Wordlessly, she followed him to his sleeping compartment. He opened the zipper and stepped inside. “Stay there for a moment.”

Hermione waited at the entrance while the cot rustled and creaked, its springs groaning under the spell Severus subjected it to. The noise ceased. “The edge of the cot is right in front of you now.” 

Her heart almost beating out of her ribcage, she got onto the cot.

She felt her way towards Severus, who folded her into his arms as she cautiously drew nearer. She melted against his chest, hardly believing that this was finally happening. His warmth, his movements as he breathed, the shape of his body – they all were miraculous. It was inconceivable that she was allowed to be close to him, to touch him.

She inhaled, greedily sucking in his scent. Her hands found his chest and cautiously explored his torso before stroking the arms that embraced her. His heart beat as rapidly as hers.

With the tip of her nose, she slowly traced his sternum until she arrived at the small hollow between his clavicles. His scent was especially intense here, making a knot of adrenaline burst in her stomach. She just had to touch her lips to the delicate bones, eliciting the quietest of sighs from him.

The sound, as small as it had been, reverberated through her entire body. She scooted closer to him, touching his body with hers as her lips brushed against his jaw. 

He stroked her back, pulling her in. Their breath mingled, their noses touched, and she found his lips parted, eagerly awaiting her kiss.

Finally, they shattered the tension of the past months. She couldn’t stop a moan escaping her when he opened his mouth, when their tongues met. Their kiss quickly deepened, fuelled by their unleashed, all-consuming desire.

Hermione wanted to get her hands on all of him, feel his skin on hers, had to have him completely. She moved her pelvis forward, closing the last bit of distance between them. His erection pressing into her lower belly made wetness pool between her legs. 

Breathlessly, she slowed their kiss, giving him the opportunity to pull away if he wanted to. But he seemed just as eager as she was. With a shaky exhale, he lifted the edge of her pyjama top, just enough to expose a sliver of skin. Fireworks burst from her nerve endings where his fingertips touched her.

She pulled her pyjama top over her head. A rustle of fabric told her he was doing the same. They caressed each other's skin, experienced each other’s bodies for the very first time. There was no magic more wonderful than this. 

Hermione tipped her head, capturing his mouth in a deep, indulgent kiss while her hands wandered downward, pulling his pelvis against her as she moved, rubbing herself against his erection. Breathing heavily, he found her breast, cupping it in his hand and rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She keened, moaning. For weeks, she had wanted nothing more than to touch him, and for him to touch her. Now that he did with such unbridled passion, she felt like she might explode with this vastness of emotion.

She couldn’t wait any longer. Sitting up, she moved to straddle him, keeping just an inch between her centre and his cock. The anticipation was delicious torture. He had both his hands free to play with her breasts, pinching her nipples, making her moan again. 

His hands wandered down her sides, squeezing and stroking, over her hips and further down. His thumbs on the inside of her thighs only heightened her anticipation of where she wanted him to touch her the most.

She lowered her pelvis. Her pyjama bottoms were soaked with her juices, and he had to feel it too. She moved slowly while he gently guided her, breathing heavily.

It wouldn’t have taken long for her to fall apart, but she wanted to prolong this wonderful feeling as much as possible. More than anything else, she wanted him inside her. She leaned forward, finding his mouth. Gods, she wanted to devour him.

His hands caressed her body, moving over her skin down to the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. She reached down, tugging on her waistband, giving him permission.

Slowly, he slid her bottoms down until his arms couldn’t reach any longer. She did the rest, discarding her knickers too. He used that moment to rid himself of the rest of his clothes as well.

Hermione sat atop him again. They looked at each other in the dark, barely able to make out each other’s face, but so eager to drink in this moment, to burn it into their memories forever.

Their kiss was slow and deep, a foretaste of what was to come. Hermione lowered herself, finally touching her pussy to his hard cock without any fabric between them. She whimpered as she started moving, rubbing her clit on him. He moaned, rolling his pelvis to intensify the movement.

She had to have him, needed him so desperately. Reaching down, she gently stroked his cock a few times before angling it up and positioning him at her entrance.

Oh, the sweet pressure when she slowly took him in, moved down until she sat flush on his lap. He moaned louder now, squeezed her hips and pressed himself into her. With her hands on his chest, she started fucking him slowly.

“Hermione,” he moaned. 

She wouldn’t last long. He met her movements, pushing into her from below, bottoming out with every thrust. His breath now came in short pants, and Hermione’s moans grew ever more high-pitched. She leaned forward so that his pubic bone stimulated her clit every time he pushed into her.

He moaned loudly, pulling her down onto his lap and holding her there as he shuddered. Experiencing how this man she had been in love with, had so desperately wanted for all these months, unravelled underneath her opened her floodgates, too. She collapsed onto his chest, her pussy muscles pulsing around his cock as she came harder than she ever had, screaming into his pillow.

Panting and sweaty, they lay atop each other, Severus wrapping his arms around her. She slid off him. Severus kissed her slowly, then held her while they lay, their breath slowing.

Gently caressing her cheek, he whispered, “I’ll be right back.”  

The cot dipped when he got up, taking his warmth away with him. 

Hermione wasn’t prepared for how quickly the cold would seep into her skin. Ron had also always left the bed right after his climax.

She huffed in frustration about the traces of Ron still sneaking into her brain as soon as she let her guard down. She’d been in this exact situation dozens of times – revelling in her post-coital bliss, convinced that this time, he’d finally realise how much she meant to him. But then, he’d come back and ask her, with that tone, whether she wouldn’t be more comfortable in her own bed. She’d say yes, and tell him she’d enjoyed herself, smiling desperately to keep her real emotions from showing.

Her mantra of Severus is different rang hollow in the face of the anxiety-ridden scenarios running through her head: Tomorrow, he’d keep distance between them to not give her the wrong idea. He’d shut her down every time she tried to talk about this night. Until one day, he’d suddenly ask her to spend time together again. Her hopes would soar sky-high, and the cycle would begin anew.

Breathing deeply, she called up images of how Severus had acted with her in real life. Kind and affectionate at almost every turn – the few times he hadn’t been, he’d genuinely apologised. But what if all of that changed now that she’d slept with him?

She kept her arms stiffly folded to her chest when he came back, crawling into the cot and cuddling up to her. 

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

Hermione swallowed and pushed out a “yeah.”

Although his face was nothing but a vague shape in the darkness, Hermione could feel his gaze on her. “What is it, Hermione? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I made a mistake,” she said, her voice hard.

“What do you mean?” His voice was so soft and warm… 

“I let myself get carried away,” she said, the words coming out almost against her will. “I’m aware you never actually said you wanted anything from me. I went along with it by my own volition. I’m not letting myself have any illusions of commitment.” She sat up and started retrieving her clothes.

“Hermione… I would never have kissed you, let alone slept with you, if I didn’t want to commit to you. I wouldn’t even have held your hand.” He exhaled. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. But I do want to be with you.”

He sat up too and caught her hand, arresting her search for her clothes. “I’ve wanted to be with you since I returned from my travels. The time that has passed since then only made my feelings stronger. I know I… didn’t make them known. Quite the opposite, on some occasions. I’m aware that my behaviour on those occasions would be a good reason for you to stay away from me. 

“But no matter whether you want to be with me or not, whether we’ll be in each other’s lives for a long time or if they were only meant to briefly touch – you’ve already made me want to be better.”

She wished so much that she could believe him. But what if these were only sweet words, something for him to fall back on when he felt like shagging her again?

Softly, he said, “I’m so sorry, Hermione. We should have talked about this beforehand. What can I do to make it better?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a quavering voice.

He opened his arms and she gave in, letting herself be laid down beside him, breathing into his chest.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “You’re not alone.”

There was something freeing in allowing herself to crack open. She’d put on a brave face for so long, had reined in her emotions for the sake of not hurting her chances – for no one loved a needy person. She hadn’t noticed how utterly and completely her self-discipline had worn her down.

When her tears finally ceased, Severus murmured against her forehead, “I won’t leave you.”

Hermione sniffled, “I’m just so afraid…”

“I know. I’m afraid too.”

She chuckled through her tears. “You don’t need to be afraid. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I.”

Something was amiss. Hermione was wide awake all at once, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Where was Severus?

In the pitch dark, she finally made out his pale shape at the edge of the cot. Her flesh crawling, she reached out her hand to touch him.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered without turning around, his voice hoarse.

Filled with dread, Hermione sat next to him, pricking up her ears. The wind howled through the valleys and made the leaves of the trees rustle. If she really focused, she could make out the murmuring stream. There – had that been a sound? It had been so low, just on the edge of human hearing.

Severus noiselessly fished his wand out of a pocket sewn into the wall of the sleeping compartment and performed a spell. Hermione inhaled sharply when she heard the low sound again, now amplified against nature’s background noises.

Whatever made the sound seemed large. Severus tweaked the spell. Now, urgent whispers could be heard too. 

“Where is this coming from?” asked Hermione, her voice only just audible.

Severus got up and started putting on his clothes. “From the other end of the village, I think.”

Hermione took her cue from him, flitting to her abandoned sleeping compartment and hastily pulling on warm clothes.

Severus waited for her in the central part of the tent. Together, they went out into the cold, dark mountain night.

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Hermione inhaled sharply when she heard the low sound again, now amplified against nature’s background noises.

Whatever made the sound seemed large. Severus tweaked the spell. Now, urgent whispers could be heard too. 

“Where is this coming from?” asked Hermione, her voice only just audible.

Severus got up and started putting on his clothes. “From the other end of the village, I think.”

Hermione took her cue from him, flitting to her abandoned sleeping compartment and hastily pulling on warm clothes.

Severus waited for her in the central part of the tent. Together, they went out into the cold, dark mountain night. 

After casting a number of wards ensuring they made as little noise as possible, Hermione and Severus crept around the outskirts of the village to its other side, stopping regularly to listen while Severus amplified their sense of hearing.

“They’re moving,” Hermione whispered. The sounds now came from a little way up the mountain, near the village. The two of them quickened their pace to catch up with the group, making sure to stay out of sight.

The chill in the air didn’t keep them from working up a sweat as they stumbled over rocks and through vegetation, stopping every now and then to renew the amplification spell. Despite their efforts, the distance between them and the group increased by the minute. “We don’t know this area at all. They’re at a clear advantage,” Hermione said, panting.

Severus, also out of breath, said, “Let’s try to get as close as we can to their path and wait for them to come back.”

They did just that, out of sight thanks to the rough landscape and a spell. After a while, Hermione said, “They might be going far and not coming back soon. We should try to get comfortable.” She cast a warming charm over both of them and conjured a thick blanket. They sat, their legs resting against each other. As soon as they sat, Severus took Hermione’s hand. A wave of gratefulness washed through her and she took a deep, indulgent breath.

About half an hour passed, and Hermione’s body started longing for sleep. She turned down the warming charm to not get too cosy.

A little later, other sounds were mixed in with the howling of the wind – the crunching of steps and whispering voices. Hermione vanished the blanket as she and Severus got to their feet. They stood motionless while the group approached, then passed them by. 

Soundlessly, the two of them followed them into the village. However, the group split up, each member disappearing into a different house. Hermione and Severus crept closer to the area where the sounds had presumably come from when Severus had first heard them. 

Another sound amplification spell revealed nothing. No more whispering, no more growling, no footsteps – nothing. They tip-toed around the area, looking around corners and through cracks in fences.

There, hidden behind a braided fence, stood a large wooden tub radiating heat. Hermione lifted off the lid with her wand and shone a very dim light into the tub. A yellowish, fluffy-looking mass slowly revolved in the hot water, giving off an animal smell. Hermione’s shoulders sagged. It was just wool.

She put the lid back on before she and Severus walked away, opting to return to their camp by going around the village again. On their way, they came past the yak enclosure. Hermione took Severus by his arm. Together, they stood listening to the yak quietly snorting and grunting. By his body language, Hermione could sense that Severus had the same realisation she did.

When they were finally back in the soundproof sleeping compartment, Hermione said, “It was a yak. The snorts and grunts just now sounded so much like what we heard earlier, only quieter. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

Severus exhaled audibly. “Yes. An agitated yak – say, for example, one that is being shorn – might make louder sounds.”

“Must be the rare white yak they were talking about the other day. They have a herd somewhere after all, hidden away so tourists like us don’t blab about them”

“It seems like that.”

Hermione sighed. “A dead end. Again.” Her chest constricted as she tried very hard not to blame herself for having dragged everyone to the other end of the world on a hunch that turned out to have less and less substance with every passing day. 

A knot of butterflies exploded in her stomach when Severus put his arms around her and kissed the crown of her head. “We should get some sleep. We’ll think of a plan tomorrow.”

Hermione pressed her cheek to his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso, her hands splayed out on his back. She waited for the moment when he would take his arms away, his body stiffening, signalling for her to let go. That moment never came. 

She looked up at him in the darkness and he cradled her face in his hands before leaning down to kiss her softly.

After they had put their pyjamas back on, and Hermione had reapplied the salve she’d forgotten due to her eventful evening, they slipped under the covers together, falling asleep quickly.

A small sip of pepper-up potion the next morning allowed them to function somewhat normally despite the night they’d had. Severus, in a quiet voice, told the story to the other two, who listened intently. 

Hermione barely dared to look at Ria and Xanimus, afraid of their reactions to yet another revelation that cemented the fact that their journey had led them to a dead end.

To her surprise, Ria said, “I’m not so sure it really was just about shearing a yak. There’s something weird going on here.”

Hermione looked up. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, for a remote village who have everything they need, who live off the land and have a very stable social structure, and, apparently, good economic relations, there are a few too many people with stress-related symptoms. Long-term stress, I mean. We’re talking months.”

Xanimus nodded along. “Taken by themselves, the symptoms seem minor and unrelated – hearing a popping noise when moving one’s jaw, cracked skin in the corners of the mouth, heart murmurs, weight gain – all those could be explained by age, hormone changes, infections, and a myriad of other reasons. That’s why we didn’t think anything of them at first. But taken together, they paint the picture of people at the end of their rope.”

“Did you see Deki again, the takin herder?” Hermione asked.

“We saw her, but she didn’t approach us. She still seemed… happy, in that strange, detached way.”

Ria took a deep, pensive breath. “The villagers all seem to avoid questions about their mental state, strictly keeping to physical ailments and reassuring us how happy they are. Like, a lot.”

Severus said, “It would seem that we won’t get anywhere by talking. The stated purpose of our visit was to scout for and map potions ingredients, but even that Tshering won’t let us do.”

“We need to take things into our own hands,” said Hermione. “Tonight, I will go up the mountain.” 

“I’ll come with you,” said Xanimus. “That is, if it’s all right with you, Ria? One of us should stay here to assure people we just went for a stroll, should anyone ask.”

Ria nodded. “And to heal you when you come back, if that’s necessary.”

“I will also come,” Severus said. “That is, if that’s advisable?” He looked at Xanimus.

Xanimus knitted his brow in thought. “In that case, we should go tomorrow night. That’ll give you a day and a half to recover.”

Hermione looked at the three of them with her eyes wide. Severus turned to her. After a moment of hesitancy, he said, “Xanimus and Ria have agreed to do a session of psychedelic-assisted therapy with me. Apparently, it can be very beneficial for some of the... issues I'm having.”

“Oh… that… wow. Is it… safe?”

Xanimus said, “Yes. We will be using psilocybin, which I have lots of experience with. I grew and prepared the mushrooms myself, too, in magically controlled soil. 

“The past few nights I have talked to Severus about his needs and expectations, and explained to him how a session works. We’re well-prepared.” He smiled reassuringly at Hermione.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner,” Severus said. 

Hermione smiled, the information slowly sinking in. “That’s all right. I’m… surprised, but in a good way.” She gave Xanimus a look, not quite daring to say, ‘Please take good care of him.’

Tshering came shortly after Ria, Severus and Xanimus had disappeared in Xanimus’ tent. 

“I have been informed you will be taking this day off?”

“Yes, er, we need some time to write down everything we’ve learned here so far. We’ve seen so many wonderful things, I’d hate to forget any of them.” Hermione smiled brightly and Tshering nodded.

“Well, um…” Hermione said, “I guess I’ll go get my notebook.”

When she came out again, notebook and pen in hand, Tshering was gone. Hermione didn’t think she had gone far, though.

As the morning went on, she started to worry about Severus. They had soundproofed the entire tent, so there was no way for Hermione to gauge how it was going in there. She might as well turn her lie to Tshering into truth and write down an account of their experiences.

Lunchtime came, but Hermione decided to not eat without the others. She shook out her cramping hand and checked her watch for the umpteenth time. If only everything went according to plan… Ria’s expertise as a healer, and the fact that she’d saved Severus’ life once before, was a calming thought, though. Xanimus, too, seemed nothing but trustworthy. To pass the time, Hermione gathered everything she needed to prepare lunch.

Finally, at half past one, the three of them emerged. Hermione jumped up. Severus’ eyes found hers and his look gave her butterflies. He looked so content, the lines in his face smoothened and a new light in his eyes. It hurt physically not to be able to embrace him.

He came to sit next to her during lunch, his leg touching hers, smiling at her often and looking at her like he could see deeper than her eyes. 

“How was it?” Hermione asked, trying to keep the happy flutter out of her voice. “That is, if you’re comfortable telling me.” Her question was directed at the other two as much as at Severus.

“It went well,” Xanimus said. “Very much according to plan.”

Severus said, “The effects of the psilocybin should be wearing off soon but everything is still heightened. More colourful, less… threatening. I feel like everything will be fine.”

Hermione smiled, surprised at his frankness. 

Xanimus said, “In about two hours, you should be back to your usual perception. Make sure you rest through the afternoon. No strenuous activity.”

Was Xanimus looking at Hermione with a certain glint in his eye? He couldn’t be, right? They didn’t know, did they? 

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up when she finally realised. Switch tents to help Ria fill out forms, sure… Xanimus was very interested in his bowl of stew all of a sudden and Ria quickly hid a grin.

As per healer’s orders, Hermione didn’t join Severus in their cot during the afternoon, instead making a few sketches of the village, the yak, the fields, and the takin. They weren’t very good drawings, but they passed the time. About two hours before dinner, Hermione went to take a nap.

She was awoken by a gentle hand stroking her cheek. Severus said, “It’s almost time for dinner.”

Hermione sat up, blinking, regaining her bearings. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Normal. But… better.”

“That’s good to hear.”

The evening passed in amiable chatter. Hermione was so relieved about Severus’ treatment having gone so well that she didn’t worry about the futility of their journey at all.

But uneasiness crept back into her mind the next day, when Tshering routinely rebuffed their now entirely performative question about an excursion into the mountains. Instead, they embarked on a day of hiking, learning about the natural treasures of the nearby forest. 

As the day wore on, Hermione sensed the increasing nervousness among her friends. Ria was quieter than usual. Xanimus just a bit too happy and animated. Only Severus didn’t show any change in demeanour.

During dinner, the tension became almost unbearable. Xanimus had filled a small knapsack with food and water for the night. After they’d eaten, they sat around the fire, not speaking much, waiting for the moon to rise. 

Chapter Text

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Uneasiness crept back into her mind the next day, when Tshering routinely rebuffed their now entirely performative question about an excursion into the mountains. Instead, they embarked on a day of hiking, learning about the natural treasures of the nearby forest. 

As the day wore on, Hermione sensed the increasing nervousness among her friends. Ria was quieter than usual. Xanimus just a bit too happy and animated. Only Severus didn’t show any change in demeanour.

During dinner, the tension became almost unbearable. Xanimus had filled a small knapsack with food and water for the night. After they’d eaten, they sat around the fire, not speaking much, waiting for the moon to rise.

Around nine-thirty they went into their tents, bidding each other good night. Another hour and a half should be enough to convince Tshering or whoever else may be watching them that they’d really gone to bed. Hermione and Severus lay on the cot, on top of their blankets, quietly going over their plan again.

At eleven, they met Xanimus outside. Without a word, the three of them set off through the darkness, following a similar path Hermione and Severus had when they’d heard the strange sounds. They soon met the path the night-time group of villagers had taken and followed it up the mountain.

The trek had them sweaty and out of breath. Up and up they went, on a path that was barely there, treading carefully so as not to twist their ankles. In between, they listened and cast careful spells to detect signs of large animal life. 

Hermione didn’t even know what she expected, let alone what she hoped they’d find. If there was a herd of white yak, there wouldn’t be much left for them to do than go home. All their stay would have accomplished was finding some signs that things might be amiss. They’d done their best to find out what was going on in this village – but if no one wanted to talk to them, there wasn’t much they could do. After all, it wasn’t their place to force anyone to give up their secrets.

And what if they did find something other than yak? Would they have to confront the villagers, confront Tshering? Had they any right to do that? And whatever it was they found, there was no way of knowing it would be tied to Lockhart at all. 

Hermione took a deep breath. It was no use to let her thoughts spiral now. First, they’d have to find anything at all.

Xanimus, who was leading their little trek, stopped and took off the knapsack to give everyone some water. Once they’d drunk, Severus wordlessly took over the knapsack. 

“We should be close,” Hermione said quietly. “The group Severus and I saw was gone for about two and a half hours. We’ve been walking now for about an hour and a half. If we account for our poor adaptation to this area, but also the fact that they had to presumably take care of an animal, our destination should be around here somewhere.”

Their spells, however, revealed nothing.

“Severus, how far up the mountain do we need to start worrying about the Meh-Teh?” Xanimus asked.

“They normally live on the glaciers, so quite a bit further up. I don’t think we’d even be able to reach the edge of the glacier in one night.”

“Maybe we should traverse instead of going further up? Properly cover this area?” Hermione said.

The other two agreed, and so they turned right, soon finding something that might be another path – or simply an area that was slightly less rocky. Casting spells at regular intervals, they walked for about twenty minutes before stopping again. 

Severus suggested, “Let’s go up a bit and see if there’s anything in the other direction.”

Forty-five minutes later, they still hadn’t found anything. So, they went further, then traversed the mountain in both directions again. Finally, they sat down. Severus distributed some food and the water bottles.

“I don’t get it,” Hermione said. “There must be something here. It sounded like a large animal. That should have shown up with the spells, especially if there’s a herd.”

Severus' eyes widened and he whipped out his wand, toppling backwards as he shot a spell over Xanimus head. Hermione, confused, turned to Xanimus, only to see him being pulled up into the air before he flew a few yards, landing on the rocky ground with a horrible cracking sound. 

Hermione had already shot a stunning spell into the darkness. The spell’s light outlined a large shape on two legs, an utterly grotesque thing of grey flesh and yellow teeth.

Severus grabbed Hermione by the hand and pulled her along, towards where Xanimus still lay. He hoisted up the healer and threw him over his shoulder while Hermione still tried to stop the monster, or at least slow it down.

Severus grabbed her arm and sped up so much Hermione’s feet left the ground. They were half falling, half flying down the mountain. Even so, the thuds of large footsteps and the laboured breathing of the monster sounded right behind them, filling Hermione with terror.

Severus was panting audibly, the exertion of transporting two people while having nothing but thin mountain air to breathe threatening to slow him down. Hermione craned her neck, rattling off all the spells she could. 

She flew forward, making a somersault before splatting down in muddy water. Panicking, she tried to prop herself up, but her hand sank into the ground. Stumbling, she managed to get to her feet, but running was out of the question. She cast her wand light around, not caring if the villagers saw it. Where was the monster, where were Severus and Xanimus?

A groan from her right answered one of the questions. She tried to hurry towards the sound, but her feet sunk into the mud. She fell, dirty water pushing into her nose. Half crawling, half stumbling, she reached Xanimus. His breath rattled when she tried to pull him out of the water, and he moaned in pain. “I can’t—” he breathed.

“Hermione?” Severus voice flooded her with relief. 

“We’re here.”

Splashing and squelching, Severus joined them. “It’s gone, I think. Back up the mountain.”

Hermione took the information in stride, more worried about Xanimus than anything. She panted, her hands in her hair. “He’s in pain. We have to bring him to Ria. Oh fuck, I hope he’ll be all right.” 

Together, working as carefully as they could, they levitated Xanimus onto a conjured stretcher. The man’s groans made the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stand up. If only he’d be okay!

Severus said, “I’ll bring him to Ria, you can put the paddies in order.”

A few minutes later, the rice plants looked like they’d never been disturbed. Wet, shivering and filled with terror, she dragged herself back to their camp. Over the far mountains, a faint purple glow announced the imminent sunrise.

Hermione arrived just as Ria bent over Xanimus, worry etched into her features.

Xanimus groaned, “Just a few broken bones. Punctured lung, maybe.”

Ria got to work, casting spells and administering potions.

Severus turned to Hermione. “We need a shock relief potion and warmth. The potion is in my bag, in the upper left compartment. I’ll rekindle the fire.”

Hermione nodded, repeating the instructions in her head. Mustering her last bit of strength, she went into the tent on wobbly legs. As she stepped inside, a calm that she hadn’t experienced in weeks draped itself over her exhausted mind. The buzzing that the shock had brought into her ears quietened. She stood, basking in this elated state of mind. What had she come to the tent for again?

A soft orange glow lit up a small area and the two people that sat there. Hermione wasn’t surprised to see them – it was only natural that they’d come to find her. 

“Hermione,” said Gilderoy, smiling warmly as he got up, his arms extended. “You’ve worked so hard to find new ingredients for our products these past few months. It is high time you are rewarded for your loyalty.”

Had she really done that? Yes, of course she had. She had vowed to herself to show him her loyalty, her tenacity and intelligence the moment she had set foot in Gilded Aura, and she’d been true to her word. And now, she would be rewarded for it, just like Gilderoy had promised.

Her gaze fell onto the other person, who now approached her hesitatingly. “Please come home, Hermione. I want to be with you. I’ve finally realised my mistakes, and I promise that I will give you everything you want, everything you need.”

“Ron…” Hermione smiled. “I’ve been waiting for so long.”

“Yes, and that’s my fault. But I’ll be better now.”

Hermione nodded. Everything she’d ever wanted would become hers, as it should.

“We need to leave quietly,” Gilderoy cautioned. With a few wand movements, he created another doorway at the back of the tent. Hermione summoned her things, made them shrink and go into her bag helter-skelter. She could sort them when she unpacked. Her stomach made a somersault when she thought about unpacking – she’d be with Ron, and have her dream job. Life was so easy.

Ron led her out of the tent without making a sound. They snuck away into the forest as the sun sent its first rays over the summits. 

They didn’t have to walk long. There, hidden away on a small clearing, stood a carriage drawn by twelve hippogriffs, one more sleek and beautiful than the other. Gilderoy really knew how to travel. 

The inside of the carriage was furnished with wide benches, upholstered in shimmering turquoise velvet. With a wave of his wand, Gilderoy made the backrest recline and conjured a thick comforter. “Sleep, Hermione,” he said. “You deserve some rest.”

She really did. Grateful, she sank onto the soft bed and fell asleep in an instant.

When she awoke, it was dark again. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” said Ron. “Or should I say, good evening? We’re almost home. Here’s dinner, if you’re hungry.”

Was she ever! Just like when she’d had lunch at Gilded Aura, the meal was impossibly delicious, an explosion of taste. Hermione gladly took a second helping.

A question formed in her mind, one she remembered wanting to ask a thousand times but being too afraid – why had she ever been afraid? Ron was hers, had there ever been a doubt about that? “Where will we live?” Inwardly, she laughed at her old, cowardly self.

“Gilderoy has lodgings for us at Gilded Aura. That way, you can focus on your work and won’t ever have to worry about cooking or chores.”

Hermione turned to Gilderoy, her mouth agape with wonder. “That is… that is so kind of you! I don’t know what to say except thank you… How can I ever repay you?”

He chuckled benevolently. “Don’t mention it. I will always take care of my most valued employees.”

After about an hour, the carriage landed gently. Ron held Hermione’s hand as he helped her disembark and didn’t let go on their walk to the manor that Hermione remembered so well from her first enchanted visit.

Walking on clouds, filled with bliss, Hermione followed Ron up a few staircases, down a thickly-carpeted corridor to a dark wooden door. 

Ron unlocked it and invited her in with a sweeping gesture. The room was small and cosy, containing a queen-sized bed, a desk with a chair and a small wardrobe. Ron took her bag and put it on the chair before patting the bed next to him. She could hardly believe that her dream was finally coming true. 

He leaned over to kiss her. She closed her eyes. An image flashed through her mind, piercing her with a sudden onslaught of emotions. Gasping, she drew back. 

“What is it?” asked Ron, his eyebrows drawn together.

“Nothing… I think.” She put one hand on her head. “Just… a memory or something.”

Ron gave her a sympathetic look. “The people you were with when we rescued you had held you hostage for a while and brainwashed you. Gilderoy said it’s likely that you’ll experience symptoms, but they should get better with time.”

“That’s good.” She smiled. “I know I just slept for a long time, but I’m actually quite tired again. Would you mind terribly if I went to bed?”

A brief emotion flickered over Ron’s face, but he quickly smiled. “Of course. Tomorrow, you’ll feel much better.”

Hermione fished her toiletry bag from the depths of her suitcase. 

“The bathroom is down the hall,” Ron said.

It was a little bit like Hogwarts – a row of four sinks, a few toilet stalls and, in an adjacent room, two showers. Hermione yawned, taking the necessities out of her toiletry bag without paying much attention. Her eyelids drooping, she brushed her teeth, put on face cream and smeared a streak of her salve underneath her nose. In the middle of the movement, she frowned. 

She caught herself with her hands on the sink, breathing deeply. Images flashed past her inner eye, accompanied by wild, confused emotions. They were gone in an instant. 

The feeling passed and serenity returned. She collected her things and went to her and Ron’s room. She was already feeling giddy again – she was living with Ron! And she’d finally gotten her dream job! Life had never been better.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Last time:

“The bathroom is down the hall,” Ron said.

It was a little bit like Hogwarts – a row of four sinks, a few toilet stalls and, in an adjacent room, two showers. Hermione yawned, taking the necessities out of her toiletry bag without paying much attention. Her eyelids drooping, she brushed her teeth, put on face cream and smeared a streak of her salve underneath her nose. In the middle of the movement, she frowned. 

She caught herself with her hands on the sink, breathing deeply. Images flashed past her inner eye, accompanied by wild, confused emotions. They were gone in an instant. 

The feeling passed and serenity returned. She collected her things and went to her and Ron’s room. She was already feeling giddy again – she was living with Ron! And she’d finally gotten her dream job! Life had never been better.

“The bathroom is down the hall,” Ron said.

It was a little bit like Hogwarts – a row of four sinks, a few toilet stalls and, in an adjacent room, two showers. Hermione yawned, taking the necessities out of her toiletry bag without paying much attention. Her eyelids drooping, she brushed her teeth, put on face cream and smeared a streak of her salve underneath her nose. In the middle of the movement, she frowned. 

She caught herself with her hands on the sink, breathing deeply. Images flashed past her inner eye, accompanied by wild, confused emotions. They were gone in an instant. 

The feeling passed and serenity returned. She collected her things and went to her and Ron’s room. She was already feeling giddy again – she was living with Ron! And she’d finally gotten her dream job! Life had never been better.

Hermione jerked awake, drenched in sweat. She stumbled out of bed, knocking her head on a wall as she frantically tried to find her way to a window. She was suffocating – she needed air, now.

Finally, a vague shape, slightly brighter than its surroundings, became visible. Two steps brought her to the window, and she jerked it open, greedily sucking in the cool night air.

As her heart rate slowed, memories of the day before came into focus. 

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. It couldn’t be! It had been a nightmare, hadn’t it? Panic welling up, she made her way along the wall until she found a light switch. She clapped her hand to her mouth, stifling a desperate sob when she saw Ron, entangled in the comforter, snoring softly.

They’d gotten her. They must have dispersed the love potion in her tent so she’d inhaled it when she’d come in. It had been almost twenty-four hours since she’d applied the salve, making her susceptible to the love potion. Why, why had she not put it on before they had gone into the mountain?

Severus… had they gotten to him too? Ria, Xanimus? Hermione sunk onto the chair, her mind racing. Lockhart and Ron had left with her barely half an hour after entering her tent, and had been with her the entire time. There hadn’t been anyone else in the carriage flying back with them. But what if people had waited for them in the other tent, too?

Come to think of the carriage – how was Lockhart allowed to fly in and out of Bhutan whenever he pleased? Did he bribe someone? Was there some kind of sophisticated charm on the carriage?

Her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. A suffocating tingle that started in her hands and feet crept up her limbs, threatening to engulf her completely. She had to know if Severus was safe, and Ria and Xanimus too. She needed to get out of here. 

Forcing her breath to calm down, she waited for the pins and needles to subside. As quietly as she could, she pulled on some clothes over her pyjamas, took her things and snuck out the door, turning off the light on her way.

Miraculously, they hadn’t taken her wand – they probably hadn’t seen the need, given that they thought she was made docile by a potent love potion. She cast a few camouflage and noise cancelling charms on herself before descending the stairs, hoping that she’d be able to leave the manor without tripping any alerts Lockhart may have in place.

Halfway down the stairs, a thought crossed her mind. What about Ron? Even if he thought he wanted her back, he would never have agreed to immediately live with her, let alone in such a cramped space. He had to be drugged too. And while Ron had acted like an absolute ass, he didn’t deserve this. 

But he wasn’t her problem anymore. She had to know her friends were safe. Only one more flight of stairs to freedom. Only when she’d already pointed her wand at the front door did it cross her mind that the door would definitely be secured in some way. She turned and went to find the room where Petra had introduced Gilded Aura to her all those months ago. The windows probably wouldn’t have alarms.

A simple spell unlocked the door. The shape of the miniscule river running down the middle of the large table was just visible in the darkness. There were the French windows leading into the garden. In half a minute, she’d be out of here.

But she just stood there, staring into the empty room. Lockhart thought she was under his control entirely. She was inside his operation, and free from suspicion. She’d never be this close to the source again. And what if Severus, Ria and Xanimus were here, too? The thought ran through her like ice water.

She slowly retraced her steps, back through the entrance hall and up the stairs, all the while trying not to panic, not to second-guess herself. She’d stay here just long enough to find them, and then get out with them. If only they were safe…

And then there was Ron… Should she give him the salve, release him from the influence of the love potion? But then she’d have to tell him about her plan – it was laughable to think Ron would be on board with a rescue mission for Severus. As much as the thought made her shiver, the safest option was to leave Ron drugged. 

She snuck into the room and slipped under the covers. Everything here felt cold and foreign. She lay stiff, repulsed by the very bedding that surrounded her, and only fell asleep when the sun was already rising.

It was a very short time later that Ron gently woke her. “It’s your first day of work,” he beamed. “You don’t want to be late.” 

“Good morning,” she said, doing her best to seem serene and mindlessly happy. 

Feeling out of her depth, Hermione wandered down the hall. The bathroom greeted her with glaring neon lights coming from above the row of washbasins. Yesterday, the light had seemed warm and inviting.

There were two other women there, which came as a mild shock. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one here working for food and board.

One of the women she recognized from her first visit to Gilded Aura. Her name was Babette, Hermione recalled. Babette, however, showed no signs of recognizing her in return. 

Hermione put her wand and cosmetic bag on the small shelf above the sink and took out her toothbrush and toothpaste. As she started brushing, she noticed the other two staring at her in the mirror. She spit out the toothpaste and smiled at them, her eyes wide.

“We don’t take our wands with us,” Babette said, not unkindly. “We leave them in our rooms. You’re new, aren’t you?”

Hermione nodded.

“Do you already know where you will work? I’m in packaging and Elena is in customer service.”

“I don’t know yet. Today’s my first day.”

“You’ll love it! Everyone here is so welcoming and friendly! And the food is divine!”

“I’m really looking forward to it,” said Hermione. “Don’t we need our wands for work?”

“No,” Elena piped up, “Working with our hands and minds teaches us to be self-sufficient and humble. Using magic for everyday tasks is a crutch that makes us weaker.”

Hermione had trouble keeping herself from snorting, nodding politely instead. When she was done at the sink, she went into one of the toilet stalls – to pee, but also to apply the neutralising salve underneath her nose.

Only fifteen minutes later, Hermione found out that the taste of the food at Gilded Aura had to be heavily influenced by the love potion too, for the porridge was average at best. The fruit was fresh, at least, although some of it was a bit on the unripe side. All around her, however, people sighed in bliss and assured each other how wonderful it tasted.

The chatter died down and everyone turned their attention to one entrance. “Good morning, good morning,” Lockhart said, his handsome voice reverberating through the large room. “I hope you’re all ready for another productive day here at Gilded Aura.”

Hermione jumped when people started clapping and whooping, and quickly joined in.

Lockhart, beaming, walked down the dais between tables, all eyes following him. Belatedly, Hermione realised he was heading exactly for where she was. Her smile froze. Had he found out she’d attempted to run away last night? Would he make an example of her?

But just as he had arrived at her side, he turned to face the room at large, saying, “I’d like to introduce our new member, Hermione. She’ll be working at the lab.”

People applauded again, although this time it seemed more out of politeness than genuine happiness – as genuine as happiness induced by a love potion could be.

“Come with me,” said Lockhart to Hermione, who promptly jumped up, aware of dozens of pairs of eyes following her. 

“How was your first night?” he asked.

“Good,” she forced herself to say. Lockhart gave her a shrewd glance and Hermione quickly course-corrected. “It’s so wonderful to finally have a place where Ron and I can be together. I’m so grateful, I can’t thank you enough.”

This seemed to satisfy him, for he chuckled and said, “My pleasure. Now, let me introduce you to your workplace.” He opened the door to the lab Hermione had seen on her first visit. Lockhart showed her to a workbench. There was perhaps a foot and a half of free space between the work areas of her bench neighbours, who weren’t there yet. 

“You will be doing the grease extraction.” Lockhart put down a plastic tub, yellowed from repeated wash and use cycles, that was filled with a brown-greyish substance. “And here is the protocol.” He handed her a sheet of parchment. “Do one batch according to the instructions, then bring the extract to me. If it is as pure as it needs to be, you will be allowed to continue with this work.”

Hermione had a dozen questions, but didn’t dare ask them. Instead, she smiled and nodded. Lockhart retreated to another corner of the lab. 

The process she had to complete to extract whatever it was he wanted from the greasy substance seemed straightforward enough – the necessary skills were barely more than what Hogwarts students did in their third year of potions lessons.

When she read the protocol a second time, something dawned on her – what if this was skin grease of the Meh-Teh? Would Lockhart be so callous to let her work on the very thing she had been investigating? Although it might be his idea of a cruel joke, shoving the solution to her investigations in her face while he thought she was incapable of recognising them for what they were.

At first, the work was almost enjoyable – just the right amount of challenging, yet easy enough to reassure her that she’d succeed. But then, more and more people arrived in the lab to start their day and Hermione learned just how little elbow space she really had. She constantly had to manoeuvre around other people and apologise for bumping into them. By the time she was done with the first batch, she was sweating with the sheer stress of having such an inconvenient and noisy workplace.

But she kept up her serene smile when she brought the extract, a clear fluid with just a hint of pink, to Lockhart. He accepted the vial, looked at it critically, and said, “You may go back to your bench. I will let you know if you succeeded in a short while.”

Nodding and smiling, she did as she was told. On her way back, she chanced a few looks at her coworkers. Everyone was focused entirely on their task, no one talked, or even looked at their bench mates. 

Soon, Lockhart approached her, saying, “Your work is adequate. You may continue.” 

Hermione kept working, her elbows tucked to her sides. For a moment, she contemplated sneaking some of the grease out of the lab, but that seemed impossible. Her workspace was in clear sight of at least two other people, and she didn’t have a container to put it in. 

After a few hours of feverish work, A gong chimed. Chatter broke out and everyone tidied up their work areas. Hermione imitated them and then followed them out of the lab, down the hall and back into the dining room. She craned her neck, trying to spot Severus, Ria and Xanimus in the crowd, but couldn’t find them.

She talked to the people she ended up sitting with, one of them a man – while they were a minority at Gilded Aura, they were still more numerous than Hermione had expected. “How long have you been working here?” she asked him.

“Just a few weeks,” he said, “isn’t it wonderful? The work Gilderoy does is so important.” He went on to introduce the other people at their table, all of whom had also been at Gilded Aura for less than two months. Come to think of it, the lab had seemed much less crowded the last time Hermione had been here – Lockhart seemed to have upscaled his operation considerably in the meantime. Although, of course, she’d been in an altered state of mind back then, so maybe her perception hadn’t been accurate.

After only twenty minutes, the gong went off again. As one, everyone gathered their plates and cups and brought them to a window, where they were promptly taken away by the kitchen staff.

The afternoon dragged on as Hermione repeated the same processes over and over again, still wedged between her coworkers. During dinner, she took as much time as she dared to look around, but her friends were nowhere to be seen. Her chest constricted. Where were Severus, Ria and Xanimus?

Feeling miserable, she sat with Elena and Babette, barely hearing what they talked about. Once dinner was over, all Hermione wanted was to go to bed. Only then did she remember that Ron would be there. Where had he been all day? She was exhausted and the thought of having to keep up the charade for Ron filled her with dread. 

She trudged up the stairs, up and up until she arrived at the dark wooden door to a room that barely felt like hers, let alone like home. In her miserably tired state, she had to muster all her strength to push down the brass door handle. The door stuck, too. Shitty old thing.

She tried again, but the door didn’t budge. Had Ron locked it? Putting her hands to her face, she slid down the doorframe and sat on the floor, breathing deeply through the gap between her hands. She couldn’t take much more. When the fuck would Ron be back?

“What are you doing?” A voice roused her. Hastily, she stood up. “The seminar is starting, come on.” Babette turned right back around and started running down the stairs. Her exhaustion momentarily drowned by bewilderment, Hermione followed.

Babette kept running, leading her into an auditorium that was almost entirely filled. Babette urged her on, finding seats halfway down and ushering her into the row. Elena, who had apparently kept the seats for them, hissed something Hermione didn’t quite catch. 

A hush went through the rows and all eyes turned to the front, where Lockhart stood. “Yes, silence, please,” he said, seeming not quite pleased with how long it took for everyone to focus on him.

“Good, now I can begin. What I want to talk about today is taking responsibility. The more people that join us, the more diverse Gilded Aura gets, which brings its own challenges. Those of you who have been here from very early on know how we work, what we expect from everyone we take on.

“Here at Gilded Aura, we do great things. You, all of you as you sit here, have the privilege to be part of something great. Let that sink in. The privilege . To be part . Of something great . That doesn’t just happen to anyone, you know. You are very lucky.” He flashed his perfect teeth. It was probably meant as a smile, but all Hermione could see was a predator’s grin.

“And given how lucky you are it really irks me to hear that people are unhappy here. We, I, are not giving you any reason to be unhappy! On the contrary! I have developed this company from the ground up, have painstakingly worked out all the knowledge that makes our products possible – and therefore, this life that you’re leading right now!

“So, the only reason I can come up with why anyone would be unhappy here is that you are living in a delusion. And that is the opposite of what I’m teaching you. You are awake! The more time you spend around our products and our company, the more enlightened you should be! There’s thousands of people who can attest to the fact that our products work – if you don’t feel their profound effect, you must be closing yourself off.

“Life doesn’t get any better than life at Gilded Aura. If you feel bad here, you’d feel bad anywhere. It’s you that is doing this to yourself. You need to look inward. Ask yourself, ‘Why do I want to feel bad? Why do I not want to open up to the gifts of Gilded Aura? Why do I insist on casting myself as the victim?’ You are stronger than your weak emotions, you have control over how you react to anything that happens to you. It’s your responsibility to stop playing the victim and start actively living your life.”

Hermione blinked. She hadn’t seen a single unhappy face all day. Everyone always did what they were told, smiling vacantly. Was that still not enough for Lockhart? Everyone around her just sat, looking at him almost rapturously, some nodding.

He already had them drugged into submission, but apparently, he still wanted them to question themselves, try to be even more submissive, work even harder. How much of Lockhart’s words reached them on a subconscious level, how much damage was he doing in the long run? Would his “teachings” still be ingrained once the people were off the love potion?

After forty-five minutes of Lockhart droning on and on about the miracles he worked and how selfish it was for people not to appreciate how wonderful their lives were because of it, they were finally allowed to leave. Everyone was chatting animatedly, showing no signs of tiredness.

Instead of dispersing and going upstairs to the living quarters, people continued along the corridor and filed into two rooms. Hermione tried not to despair as she randomly joined one of the lines.

This auditorium was smaller, offering seats for about a hundred people. Like in an amphitheatre, the seats were arranged in a circle almost all around the central area, where Petra now took her place. “All right, everyone, whose turn is it to receive the gift of self-actualisation today?”

A man in the first row, across from where Hermione sat, shyly raised his hand. She recognized him as her bench neighbour in the lab. 

“Yes, Tim, come on down here,” said Petra, making an inviting gesture. Hermione raised her hands to clap, but everyone else just stared at Tim.

“Who has something to say that will help Tim access his true inner self?”

Petra pointed at one of the numerous raised hands. 

“Tim,” the woman said, “The way your glasses are always dirty is a bit disgusting. You should clean them more often.”

“Thank you,” Tim replied evenly.

Next, a man said, “I can’t stand the way your trousers are too long. The hems get all muddy and torn because you step on them all the time. It’s just not proper.”

“Thank you,” said Tim, his expression unchanged.

Another woman said, “It disrupts my work when you drop something or tip something over. It just happens too often. You need to be more careful with your work.”

Again, Tim replied, “Thank you.”

On and on they went, piling on criticism after criticism until no one had anything else to say to Tim. He sat down, his face looking just as neutral as it had the entire time. Someone else came to the front and the display started over.

Hermione’s head was reeling. What good could this exercise possibly do? From the routine way in which people hurled barely-concealed insults at the person in the centre – who just took it, smiling and thanking their attacker – it was clear that this was a regular event. 

After six people had been humiliated, the nightmare was over. Now, finally, people headed upstairs. Hermione walked slowly, hanging back, afraid she’d have to follow the throng to yet another horrid group event. But, mercifully, they all disappeared into their rooms.

The door to her room was open this time, and Ron was there, lying in bed reading a magazine. He jumped up when Hermione came in and, before she could react, embraced her. “How was your first day?” he asked. 

She forced a smile, saying, “Brilliant. I learned so much. Have you been here long?”

“Just a couple of hours, waiting for you…” He grinned meaningfully.

“I see,” Hermione giggled. “Do you work here too?” She knew he didn’t, but he was coming awfully close and she had to distract him somehow.

“No, Gilderoy was kind enough to let me live here just so we could be together. I’m still an Auror.”

“Right.” Hermione smiled, not knowing what to say next. 

Ron put his arms on her shoulders, linking his fingers behind her neck. His eyelids drooped as he moved in for a kiss. Hermione only just withstood the reflex to push his face away or dive out from under his arms. With clenched teeth and stiff lips, she accepted the kiss, breaking contact as quickly as she could.

“I, um… I’m kind of tired. It was a long day. I’d like to turn in.”

Ron’s face fell, but he let her go. Once she’d gotten ready for the night – and reapplied the salve – she crawled into bed, trying to stay as far away from him as possible. “Night,” she said, switching off the light. 

She should have fallen asleep instantly, given how exhausted she was, but now that she had time to think, Severus came from the place in her mind where she’d kept him carefully hidden all day, and quickly filled her entire being with longing. She curled up, trying to keep the pain in her heart from breaking her open. If she cried, Ron would know something was amiss. In his own potion-addled state, he might not be able to put together the pieces, but it would be enough to rouse his suspicion.

Hermione knew now that Severus wasn’t here – at least not out in the open. Could Lockhart have imprisoned him somewhere? But at that thought, Hermione’s common sense protested – Severus had easily bested Lockhart in that duel during Hermione’s second year. Even if Lockhart had become more cunning in the years since, his skill and intelligence couldn’t measure up to Severus’. That, at least, she was quite sure of.

No, Severus had gotten away and was safe somewhere. The certainty of it flooded her body, putting her at ease for the first time since she’d been abducted. A plan began to form in her mind while she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Last time:

Hermione knew now that Severus wasn’t here – at least not out in the open. Could Lockhart have imprisoned him somewhere? But at that thought, Hermione’s common sense protested – Severus had easily bested Lockhart in that duel during Hermione’s second year. Even if Lockhart had become more cunning in the years since, his skill and intelligence couldn’t measure up to Severus’. That, at least, she was quite sure of.

No, Severus had gotten away and was safe somewhere. The certainty of it flooded her body, putting her at ease for the first time since she’d been abducted. A plan began to form in her mind while she drifted off to sleep.

Much too early, she was woken up. Babette and Elena were in the bathroom again, among others, greeting her with an indecent amount of happy energy. Being under the influence of a love potion at all times had its perks. Back in her room, Hermione had to accept another kiss from Ron. Was it her imagination or was he more insistent this time?

A little excited about beginning to carry out her plan, she went down to breakfast, seeking out Babette and Elena to sit with them.

“Wow, you’re not too concerned about your health, are you?” Said Babette, looking at Hermione’s porridge bowl with big, round eyes.

The way she’d said it made Hermione’s stomach twinge. “What do you mean?”

“Calorie restriction is the only way to restore your natural, beautiful body and keep up your health until old age,” Babette replied, sounding like she was reciting words she’d heard many times. The people sitting around them now also stared at Hermione’s bowl, nodding earnestly at Babette’s words.

“Right, uh… right.” Hermione’s face felt hot. She had to imagine herself standing in the middle of the amphitheatre-like room, having people tell her how disgusting it was that she ate so much. The idea alone was enough to make a lump grow in her throat. She swallowed, her eyes watering as she kept up her vacant smile. “I must not have paid attention while serving myself. I will do better at lunch.”

This seemed to put everyone at ease. They turned back to their own food and started up their chatter again. Hermione, however, was thrown off so much she didn’t manage to steer the conversation in the direction she needed. 

Her work at the lab was the same as the day before. The steps of the protocol for the grease extraction became more and more familiar. Boredom would take over soon. To delay the inevitable, she watched her bench neighbour Tim out of the corner of her eyes. He really did seem a little clumsy. His movements were almost haphazard, as if it was his hands themselves – not his mind – who decided where they wanted to go and what they wanted to do. He was simply a witness to it, having little control over the process. 

The hours crept away like molasses before lunch finally came. But luck was not on her side. Neither for lunch nor dinner did she manage to find a seat with Babette and Elena. The evening had her stare at Lockhart as he doled out advice about how to manipulate people into buying his rubbish products, and try to keep the horror out of her expression while six more people were eviscerated by their peers.

Exhausted yet again, and troubled about her lack of success in carrying out her plan, she went to her room. This time, she was sure that Ron’s kiss was more forceful, that his arms held her a little tighter, more reluctant to let her go. She managed to placate him again – but it might have been the last time.

The next day threatened to become a repetition of the one before, if Hermione hadn’t had an idea during the afternoon. She ran from the lab when the dinner bell rang and pushed her way through to Elena before she could enter the dining hall.

“Hey,” Hermione said, out of breath. “I was wondering if you would be up to skip dinner.”

Elena gave her a blank look

“I wanted to kick-start my journey to achieve my natural body,” Hermione explained, cobbling together the words she thought might hit the right nerve. “And it’s so hard to be disciplined on my own, so I was wondering whether you’d be my… accountability buddy.” 

It worked. Elena’s face lit up, “A challenge. Yes, I’m up for that. No more food until tomorrow!”

Hermione grinned, trying to keep the pain out of her eyes. “Yes. Brilliant. Um, I think I’ll need a distraction, though. You’re in customer service, right? That seems fascinating, your job must be so complex! Do you get a lot of letters?”

Hermione walked away from the dining hall, Elena following her as she talked. “Oh yes, it’s very busy. We mostly process the orders of the sales reps, sort the order forms according to products and order volume and all that. I’m never bored.”

“That sounds great! Do the orders come mostly by owl? Do people send their own owls or does Gilded Aura have birds, too?”

“Most people use their own owls, or post office ones. Gilderoy has his own bird, of course, but we don’t use that.”

Hermione made her face light up as if she’d only just had an idea. “Could you maybe show me the customer service office? I feel like I really don’t know enough about Gilded Aura yet, with being new and all.”

A small crease appeared between Elena’s brows. “I’m not sure if we’re allowed… I’ve never been anywhere other than the dining hall during dinner time.”

“I’m sure your initiative to show a newcomer the way through the manor will be appreciated,” Hermione said vaguely. “I’m so bad at finding my way, I’m always afraid I’ll be late for work.”

“I mean… I suppose I could walk you to the customer service office and back. We won’t go inside.”

“That’s great, thank you!”

The manor was more labyrinthian than the outside let on – magic very likely played a role in that. Hermione almost had to jog to keep up with Elena, while frantically reciting in her mind every turn they took,  every staircase they climbed or descended. Elena remained true to her word, showing Hermione the closed doors and nothing more.

They were just on time for the seminar, joining the very end of the throng of people filing in. “Oh no, the last row,” whispered Elena. “They’ll make a note of that.”

They had barely sat down when Petra called the room to attention and began a monologue about the ins and outs of Gilded Aura. Hermione had her eyes glued to the woman, but her mind was in the customer service office.

Her eyes started watering. She was so incredibly tired. To think that just a few days ago, she’d been halfway around the world, hidden away in the Himalayas… and yet, not hidden well enough. 

For the first time since she’d been kidnapped, the true scope of what was happening to her sunk in. She’d only just found Severus, and had been brutally ripped away from him. A belt of thorns wrapped around her heart and tears welled up in her eyes. She hated that she would have to sleep right next to Ron again in just a few hours. She longed for Severus so much it hurt her entire being.

“Quickly, let’s get to self-actualisation,” Elena urged. “If we’re in the first row, it will make up for being in the last row just now.”

Seeing, up close, the blank expression on the faces of those who were subjected to the group-shaming kicked up a whole new slew of emotions. Horror and disgust, but also a perverted kind of marvel that momentarily distracted her from her grief. The people standing in front being shamed by everyone around them really did seem fine with it all. But somewhere deep in their subconscious, this onslaught of criticism was surely forging neuronal pathways that would impact these poor souls for years to come. 

Steeling herself, Hermione went into her room. Ron was on her immediately, pulling her into his arms and pressing his mouth to hers. Her protests sounded feeble, uttered through her clenched teeth.

Holding her hand, Ron led her to the bed and crawled into it, beckoning for her to follow.

She sat on the edge, smiling stiffly. “Oh, I’m so tired, aren’t you?”

“Aw, come on, just really quickly? We haven’t shagged in such a long time.”

It took her everything she had to not physically recoil. She would absolutely not sleep with Ron, even to keep her cover. Not only was the thought horrifying, it would have been wildly unethical to sleep with someone who was under the influence of a love potion. 

Ron leaned forward and stretched out his hand to her, pouting and making puppy-dog eyes. A pendant that hung from a chain around his neck caught Hermione’s eye.

“Oh, that’s an interesting amulet. I didn’t know you wore jewellery.”

He looked down, distracted for the moment. “Oh, that. It’s got an invigorating effect. Gilderoy gave it to me.”

So this was how they kept Ron dosed with the love potion even when he wasn’t in the manor.

“Come here now, Hermione, don’t make me wait.”

“I almost forgot – I’m on my period.”

Ron’s face fell, and Hermione inwardly sagged with relief. This would buy her a week.

It took her all the willpower she had to not fall asleep as she waited for Ron to doze off. Once she was convinced he was down, she cast a waking charm on herself. 

At two in the morning, she groggily got out of bed. Armed with a warming charm and some camouflage spells, she made her way to the customer service office, carefully recalling the way there. Wait… had it been two left and a right or one left and two rights? She tried the first option. Yes, that staircase looked familiar. Up, then right, up again, through that doorway and— Yes, she’d made it.

A simple Alohomora unlocked the door to the customer service office. Perverse as it was, Hermione had a brief moment of gratitude for the love potion – If everyone was on a potent drug making them perfectly compliant, security measures weren’t necessary.

Now, she had to wait. Sitting by the large window, she could just see the perches of various sizes adorning the wall outside, allowing owls to land and deliver letters to the box that was fitted into a hole in the wall.

The silence of the manor was oppressive. Hermione jumped at even the smallest sound, whipping her head around, her heart rate spiking. In the darkness, time seemed to pass much more slowly.

Finally, the silhouette of a large bird soared past the window. There was some scratching and clattering as the owl deposited its cargo in the letterbox – just enough time for Hermione to open the window and say, “I have a letter to deliver.”

The owl gave her a brief, disdainful glance and took off – it was someone’s own bird, not one of the Wizard Post Office’s. 

So, Hermione kept waiting. The initial mixture of terror and excitement that had kept her alert started to wane off and she felt the exhaustion of the long day. To think that tomorrow would be exactly the same, just like the day after it, and the day after that… What a miserable existence.

Another owl swooped and landed on a perch. Hermione threw the window open again to offer her business. This time, the bird dutifully entered – after dropping off its letter – and sat on the desk before her, stretching out its leg. Hermione paid the postage fee and fixed her letter to the bird’s leg. With a breath of relief, she watched it fly off into the night.

Her message only said, 

You stole a car.
— Dana Scully

It was cryptic but she was positive Severus would remember their conversation from the plane, and the fateful night after she’d first visited Gilded Aura.

She hated to admit it to herself but she felt pride when she only took a small portion at breakfast. It would barely fill the hole in her stomach that skipping dinner had left… and that, too, made her feel good. She didn’t want this, she wanted to not bloody care about a bit of abdominal fat, she wanted to love her body… but Ron’s derisive words from the beach were still loud in her mind. Telling herself she was doing it for the sake of keeping her cover, she ate her four spoonfuls of porridge.

Lockhart came in again and prowled through the rows, introducing another newcomer before everyone went to their respective workplaces. Hermione stood shoulder to shoulder with her coworkers again, extracting the pinkish liquid from grease that may or may not have come from the Meh-Teh. Tim upset a vial and apologised profusely.

In the afternoon, it began to dawn on her: Now that she had been removed as a threat, she was just one of the herd. Lockhart had put her somewhere where she was easy to control and then all but forgotten about her. Of course, she hadn’t truly expected him to put her in a challenging position, to actually use her intelligence… but it stung nonetheless.

Her only distraction was her ever-increasing anxiety. Severus should have gotten her note in the morning. How much preparation would he need before he could come to find her? Hours? Days? How would he even reach her? From her message, all he could deduce was the building – he didn’t know which part of the building, let alone which room she was in at any time. Should she have been more specific? But then, she may have incriminated herself.

Severus may not even have got the message. There may be a protective barrier around the manor that intercepted any letters that didn’t have the Gilded Aura seal. Off the top of her head, Hermione could think of about a dozen pretty simple ways to thwart any unauthorised communication with the outside world.

The thought almost made her lose hope. Unseeingly, she stared at Lockhart during the seminar, and the poor souls who were being group-shamed today.

Even more tired than yesterday, she dragged herself to her room. She opened the door. There was Ron, waiting for her.

“Hermione.” He stood up. Just one look and tears welled up in Hermione’s eyes. She flew at him, throwing herself into his arms with a stifled sob. Under her, his body changed, growing taller and thinner.

“How did you find me so quickly?” She looked up at Severus.

“You may not like the answer.”

“You used Legilimency on Ron, I assume? And confunded him?”

Severus nodded once, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “He’s safe. I will reset his memory. But that means we don’t have much time, otherwise he’ll notice the gap.”

“The poor fool…” Hermione shook her head, then looked at Severus again, drinking in every detail of his face. 

“Are you all right?” he asked, taking her hand.

She laid her hand on his, nodding. “They’re working everyone to the bone, making sure there’s no time to think, and filling their minds with propaganda. I’m just as tired as everyone else, but the salve helps with the propaganda.”

Severus turned to retrieve something from a satchel on his belt – more of the salve. She smiled weakly, feeling guilty and grateful at the same time. They were quiet for a while, their bodies leaning against each other, finding solace in what little time they had together.

After a while, Severus said, “You don’t have to do this. You don’t owe anyone anything.”

Hermione chuckled humourlessly. “This isn’t just about the Meh-Teh anymore, or people being scammed out of their money. Lockhart’s tendrils touch and spoil the lives of so many people. And he believes that I’m fully under his control, firmly subdued. I’ll never get a chance like this again.”

She took a deep breath. “I think Lockhart has me working on the Meh-Teh’s skin grease. It got me thinking about that night… the monster that chased us… Was it a shaved Meh-Teh?”

“I believe so.”

“Fuck. That poor beast. And the poor people who have to risk their lives hunting it, subduing it, shaving it…” She slowly shook her head before looking up at Severus. “I need to stop Lockhart.”

Severus nodded, his black eyes softly looking into hers. “You’re not alone in this. My wonderful, brave Hermione.” He cupped her cheek in his hand.

Her eyes filled with tears again and she leaned forward to kiss him. How wonderfully soft and fragrant he was, how everything about him drew her to him, made her want to sink into him forever… Soon, she told herself. She would find all the information that they needed, and then she would blow this thing wide open.

They broke apart, Severus’s hand still on her face. 

Hermione swallowed. “I know it’s only been a few days, but I miss you so much. This place feels so unsafe and I have nowhere, no time to be myself at all.”

Severus nodded sympathetically, his forehead wrinkled with concern.

“Oh, listen to me whining about a few days of having to pretend,” Hermione laughed dryly. “You’ve had to live like this for years.”

“I made room for myself after a while. But we’ll make sure that you won’t be here long enough for that. I miss you very much too.” 

His words settled like a soft, warm glow in Hermione’s chest.  

“And something else…” he got up, switched off the lights and opened the window, then tapped his wand to one of the stones just below the windowsill. A small box appeared. “If you tap your wand to it now, it will appear only for you. We can use this to communicate; my owl will be able to access it.”

Hermione smiled as she tapped her wand to the box. Knowing that she wouldn’t be entirely alone, at least in spirit, made her heart a little lighter. Another tap let the box disappear.

“If it’s safe to do so – and only if it’s safe – you can collect a sample of the grease and send it to me.” He took a few small vials out of his satchel and handed them to her. 

She slipped them into her pocket before sitting down again. “Are Ria and Xanimus safe?”

“Yes, I don’t think Lockhart realised they were even there. He must have thought you and I each had our own tent.”

“Didn’t he do anything to your tent, then?”

“Oh yes, he did. There were runes placed at the entrance. However, Ria went in first, and she’s quite a bit shorter than I am… She did end up with a nasty bout of vertigo for about a day, barely knowing which way was up, but luckily, Xanimus - after he was healed - and I could set her right. If I had gone into the tent first, my brain would have been fried.”

“Shit. Lockhart is such a sick fuck.”

Severus looked at her, but Hermione stopped him before he could speak. “Yes, I’m sure I want to stay here and see this through.”

Seeming a bit defeated, he nodded, exhaling. He cupped her face to kiss her one last time. A swig from a small flask made him morph back into Ron, and a quick spell adjusted his clothes. “I will see you very soon. When Weasley comes back, ask him how his walk was.”

Hermione nodded, a lump growing in her throat when Severus closed the door behind himself. But they were back in contact now, which was the most important thing of all. The thought still had her smiling gently when the real Ron came back. He beamed when he saw her.

“Did you enjoy your walk?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s good to get some fresh air after a long day of work.” He pecked her on the lips. “Hey, um, now that I’m on the topic of stressful workdays… do you think you could…” He pointedly looked down his front.

“Oh, er, I’m on my period, remember?”

“Well, I’m not.” Ron grinned. “But really, could you? I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Ron…” Hermione squirmed, hoping he interpreted it as shyness. “We only just started living together. Shouldn’t we take it slow? You know, start properly this time?”

“You used to want to do it all the time. And you kept nagging me about being in a committed relationship. Now I gave in to you and you’re keeping me on short supply. That’s not really fair, is it?”

A flash of anger almost let her smile slip. “I’m sorry, Ron, I don’t mean to deprive you of anything. I’m just not really settled in yet, you know? Just give me a little more time, yeah?”

“Fine,” he sighed. Soon after that, he went to take a shower. 

Hermione knew that her time was running out. 

The next day, she went to the lab early to try and swipe a bit of the grease before her colleagues came – but Lockhart was already there, perching on his stool, scribbling in a ledger. He was angled so that Hermione couldn’t be sure whether he saw her hands. So, she had to simply play along, happily say “good morning,” and get to work.

The day drudged on just like the ones before. During the seminar, Hermione at least got the chance to write a few lines to Severus under the guise of writing down what Petra said. She kept it vague, simply saying that she’d “keep trying” to indicate her lack of success in getting a sample, and that she thought of him all the time.

Writing this had taken all of ten minutes. Now, she was reduced to staring at Petra, trying not to die of boredom. Up close, the woman wasn’t as otherworldly a beauty as Hermione remembered – yet another courtesy of the love potion. She looked like a regular person in very nice clothes and tasteful jewellery. 

Although the pendant she wore was maybe a little big for her otherwise understated style. Now that Hermione looked at it, it actually resembled the one Ron wore. A lot. Was Petra being dosed with the love potion as well? Hermione would have thought that Petra, at least, was in on the scam. And why would she have to be dosed if she was in the building all the time? 

Maybe she had developed a tolerance. She’d been working with Lockhart the longest of everyone here by far, so it would make sense if the love potion didn’t work as well on her anymore. Lockhart would have to give her an extra dose. Hermione wondered whether that didn’t impair Petra’s work performance.

Hermione suffered through the group shaming session, idly wondering when it would be her turn. She’d just have to make sure to be gone before anyone could pick up on any of her annoying habits.

Tired to her bones, she trudged back to her room. The Ron that waited for her was the real one. Against all common sense, she’d held on to a tiny glimmer of hope that Severus would be there again. But of course, it would be dangerous for both of them if he kept coming here, kept confunding Ron.

Ron put down his magazine, a strange intensity in his eyes. “I’ve been thinking. I’ve sacrificed a lot to be here. Do you think I want to live in a tiny room like this, with no privacy? Don’t you think I’d like to own things, and have space where I can put them?”

“Um…” The way he’d squared his shoulders made her cautious.

He came to her, staring into her eyes. “I am here only for you. So you can have your dream job and the relationship you wanted. You have everything now, and I had to sacrifice so much for it. The least you can do is to not keep me at a distance any longer. You wanted this, wanted me , so take it.”

“I, um…” 

“Fuck…” Ron sat down, his face in his hands, then slapped his hands onto his thighs. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Hermione’s brain went into overdrive as her eyes widened with terror. “I don’t know wh—”

“Oh, come on! Everyone here is in bloody love with him, aren’t they!”

She blinked, frantically trying to put the pieces together. Finally, it clicked. She made her shoulders sag guiltily, saying, “Yes. I am. Gilderoy is just so… knowledgeable and well-travelled.”

“He’ll never see you that way, you know that, right? He doesn’t see anyone here in that way. He doesn’t have time for a relationship anyway. Also, he likes… skinny women, I’ve heard.” He exhaled, obviously frustrated. “I’m here, Hermione. For you. I adjusted my attitude, all for you! I need you to try and let go of that silly infatuation.”

“You’re right. I will do my best, I promise. I’m sorry, I didn’t want it to happen. It just did.”

“Right. Maybe it would help you to cuddle with me a bit?”

“I… I think I need a couple of days to let go of Gilderoy.”

“A couple of days, really…?” He exhaled. “Fine, whatever. But that’s all you get!”

When she went to bed, Hermione lay at the edge of the bed. Her insides felt hollow. Ron had  ‘adjusted his attitude’, he’d said. Right after talking about ‘skinny women’. Hating herself, Hermione decided to skip breakfast tomorrow.

When Ron had fallen asleep, she cast a waking charm on herself and tried to sleep as well.

In the depth of the night, the charm woke her, and she snuck to the window, opening it soundlessly. A tap of her wand made the box appear. When she put her note to Severus into it, she was surprised to feel another piece of parchment already in there.

She exchanged it for her letter, tapped the box and went back to bed. With the tiniest speck of light from her wand, she read,

My Dearest,

You are in my thoughts day and night. Please be safe.

Love,
S

Hermione wiped away the silent tears running down her cheeks. The folded parchment received a place underneath the mattress. Its presence offered a little bit of solace, but her heart twisted in on itself when she thought of Severus. She had to find a way to steal some of the grease, or the extract she pulled from it, so she could get out of this place.

Chapter Text

Last time:

My Dearest,

You are in my thoughts day and night. Please be safe.

Love,
S

Hermione wiped away the silent tears running down her cheeks. The folded parchment received a place underneath the mattress. Its presence offered a little bit of solace, but her heart twisted in on itself when she thought of Severus. She had to find a way to steal some of the grease, or the extract she pulled from it, so she could get out of this place.

Ron’s arm across her chest made Hermione scramble out of bed like she’d been stung by a hornet. She got dressed quietly, her limbs feeling heavy. The thought of Severus’ letter helped her rekindle her motivation to see this mission through. 

Just when she was about to sneak out, Ron stirred. “You awake already?” he mumbled.

“Um… yeah. I wanted to beat the line at breakfast.”

Ron sat up, the comforter sliding down to reveal his bare chest. “You just want to get to work early so you can get Gilderoy to yourself.” Despite his puffy face, the hurt and suspicion in his eyes was obvious. 

“N—no, I swear that’s not the reason. Really.”

“Two days. I want this sorted.”

Hermione nodded before slipping out of the door. What kind of proof, exactly, did Ron expect to receive in two days’ time? She didn’t dare think about it. 

From the stairs, she watched Ron leave for the bathroom. Quickly and quietly, she slipped back into the room and put two of the empty vials Severus had brought into her pocket. He’d chosen them cleverly – as was to be expected. They were flat, almost the shape of hip flasks, only much smaller. She could hide them on herself easily. 

She also took her wand from her night stand, and, after a hasty look down both sides of the corridor, placed it on top of the door frame outside her room.

It turned out that arriving in the lab early had been the right move. Lockhart walked up to her, asking conversationally, “What was it you did again, before you came to Gilded Aura?”

“I taught Arithmancy.” As if the prick didn’t know. Or maybe he broke into people’s offices to threaten them on a regular basis and had genuinely forgotten. Hermione struggled to keep her vapid smile from slipping off her face.

“I see. It’s used to find the right ingredients for potions, isn’t it?”

“That’s one of its many applications, yes.”

“You know, I was wondering whether you might want to do a few calculations for me today. You’ll have to work extra hard the next few days to catch up with your tasks in the lab, of course, but I would really appreciate it. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Hermione beamed, genuinely excited – she’d learn about one of his recipes.

“I expected nothing less. Come with me.” 

She followed him out of a side door into a dimly lit room smelling of disuse. From a metal cupboard Lockhart selected a few big, leather-bound books and put them onto a small desk that stood by the window. Hermione’s heart beat a little faster – the books were arithmantic ledgers. Finally, she’d get some facts.

Lockhart sat down on the desk, gesturing for Hermione to take the chair. “Now, here are the ingredients that need adjusting.” He handed her a piece of parchment with a grand total of two ingredients on it. No recipe, nothing. His finger on the first line, he said, “This one stays the same. The second one interacts with it, but it needs to be changed to something with the same effect, but longer-lasting. Can you calculate that?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And listen, little lady.” He leaned very close to her, making panic rise up in her. He looked dangerously similar to when he had attacked her in her office at Hogwarts. But she kept her face steady, forced her smile to deepen, her eyes to shine with adoration and infatuation as he said, “You must not tell anyone about these ingredients or your calculations. You will regret it deeply if you do. I will know.”

“I would never betray you, Gilderoy. You’ve made all my dreams come true.”

He patted her cheek. “Good girl.”

The second he left the room, Hermione pressed both her hands to her mouth, her heart racing while her mind tried to wrap itself around what she’d just seen. 

It wasn’t about the ingredients on his tiny list, or about him condescendingly touching her. No – when he’d bent forward, a pendant around his neck had slipped out of his shirt. It was the exact same one Ron and Petra wore.

Hermione opened ledgers on autopilot and sat staring at them blindly. Lockhart, Petra and Ron – all three of them wore the same amulet. It wasn’t a way to dose them with the love potion. It protected them from it. 

Ron was being himself. Kidnapping her, altering her very perception of reality, of who she was, keeping her a quasi-prisoner, pressuring her to be intimate with him – all that was Ron himself. All while he was convinced that she was being drugged.

She felt like she was going to be sick. Breathing deeply, she willed herself to calm down, to think. She had to get samples today, no matter what. And then, she had to get out – tonight.

Her decision made, she turned to the ledgers. There wasn’t much she could calculate with only two ingredients and no other information whatsoever, but she could take an educated guess at an alternative that might do what Lockhart wanted. There were a few options. She chose the one that would be the hardest to obtain.

She looked up its values and worked backwards from there, making her calculations much more convoluted than necessary – Lockhart wouldn’t know the difference. Still, it only took her twenty minutes. She dawdled a bit, not wanting to look like she’d done her work hastily. Eventually, she put the ledgers back and went out into the lab, which had filled with the other workers.

She handed the results and the original parchment to Lockhart with the warmest, sweetest smile. He accepted them and gestured at her spot at the lab bench. Making herself walk with a happy spring in her step, she took her place and started working. 

She ate a very small lunch, which got her some looks from Elena and Babette – Babette went so far as to leave half of her own lunch uneaten. Once Hermione had wolfed down her half a sandwich, she excused herself to the bathroom. No one was in sight, so she raced up to her room, fished her wand from its hiding spot and stowed it up her sleeve. Her heart beating out of her chest, she came back into the lab, getting to work once more.

She had to be patient for it to seem genuine. The later the day, the more tired everyone was, the higher the chance of accidents. And the shorter the wait was until night, when she could flee. 

Her shoulder hurt from the way she had to hold her arm to keep her wand from slipping out. Sweat ran down her temple and she shot a furtive glance at Lockhart. Had he noticed her acting differently? But he was scratching in his notebook with his flamboyant quill, apparently focused entirely on his work. Hermione trudged on, letting the time pass. The seconds ticked by infuriatingly slowly. 

An eternity later, the moment had come. Trying to keep her movements natural, doing her work, she let her wand slip out only as far as was absolutely necessary, concealing it in her palm.

Out of the corner of her eye, she observed Tim. Pouring liquid into a small beaker, picking up his pipette to take up some of the liquid, adding it to the reaction vial, putting the vial into the centrifuge… waiting… igniting the burner… waiting some more. The centrifuge slowed down. Tim opened the lid, moved his arm to take out the vial… 

Just the tiniest movement, a nonverbal spell, and Tim’s sleeve caught on the dial that regulated the oxygen for the burner, making the burner tip over and crack the beaker on its way down. The liquid seeped out and promptly caught fire.

Tim exclaimed, his neighbour jumped backwards, bumping into someone else, who dropped what they were holding – it was perfect. Hermione had summoned small amounts of the grease and its extract into the vials before Lockhart had even reached the site of the accident. A few waves from Lockhart’s wand later, the fire was out and everything back in its spot. 

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked Tim, feeling guilty that she’d had to involve him and hoping that her little stunt didn’t earn him another turn as the subject of a self-actualisation session.

In order to not raise any suspicion, Hermione didn’t attempt to bring her samples to her room between dinner and the seminar. Leaving lunch early had been risky enough. To her great relief, Tim wasn’t called to the front to be group-shamed – not today, at least. 

This was it. Her last day at Gilded Aura had come to an end. Now all she had to do was to avoid Ron’s advances and tonight, she’d be gone. With a deep, freeing breath, she opened the door to her room.

When she stepped inside, it immediately slammed shut behind her, making her jump and look at it in confusion. When she turned back to face the room, she was served another scare – Ron suddenly stood in front of her, crowding her, his nostrils flaring.

“I’m done,” he barked. “Having to come home to this shithole day after day, having to endure you ignoring me is the most miserable I’ve been in a very long time.” His breath was laboured. “I’m doing this for you . Do you even get that?” To Hermione’s horror, his eyes filled with tears. “I hate living like this, going to work, then coming home to nothing at all. No privacy, no hobbies, not even someone who wants to be with me! I have no life, none at all!”

He turned away, pacing for a moment before rushing at her again, making her back up against the door. “Ron, I—”

“No, no, you don’t get to talk! That’s all you do, isn’t it? Talking, talking all the time with your smart mouth, trying to convince me of stuff with your superior arguments. But I’m done. I didn’t sacrifice everything just to get absolutely nothing in return!”

Before she knew it, he was on her, pressing his body against her, pushing her hard against the door. His mouth crashed into hers, biting and licking at her. She turned her face as far away as she could and tried to raise her arms to push him away. Ron was much stronger, grabbing her upper arms with force and rendering her immovable. She tried to enunciate the word “Stop!” but Ron’s mouth on hers muffled her voice. 

Finally, she remembered her wand. Doing her utmost not to drop it, she let it slide out of her sleeve and cast the first spell that came to her mind, singing her fingertips in the process. It worked – Ron yelped and jumped backwards.

But Hermione hadn’t taken his Auror training into consideration. His reflexes were fast, and his spellwork much improved from his school days. He didn’t try to hurt her – yet. By a hair, she managed to shield herself from his body binding spells, but she wouldn’t be able to keep up with his speed for long.

She let out a loud shriek that seemed to surprise Ron enough to distract him for just half a second – enough for her to run towards the window and leap through, falling out of the mansion’s third-story window among a shower of glass shards.

She cushioned her fall and shot a few stunning spells over her shoulder as she ran. Looking behind her every few steps, she made for the brick wall surrounding the estate. In between all that, she managed to cast a simple camouflage spell on herself. It didn’t make her invisible by any standards, just a little harder to aim at.

She stumbled and fell as a spell hit the ground beside her running feet. She rolled over. It wasn’t Ron following her, but a small group of workers. Hermione made quick work of them, conjuring a net for them to run into and get entangled in. A temporary fix, but one that would let her get far enough away to find a hiding spot.

Propelled by a spell, she jumped over the wall, landing in a thicket of bushes that scratched and tore at her clothes and skin. Scrambling to her feet, she started running again, into a small copse of trees. There, she dared to stop and turn around.

She couldn’t see them yet, but she heard their voices. As fast as she could, she piled on a few more sophisticated camouflage and noise cancelling spells. Catching her breath, she allowed herself to think for a moment. They probably had a pretty good idea where she had run, given the trace of downtrodden vegetation she’d left behind. If she made a sharp turn and moved inconspicuously, she might just be able to shake her pursuers off.

Erasing her traces right behind herself, she succeeded. The road wasn’t far, and there was a residential area there, too – houses to hide behind. 

When she arrived at the road, she neither heard nor saw her pursuers. Choosing a narrow alley between two houses, she turned on the spot and apparated away.

She arrived in an uneven spot, twisting her ankle before she managed to catch her balance. She’d never seen the outside of Severus’ house, given that the last time she’d come here, she’d been barely conscious. The only reason she’d been able to apparate to its approximate location was because technically, she’d been here before. 

Her wand would know the exact spot, though. “Point me,” she said, and it slowly rotated on her palm before coming to a standstill. Hermione set off in the direction it indicated.

Night had fallen and she started shivering. Hugging her arms around herself, she kept walking, repeating the spell whenever necessary. Finally, a cottage came into view. When she saw its garden and front door, she knew this was the right place. 

If Severus had any wards in place, they didn’t repel her. She knocked on his front door and called his name. 

A light came on in the hall and the door opened. Severus gaped at her with wide eyes for a fraction of a second before throwing his arms around her. She melted into him, sobbing with relief.

“Come inside,” he urged, leading her into his living room. He sank onto the sofa next to her, gently stroking her face, wiping away her tears.

“You escaped,” he said. “I’m so relieved.”

“I have the samples. And some information on a recipe he uses.”

Severus let out a short chuckle of amusement mixed with worry. “Ever on the mission.”

Hermione laughed through her tears. “Yeah. I had to make it worth it, didn’t I.”

Severus leaned forward to embrace her again. She slid into his lap, curled up against his chest and took a deep, shuddering breath to let her body release some of the tension of the past week. Severus just held her. “I’m so glad you’re out of there,” he murmured.

They sat for a few minutes, Severus’ arms around her. His scent, his small movements, even the texture of his clothes filled Hermione with overwhelming gratitude. She looked up into his eyes, so full of warmth. 

He smiled as he stroked her cheek and she tipped her head up to capture his lips with hers. How she’d missed his taste! She wanted to sink into him and never resurface. He adjusted his seat and leaned back, gently pulling Hermione with him. She lay between his legs, her head on his chest while he stroked her hair.

Chapter Text

Last time:

Severus leaned forward to embrace her again. She slid into his lap, curled up against his chest and took a deep, shuddering breath to let her body release some of the tension of the past week. Severus just held her. “I’m so glad you’re out of there,” he murmured.

They sat for a few minutes, Severus’ arms around her. His scent, his small movements, even the texture of his clothes filled Hermione with overwhelming gratitude. She looked up into his eyes, so full of warmth. 

He smiled as he stroked her cheek and she tipped her head up to capture his lips with hers. How she’d missed his taste! She wanted to sink into him and never resurface. He adjusted his seat and leaned back, gently pulling Hermione with him. She lay between his legs, her head on his chest while he stroked her hair.

She awoke to complete darkness, momentarily disoriented. 

“You’re okay,” Severus said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Only about half an hour. Would you like to have some dinner?” He switched on a lamp, basking his little living room in soft, golden light.

“I’m famished.”

A short while later, they sat at the dinner table.  Before they began eating, Hermione fished the two vials with the samples out of her pocket.

Severus picked them up and inspected them with knitted brows. “I’ll analyse them. This is enough to find out which compound he is purifying from the grease. I hope that this will tell us something about the recipe for the love potion.”

“I may know two other ingredients, too. Lockhart wanted me to calculate a longer-lasting alternative to manganoan calcite. It’s supposed to be interacting with the empress skullcap. I can’t be sure they’re part of the love potion, but given their effects…”

Severus let out a snort. “A love potion made with those will act by brute force. Other recipes use these ingredients too, but I’d be surprised if Lockhart tried to treat his inmates’ heart conditions. If it really is the type of love potion I’m suspecting, and if people are exposed to it for an extended amount of time, it might influence some of their brain function. We should talk to Xanimus and Ria to ask them if there could be any long-lasting effects.”

“That’s a good idea.” Hermione took a deep breath before looking at Severus, saying, “I’m pretty sure Ron has an amulet that protects him from the potion. I believe that he was clear-minded the entire time.”

Severus’ lips parted. “He… lived with you… thinking your mind was being altered?” Something in his eyes changed, bringing back the malice Hermione hadn’t seen there in a very long time. “Did he harm you?”

“He tried.”

“I will fucking kill him.”

A sad smile tugged at Hermione’s lips. “He’s worse off alive. He’s so miserable. He keeps digging himself deeper and deeper, making these extreme decisions… He’s an entirely different person from the Ron I knew in school.”

Severus exhaled heavily. “I will strengthen the wards around my house. I assume Weasley noticed, eventually, that you were lucid?”

“I suppose so. But I’m more worried about the other people who saw me flee. They’re under the potion, and they will definitely tell Lockhart about my break-out.

“However…” Hermione took a deep breath. “I had an idea. I will write to Lockhart, grovelling and apologising for running away, saying that I couldn’t bear living with Ron because my undying love only belongs to him, Lockhart.”

Severus raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Given Lockahrt’s personality, that might just work.”

“I will also buy some stuff from him. And I will send a few calculations about those two ingredients, saying that I had a brilliant idea about them, and so on. Feigning as much helpfulness as I possibly can and backing it up with just enough actions to make it believable.”

“And I’m assuming your terribly clever mind has come up with an end game as well?”

“Yes. And it relies heavily on you.” 

After dinner, Severus insisted on cleaning up by himself while Hermione retired to the sofa. She sunk into the sheepskin rugs, idly listening to the clattering of plates and silverware cleaning itself. The sofa dipped when Severus sat down, his thigh touching hers. She leaned against him and he put his arm around her.

Her head throbbed and her hands and feet were too warm – she was exhausted. Gilded Aura exuded hostility with its total lack of privacy, the scarce meals, the long work hours, and the endless propaganda sessions. And then there’d been Ron’s ceaseless advances. “I’m so fucking tired,” she murmured, “but I also don’t think I’ll be able to sleep. It’s like everything inside me is running on full throttle still, refusing to let me relax for even a minute. It feels awful.”

Severus slowly stroked her shoulder. “I know that feeling. Just know that you’re safe here. I will do everything in my power to keep it that way.”

Hermione looked up at him. His black eyes gazed at her softly with so much sincerity it gave her goosebumps. She cuddled closer to him. He said, “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“Oh… I don’t have anything. No toothbrush, no pyjamas, nothing.”

“Don’t worry, I have everything you need for now.”

As it turned out, Severus also had a packaged toothbrush, although it was a much nicer one than her three-a-pack ones. The design on the cardboard betrayed the fact that he’d bought it recently… had he bought it in case Hermione stayed over? The thought made her smile.

In the bedroom, there were folded clothes on the half of the bed she’d slept in when she’d been sick. They were a slightly greyed white, and made of cotton. When she unfolded them, she realised they were long underwear for men. Grinning to herself, she slipped into them – the inside of the fabric had been brushed to be fluffy and soft. 

A knock sounded on the door. “Come in.” said Hermione, a little bemused.

“Are those all right?” Severus nodded at her makeshift pyjamas. “I thought you might like something comfortable.”

“They are perfect. By the way, you don’t need to knock when I’m in the room.”

“I don’t want you to feel unsafe. On that note, I just strengthened the wards. You and I are the only ones who can even see this house.” He stepped forward to pick up his sleeping garments and a book and turned to leave.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I was going to sleep in the living room.”

“No, don’t. I mean… if you’re all right with sleeping here…”

“I am.”

She smiled. “That’s settled then.” She excused herself to the bathroom, sensing that Severus might be shy about changing in front of her.

When she came back, he sat in bed with the book, but put it aside when she climbed in next to him. He retrieved a vial from his nightstand. “For the next few days, you may want to take some Dreamless Sleep.”

She accepted it and drank. After a moment, she said, “I was also thinking that I might ask Ria if she’d have time to talk to me about everything that happened. You know… to process.”

“You should do that.” His soft smile made Hermione’s heart melt anew. She closed her eyes for a moment, revelling in the fact that it was over, that she was safe.

He switched off the light and they both laid down, the sheets rustling as they adjusted their positions. The silence that followed was one desperate to be filled – not necessarily with words.

She moved towards him, feeling the warmth of his body, the first hints of his scent beckoning her closer. She put her hand on his. He reacted immediately, turning towards her and folding her into his arms.

Severus smelled so incredibly wonderful Hermione wished she never had to exhale. Her hands snuck in between their bodies to undo the buttons of his pyjamas but Severus gently arrested her hand before lifting her face for a soft kiss. 

“I would love to sleep with you very much,” he breathed, “but you’re exhausted and you’ve been through a terrible experience. I’ll still be here tomorrow, and next week, and every week after that. We have all the time in the world. For now, you should rest.”

Hermione let out a tiny sigh, a little disappointed even though she knew he was right. Withstanding the temptation to touch the rock-hard erection she’d briefly felt brushing her thigh, she put her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. 

When she came patting into the kitchen the next morning, Severus was already fully dressed. Breakfast waited for them on the table. Smiling, Hermione walked up to him to embrace him before standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Their bodies pressing against each other with her in nothing but a set of long underwear while he was fully clothed made her stomach flutter. 

Today, however, she felt much more clearly how tired she truly was. Her entire body ached, the light streaming in through the large window was too bright, the clattering of the dishes too loud.

Severus sat down opposite her, serving her tea before setting down the pot to give her a shrewd look. “You’d better go back to bed after breakfast.”

“I really need to write that letter to Lockhart. The longer I wait, the less believable it will seem that I’m incurably in love with him.”

“I took the liberty to write the letter and send it early this morning. I hope that was all right.”

“You—wow.” Hermione chuckled. “What did you write?”

He summoned a piece of parchment and handed it to her. She read it, then read it again – it was lovely. “Wow,” she said again, “I couldn’t have come up with anything better. He has to believe this, it seems so… genuine. Thank you, Severus.”

He inclined his head. Did she imagine it or had just the slightest hint of colour crept into his cheeks?

The day passed in a soothing haze, with Hermione reading a book and sleeping. Although he didn’t have much time to spend with her, the faint noises that came from behind the door leading down to Severus’ lab were reassuring. It was the safest she’d felt in months, maybe even years.

In the evening, a handsome owl that carried the Gilded Aura sigil on its chest delivered a letter. Hermione accepted it and knocked on the door to Severus’ laboratory, which opened of its own accord. She descended the wooden stairs. 

Severus was just tipping a powder into the cauldron, stirring carefully. He looked up at her, a smile readily springing onto his face. She held up the letter, the golden wax seal clearly stating who the sender was. “Just a moment,” Severus said. 

Hermione took a seat on a high stool that stood by one of the lab benches. She watched him, giddy disbelief flooding her. This kind, brave, intelligent man had opened his heart to her. And he was so beautiful, too. His slender waist, the way his shoulder blades moved underneath his clothes, his hands… How had no one else seen this?

Once he had finished his potion and distributed every last drop into vials, Hermione sidled up to him, wrapping her arms around him and standing on her toes to kiss him. He answered with a pleasurable sigh, embracing her in turn.

When they’d broken apart, Hermione picked up Lockhart’s letter, making a face. “Let’s see if it hides any nasty secrets.” She cast a number of revealing spells on it. “There’s definitely something hidden inside. It seems that the wax seal keeps it contained until the seal is broken.” With a shrewd look at Severus, she added, “I’ll give you three guesses.”

He let out a quiet laugh, then took the letter to a portion of the bench that lay underneath a wide hood. From the top of the hood a metal tube led up and disappeared into the ceiling. As Severus placed the letter underneath the hood, transparent borders appeared all around it, slightly distorting the air. 

The border allowed Severus to stick his hands through. He broke the seal and Hermione stood close to him, reading the letter through the shimmering barrier. The letter was very short: Send calculations , then two ingredients, and Lockhart’s overly embellished signature.

Hermione tutted. “I sent him such a heartfelt letter, he could at least have pretended to care. I guess he knows his shitty love potion does all the work for him. What do we do with the letter?”

“It can stay here. Tomorrow, most of the potion should have been suctioned off. Do you think you can come up with a few calculations in the next few days?”

“Yes. I’ll make them very complex.” She grinned. 

Severus looked at her with a sudden intensity in his eyes. A second later, he held her face in his hands, kissing her again. He murmured, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” she whispered. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Even though Hermione had spent quite a bit of time in bed, she was happy to slip under the covers again. It felt so wonderful to wrap herself around Severus, kissing him and feeling his erection pressing against her. Today, he didn’t keep her from opening his pyjama top.

She ran her hands over his chest, down to his stomach and around to his lower back, holding on to him tightly as she lifted her leg over his so she could rub herself against him. 

Severus, breathing heavily as he kissed her, peeled her top off her. Finally, his hands were where she had wanted them all day, stroking her skin and squeezing her soft flesh. His body moving against hers, his greedy hands and quiet moans were pure bliss, driving her almost to insanity.

Gently, she turned him onto his back and hovered over him, supported on her hands and knees. Severus pulled her down into a deep kiss. His tongue caressing hers made adrenaline explode in her stomach. 

For a short moment, she sat on his lap, grinding her sex on his hard cock through their pyjama bottoms. He protested when she broke contact, but she quickly bent down to kiss his jaw and neck instead. Having this amazing man lay underneath her, craving her with all his being, was the best feeling in the universe. 

When she pinched his nipple, he gasped quietly. “Does this feel good?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he breathed. 

She sucked on his nipple, making him moan. With her other hand, she stroked his cock through the fabric of his pants. The sounds he made were almost desperate. Finally, she took mercy on him and pulled down his pyjama bottoms along with his pants.

When she took his manhood in her hand, he whispered, “I won’t last.”

“That’s all right. I want to make you come.” She opened her mouth, stuck out her tongue and licked along the shaft, eliciting a strangled moan from him. Egged on, she slid his cock into her mouth and closed her lips around it, slowly moving up and down while closing her thumb and forefinger around the base.

His hand found her hair, stroking it gently while she sucked his cock. She let it slide out almost entirely to lick around the smooth head. He let out a moan when Hermione took him in again, even deeper than before. His enjoyment had her dripping wet, too. 

When she sensed he was close, she took his balls in her other hand, pulling on them gently. He gasped and moaned louder with every breath. His stomach clenched and he groaned loudly when he erupted in Hermione’s mouth, his entire body shuddering.

He fell back, panting. Hermione gently released him and discretely vanished his seed before sidling back up to him. He turned, wrapping his arms around her, breathing deeply. “You’re so wonderful, Hermione.”

They lay, their limbs intertwined, basking in each other’s presence. As the minutes passed, Severus began to move his hands over her body, caressing her skin and squeezing her flesh. “I love the way you feel,” he breathed.

His obvious enjoyment of her softness made her heart overflow for him yet again.

Severus captured her lips in an indulgent kiss that quickly deepened. 

He rolled on top of her, kissing, nipping and sucking his way along her neck to her collarbones, igniting every nerve under her skin. Hermione gasped when he sucked on her nipple. She dug her hands into his hair, stroking his head while his mouth and hands touched every part of her.

Severus took his sweet time, kissing down to her stomach and over the crests of her pelvis before ghosting over her sex, his breath tickling her. He grabbed her thighs, the way his thumbs pressed into the insides making her go half crazy. Finally, he pushed her legs apart.

Hermione’s mewl of want turned into a gasp when the tip of his tongue flicked over her clit. He kept his hands close to her pussy, spreading her lips apart while he licked her.

“Wait,” she panted when she felt like she might fall apart any second. He moved back up to her, crashing his mouth into hers. His cock, already hard again, pressed against her thigh. “Please fuck me, Severus,” she whispered, “I need you so much.”

He reached down to slide the tip of his cock through her wetness, making her mewl. Finally, he stretched her walls, slowly pushing himself into her with a shuddering breath. “Oh, fuck, Hermione,” he whispered.

She could barely contain herself as the sweet pressure of Severus’ cock brought her ever further to the edge. His indulgent moans, his beautiful body on top of hers… the overwhelming love she felt for him was almost painful.

He rolled his pelvis, pulling out entirely before sinking back into her. “Oh, yes, just like that,” she gasped. Every time he entered her anew, the pressure built. His moans became louder, his body trembled as he began losing control.

Hermione’s orgasm ripped through her, her arms and legs clamping on to him while her body bucked below him, meeting his last deep thrusts before he, too, lost himself in his climax, moaning loudly and pushing into her desperately. 

Panting, they lay on top of each other, Severus supporting himself on his elbows, his cheek resting against hers. After a moment, he lay down beside her, taking her in his arms and kissing her forehead. “I’m so happy,” he murmured. Hermione, too overcome by emotion to speak, replied by cuddling closer to him.

Chapter Text

Last time:

Panting, they lay on top of each other, Severus supporting himself on his elbows, his cheek resting against hers. After a moment, he lay down beside her, taking her in his arms and kissing her forehead. “I’m so happy,” he murmured. Hermione, too overcome by emotion to speak, replied by cuddling closer to him. 

The days that followed wrapped Hermione in a warm blanket of love and safety that made her heart overflow. During the day, she worked on calculations for the Potioneers’ Society, often sitting in the lab with Severus while he brewed. At night, they fell into bed in a tight embrace, inhaling and devouring every inch of each other.

But even though neither of them said a word about it, they both knew that change was creeping into this life they were making for themselves, gnawing away at it. The time in which they enjoyed each other’s company was only borrowed. 

Its real owner was Lockhart. With every passing day, his letters seeped deeper into Hermione’s consciousness, took more of her for himself. She tried to only skim his unhinged sermons about her body and what she ought to make it look like, but there were words and phrases that inevitably caught her attention. Every time it happened, she had to close her eyes, take a deep breath and think of Severus’ loving gaze on her, his hands and mouth roaming over every inch of her skin. 

She had to read the letters because besides Lockhart’s ramblings about his endless wisdom regarding life and health and the world in general, he also threw in demands for more calculations. With every ingredient he revealed, Severus could narrow down the love potion’s recipe. Hermione, in turn, used her influence on the potion’s recipe to improve it in the way that she needed for her plan to work.

Severus was always the one to write the replies, since Hermione couldn’t stomach having to swoon over Lockhart. Her mind just drained itself of words whenever she tried to come up with something nice to say about his insane meal plans or ideas about personal responsibility. 

But she did order products from Gilded Aura – as little as she could, but as much as was needed to keep Lockhart from complaining. Giving him money made her heart bleed, but she couldn’t be careful enough about keeping him convinced that she was firmly under his control. 

After ten days at Severus’ cottage, Lockhart’s letter contained the phrase Hermione had been dreading: I can sense that you have taken my advice to heart and have worked on yourself. If you feel the desire to join us again, there’s a place for you at Gilded Aura . What was a suggestion now would surely turn into an order soon.

She was almost ready. In an echo of the first time they’d worked together, Severus and Hermione sat across from each other in his lab, him brewing the latest iteration of the antidote for the love potion and Hermione using the data he gave her to calculate the perfect brewing conditions. 

“I think this is it,” Hermione said as she helped Severus tidy up. “The love potion now has all the higher-level effects neatly tied up with the right binding agents. The antidote is as good as we could make it in the time that we had.” She swallowed. “I think I’ll have to go back soon.”

Severus gave her a look, his jaw set, but didn’t say anything. 

They ascended the stairs from his lab in silence. Every day, it took longer for Severus to thaw after they’d worked on the antidote. Every night, he held her longer, and looked at her as if he tried to commit every tiny detail of her to memory.

The letter came only a day later. It’s time for you to come home, Hermione, Lockhart wrote . This is your one and only chance to be by my side. No one else can help you truly unlock your inner self like I can. If you don’t come, I’m very afraid you’ll never be able to ascend to the true heights of your potential.

Severus had invited Ria and Xanimus for that same day, to discuss the final details of the plan.

“You okay? You look funny,” Ria said by way of greeting Hermione.

“Well… I just got the summons.”

“Shit. So, it’s going to go down soon then?”

They went to sit in the living room. After Severus had served them tea, Hermione brought the healers up to speed.

“Love potions should be illegal.” Ria shook her head. 

Hermione said, “If we manage to get Lockhart’s followers out of its influence, they’ll be able to tell their tale to the Ministry and hopefully advocate for policy changes… Do you think the people who’ve been inhaling the old recipe for months or even years will have lasting effects?”

Xanimus replied, “It’s hard to say. The potion itself may well do physiological harm in the long run. To make matters worse, it makes people suggestible. After you’ve told us what kind of things are said to them day in, day out… That’s very troubling. Reinforcing those ideas over and over again will deeply ingrain them into people’s brains, especially if their critical thinking is impaired.”

Ria said, “Those group shaming things you told us about… I hate to think how traumatised those people will be once they come out of their trance.”

“Did you manage to find volunteers among your therapist colleagues?” Severus asked.

“Yes,” Xanimus said, “quite a few of them were willing to help out. I think there should be about eight of us in total, maybe nine. They’ll ask around their own network too, so hopefully, we’ll have more volunteers in the future.”

“When’s the big day then?” Ria asked.

“I’ll go back tomorrow.” Hermione swallowed. “I hope to be able to carry out the plan within a few days.”

The conversation moved to the technicalities of reaching as many Gilded Aura survivors as possible, both on the day and after. The longer they talked, the more withdrawn Severus became. 

When the healers had left, he still sat, staring at his hands and working his jaw. Hermione sat down next to him. He put his face in his hands and breathed heavily, his ribcage expanding with every breath. Hermione could practically feel him closing himself off.

She swallowed. “Do you… need some time to yourself?”

He quickly shook his head, still not looking at her.

“I hate this,” he finally hissed. “I don’t—” He took his hands away from his face with a frustrated groan.

“What exactly is it that you hate?” Hermione asked softly.

“You… going there again – into the thick of an army of drug-addled sycophants worshipping a narcissistic maniac. I want to free them from the potion, but I hate that you’re the one having to go inside.”

Hermione nodded. “I’m nervous too. But it will be different this time. Ron won’t be there, so I’ll be safe from him. And I know the daily routine, so it won’t all be so disorienting anymore. Also, I’ll only be there for a few days. And afterwards, everything will be over.”

Severus turned to look at her, his brows drawn together. “I won’t let you go alone this time. No—” he cut her off before she could even open her mouth. “My decision stands. I will camp out next to his compound. I will not sit here, going crazy day after day while you are, once again, in his clutches. We’ve started this together and we will finish it together.”

Hermione exhaled the breath she’d held. She could tell Severus again that Lockhart had tried to destroy his mind in Bhutan. As far as Lockhart knew, he’d succeeded, too. She could point out that if Severus showed himself now, his mind perfectly intact, Lockhart might go to great lengths to get rid of him once and for all. She could remind Severus that she could always play the love-struck ingenue while he had no such ruse to fall back on.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around him. “I will feel safer knowing you’re close. I will be afraid for you, too. But you’re right. We’ll finish this together.” He looked at her, and she leaned forward to kiss him.

“Now, I suppose we should pack,” he said tonelessly.

Hermione packed lightly, since she would probably have to share a room with someone. She had taken some time the past days to make an undetectable compartment in her suitcase. That’s where she stored the canister of the replacement potion. Even shrunk as much as possible, it only just fit through the opening. How she would get it out without her roommate noticing was a problem she’d have to solve as she went along.

Severus, on the other hand, packed everything he needed to sustain himself on his own for a week. The tent, which offered just enough space for one person to lay down in, received a camouflage pattern matching the landscape outside Gilded Aura on top of all the appropriate spells. Even if the magic failed, it would still be somewhat hidden.

They recited the plan to each other again to make sure it went perfectly – If Lockhart was to remain clueless, everything had to happen at the same time, giving him no opportunity to intervene.

In the late afternoon, Hermione kissed Severus goodbye a few blocks away from Gilded Aura. The way he looked at her, taking in every detail of her face as he stroked her cheeks and whispered, “Please be safe,” brought the short but violent impulse to forget about Lockhart, to just turn around and leave it all behind. 

But there were several hundred people in there right now, being coerced into slave labour and filled with horrible ideas about themselves, stealing their safety and self-worth. So, Hermione briefly clenched her jaw, swallowed and said, “You too. I’ll see you very soon.” She turned and made her way up to the manor without looking back.

This time, Petra did not hold a clipboard when she greeted Hermione. And she knew her name right away. Hermione, her serene smile in place, followed Petra inside.

The sheer look of the place turned Hermione’s stomach. Holding on to her smile while her eyes watered, she said, “It’s so wonderful to be back.”

“Gilderoy is glad to have you. Although I must say that he was very disappointed in the way you left. You should have talked to us. We have solutions for these kinds of things.”

“I feel very ashamed,” Hermione said demurely, wondering what those “solutions” were supposed to be. 

Out of habit, she turned towards the staircase. 

“You’re not up there with the others this time. You will get a room in the Pearl League quarters.” An emotion flashed over Petra’s face – annoyance? “It’s where Gilderoy’s most trusted representatives stay.”

“That’s such an honour. I feel very flattered.”

“You should,” Petra said, stony-faced.

The Pearl League quarters resided in a corridor close to Lockhart’s office, brought into being by magic. While the living area in the historical part of the manor, where Hermione had stayed last time, were all thick carpets and dark woods, the Pearl League quarters kept with the sleek, modern look of the new wings. Light wooden doors were set into the smooth white walls at short distances to each other. 

Petra tapped one of the doors with her wand. The room beyond was tiny, furnished only with a narrow bamboo cot and a clothes rack with a few hangers, both also made of bamboo. On the upside, it was a single room. No roommate this time.

“You are expected at the seminar and Self-Actualization session. You remember what time they start?”

“Of course. I can’t wait.” 

Hermione’s smile wilted as soon as Petra had slammed the door shut behind herself. Breathing deeply, she reminded herself what she’d come here for, and that she’d only be here for a couple of days. Much more importantly, Severus was outside. His closeness reminded her that her real life was out there, and she’d be back to it in no time.

When she entered the auditorium for the seminar a few hours later, Lockhart found her and fixed her with his eyes until after she had found a seat. She smiled the entire time, holding his gaze, trying to look as love-struck as possible throughout the entire seminar. 

Given all the attention she’d gotten from Petra and Lockhart, she shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was that it was her turn to be group-shamed tonight. Her smile a grin of fear, she tottered down the stairs on unsteady legs, staring into the crowd unseeingly. So many hands were raised.

Elena was first. “You should be so ashamed of running away because you were butt-hurt that Gilderoy didn’t think you were special. We are all equal in his eyes, and you thinking that you deserve more is really conceited.”

Just in time, Hermione remembered that she was supposed to say, “Thank you.”

Here came Babette. “You barely put in the minimum. You hadn’t even been here for two weeks when you ran away. Most of us have been here for months or even longer. It’s ridiculous that you expected Gilderoy to elevate you after such a short time.”

Someone else said, “You should do something about your hair. It’s not safe to work with hair like that.”

Hermione bit back a remark that she’d always tied up her hair before going to the lab, and instead just thanked them.

Someone else mentioned her clothes. And then, someone she vaguely remembered just had to bring up her eating habits. That one time she had taken a normal amount of porridge meant that she lacked all self-control, apparently. Her cheeks cramped from keeping up her smile.

The next person took the same line, questioning whether Hermione didn’t always take more than her fair share, given that she expected Lockhart to give her special treatment after such a short time at Gilded Aura.

On and on it went, the number of raised hands never seeming to diminish. Everyone was upset about her perceived unreasonable expectations from their beloved leader, her audacious entitlement. After every rant, she thanked her accuser, trying to keep the profound hurt from showing on her face. Even though she knew these people weren’t themselves, their accusations burrowed a hole into her heart.

When Petra finally told her to sit down, she was numb and covered in cold sweat. She longed for the dingy room with the rickety bamboo cot. At least it offered privacy.

People shot her looks as they went up the staircase to the regular living quarters, no doubt wondering how on earth she had finagled a room in the Pearl League quarters. She kept her head down, hurrying to her own room. A few hours of sleep, then she’d start her plan.

The bathroom was full of chattering women. “I managed to reduce,” one said. “I hope he’ll notice. My thighs are a real problem.”

“At least you have good tits,” another replied. “I need to get that permanent transfiguration, but I just don’t have the money right now.”

A third woman had raised one arm and was looking at it in the mirror, pinching the skin at the underside of her upper arm with a troubled expression. 

Everyone had a little basket full of Gilded Aura products that they applied to various parts of their bodies, massaging and rubbing and scrubbing. No one acknowledged Hermione, although a lot of looks were thrown at her lone toothbrush and toothpaste.

“You should shower and do your hair,” one woman eventually said. 

Hermione looked at her with as friendly an expression of bemusement as she could muster, but the woman didn’t elaborate. The ones who had stepped out of the shower did indeed tend to their hair in a way that suggested they were planning to go out instead of to bed.

After her own shower, Hermione went back to her room, reminding herself once again that Severus was right outside, and that she would be gone in a few days, and that these women would be free then. And hopefully much less judgemental.

Her door had only been closed for a few minutes when voices sounded in the corridor. Hermione assumed that they would subside as the women went each into her own room, but they persisted. She jumped when someone knocked on her door.

When she answered, the woman with the “good tits” looked her up and down with an air of smugness and said. “If that’s how you want to present yourself… Come on.”

Confused, Hermione followed the group. Each and every one of them looked wonderfully put together, their hair done, their skin smooth, their bodies fragrant with Gilded Aura products. They went through a door that led to a set of descending stairs. The lights got dimmer the further they went down. 

They ended up in a dressing room with three rows of wooden benches and hooks along the walls. To Hermione’s utter confusion, the women started undressing. And didn’t stop. Everything came off. After one or two pointed looks, Hermione started undressing too. What the fuck had she stumbled into?

Chapter Text

Last time:

Confused, Hermione followed the group. Each and every one of them looked wonderfully put together, their hair done, their skin smooth, their bodies fragrant with Gilded Aura products. They went through a door that led to a set of descending stairs. The lights got dimmer the further they went down. 

They ended up in a dressing room with three rows of wooden benches and hooks along the walls. To Hermione’s utter confusion, the women started undressing. And didn’t stop. Everything came off. After one or two pointed looks, Hermione started undressing too. What the fuck had she stumbled into?

Finally, she was stark naked, standing between these women who had made every effort to look their best. They filed into a room that was, thankfully, also dimly lit. Hermione was at the end of the row of naked women, who now stood side by side facing another door. 

In came Lockhart, wearing a sort of kaftan. He conjured a chair – no, a throne – and, after sitting down, let his gaze travel over the women. Hermione tried to calm her trembling body. 

“Candice,” Lockhart called, and the woman with the “good tits” approached him. He sat leaning lazily to one side, his legs crossed while his eyes never left Candice’s body. Hermione just managed to hold in a gasp when he stretched out his hand to squeeze Candice’s leg. “Better,” he said. “Turn around for me.”

His gaze roamed, then rested on her buttocks. “Work on your glutes. You can go.”

Candice rejoined the row, looking pleased. Tamara, the woman who had talked about getting a permanent transfiguration for her breasts, was called next – Lockhart didn’t seem to go in any particular order. Hermione’s face got hot and she focused hard on a spot on the door past Lockhart’s shoulder as the man himself scrutinised Tamara’s body, making remarks about what she needed to improve, but also praising some of her features. 

After her came another woman who wasn’t as lucky and went back to the row looking like she was holding back tears. 

Then, Lockhart’s eyes locked on Hermione’s. “You’re up.” The other women’s heads turned when Hermione didn’t move. Her knees threatened to give way.  “Come here, will you.” He sounded impatient.

Finally, her feet moved, carrying her to him. No sooner had she taken her place than he grabbed a bit of her belly, pinching hard. “What is this?” he asked, looking up at her. “I sent you meal plans, didn’t I?” Fury blinked through his words.

“I have a slow metabolism,” Hermione growled. Her resolve to remain impassive crumbled, her anger trying to push through. She could just lift her hand and drive a sharp knuckle into his eyeball… it would be so easy…

Lockhart laughed, the sound piercing through the silence. “That’s such a lazy excuse.” Every sign of mirth vanished from his face as quickly as it had appeared. “You’re a slob. It’s disgusting. Tamara,” he called, “make sure that this one fasts from tomorrow on. And you,” he focused back on Hermione, “will ask me for permission to eat every time you’re down here. If you can clean up this mess –” he grabbed her thigh, making her wince – “I might let you.”

Hermione stared straight ahead, imagining herself throwing open the doors of Gilded Aura as hundreds of people poured out, their wands aloft, charging a stammering, stumbling Lockhart before ripping him to shreds.

“What do you say?” Lockhart hissed.

“Um… er… thank you… Sir. I will.”

“Go.”

“You need to work harder,” Lockhart said, looking at all of them in turn. “Our products can do everything for you if you use them right, and if you have the will and the discipline to follow your program. Your brain is trying to trick you. You need way less food than you think you do. Take the powder. Drink water. And, for Merlin’s sake, stay on top of your grooming. You owe it to yourself to look your best at all times. Candice.”

A ripple went through the line of women and Candice stepped forward again. “You’re far from your goal. But I can tell you’ve done the work. You’re ready to be elevated.”

Candice, visibly proud, went to join Lockhart, who got up and vanished his throne. He disappeared through the door without another word, a naked Candice in his wake.

Everyone else went back to the dressing room, Hermione’s head reeling. What awful parallel universe had she stumbled into? The women who surrounded her were each and every one of them gorgeous, almost otherworldly. Bile rose in her throat when she saw Lockhart before her inner eye, groping them, coldly delivering his judgement about flaws that only he could see.

And once he had destroyed them slowly and systematically, he made them crave his approval even harder than the love potion did, gracefully allowing them to get “elevated”. It wasn’t hard to guess what that meant.

As they got dressed, Tamara came over to Hermione, a dark look on her face. “I was due to be elevated tonight. You cost me what was rightfully mine!”

Hermione was so fucking exhausted. “Oh, really? How is that?”

Tamara scoffed, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable! You know nothing about Gilded Aura, you’ve done nothing to deserve your spot here. Have you noticed what the difference between you and everyone else is?”

Hermione tiredly glanced around the room. All eyes were on her.

“Of course you don’t,” Tamara went on. “The difference is that all of us here actually do our best. We follow all the rules. You can’t even respect yourself enough to not stuff your face at every meal. It’s no wonder you don’t respect anyone else either. Everyone here works so fucking hard! But not you. And yet, Gilderoy put you in the Pearl League. It’s an insult.”

“I don’t see what any of that has to do with you not getting elevated.”

“Because now I have to babysit you! Make sure you don’t gobble down everything in your path!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Good luck with that.” She left the room, ascending the stairs taking two steps at a time, her heart racing. She shouldn’t be starting fights so close to the finish line but she was in shock. She had to carry out her plan as fast as possible.

After she’d meticulously applied a generous amount of the protective salve under her nose, she sat on her bed, unable to move. The image of Lockhart on his throne, his swine-like eyes raking over the women’s bodies still was vivid in her mind. She should lie down to sleep at least a little, but she couldn’t get her limbs to obey her. She sat frozen in a paralysing mixture of fear and anger, her mind replaying the same scenes over and over again. 

About half an hour passed. Everything was quiet. And Lockhart was… busy, probably. Get up. Go, she kept telling herself. Just one step. And another. Open the door slowly, quietly . There was no sound in the corridor. 

She had to do what she had come here for, even though her body and brain screamed for sleep. With a resigned breath, she muffled her steps, executed a few camouflage spells and set off to the Customer Service Office.

The room was just as she remembered it - the rows of desks, the box in which the delivery birds dropped their letters, the window where she’d sat and waited to send her letter to Severus. On the desks lay nothing but parchment and envelopes. There were no packages, no boxes of product anywhere. This wasn’t the place she was looking for.

The next door over opened to a more promising room. Here were the packages Hermione had been looking for. She picked one up, turning it around and around, inspecting the brown paper and rough string it was wrapped with. Finally, she performed the appropriate detection spells – the love potion was there, poised to release as soon as the string fell away from the package.

Putting the package back onto the pile, she scoured the room. Somewhere, the potion had to be applied to each piece of outgoing mail. Walking along the walls, using as little light as possible, she scrutinised every desk, every cabinet, every cupboard she could find. 

Finally, in the furthest corner from the door, something caught her eye – a low cabinet with a hinged lid on top. She lifted it, shining her wand light inside. There was a stack of flattened cardboard boxes, cut into a shape that made assembling them quick and easy. It was really thoughtful of Lockhart to provide his workers with these convenient boxes. He truly didn’t spare any effort, neither for his customers nor for his employees. 

Now that she’d made sure everything was as it should be, she needed to get back to bed, to rest and recuperate her strength for another day of fulfilling work at Gilded Aura. Hopefully, it would be Gilderoy himself who’d give tomorrow’s lecture. Hermione closed the cabinet’s lid and sauntered towards the door.

Wait. She turned back, staring at the cabinet as her mind reorganised itself. The room briefly swam in front of her eyes before coming back into focus. She gasped quietly. The love potion – it had affected her as soon as she’d opened the cabinet. The concentration had to be extraordinarily high in there. She let out a shaky breath, a wave of belated fear surging through her body as she realised how quickly the potion had enthralled her. The good news was that she’d found her target. 

She went around the cabinet, shining her light on every inch of it. The potion had to be steadily supplied from somewhere, otherwise it would dissipate quickly and not remain this strong.

She held her breath and pointed her wand at the cabinet, blowing a steady stream of air at it to dissipate the love potion while she lifted the lid. Despite her precautions, a voice piped up in her head, telling her that what she was doing was silly and that it was entirely fine to stop and go to bed, that her life was good as it was now, that she could just relax and look forward to tomorrow. She took a few steps back, making the stream of air blow harder. 

From this distance, she dared to stop the stream of air just long enough to levitate the stack of folded boxes out of the cabinet and onto a nearby desk, where it promptly toppled over. Ignoring it, she cast an orb of light to hang over the cabinet.

Armed with the airstream spell again, she went to the cabinet, peering inside. Metal grates lined the entire inside of the cabinet, but there was no clue how the potion entered it. She levitated the folded boxes back inside, making sure not to miss a single one, and closed the lid.

Next, she tried levitating the cabinet itself, but it didn’t budge. She strengthened her spell, causing one side of the cabinet to rise an inch or so. The other side seemed to be bolted down.

She crouched down, laying her cheek on the floor to peer under the cabinet, levitating it with all her might. The cabinet shuddered under Hermione’s abuse. A few millimetres of something copper-coloured blinked in the light of the orb. It had to be a pipe – a pipe supplying the love potion from somewhere else in the building.

She racked her brain for a suitable spell. There was one that made copper water pipes visible in walls – she’d learned it when she’d helped renovate Grimmauld Place. It took a few tries before she got it right, but after two minutes, several lines in the walls of the building lit up with a green glow. Also one line in the floor, starting from the cabinet. It was markedly thinner than the other pipes.

Her heart thumping, she changed that line’s colour to magenta, then followed it until it hit a wall. In the next room, the line kept running on; and on still in the room after that. 

Hermione went out into the stairwell, her heart beating high in her chest – This spell was genius, she’d find the source of the potion in no time. And then, she could go home, back to Severus!

The green water pipes ran on, through the wall of the stairwell all the way down, with branches splitting off in all directions. But the magenta line was nowhere to be seen.

She went back into the last room – the magenta line was still there. In the stairwell – gone. Try as she might, retracing her steps, casting the spell several more times, going back to the cabinet to start over – the line remained elusive. 

Only when the light of dawn started creeping into the manor did she give up and go to bed.

An hour later, she was woken up by the morning call. Her entire body ached as she rolled out of bed, pulled on her clothes and followed the women into the bathroom, where she did her very best to seem cheerful.

After breakfast, a woman she didn’t know waved her over. Hermione split off from the throng of people heading to work. The woman said, “Follow me,” her face an unreadable mask. Hermione’s heart started racing.

To her horror, the woman led her to Lockhart’s office, knocked and opened the door when Lockhart answered. Without another word, she gestured for Hermione to go inside and left.

It was hard to keep up her facade of dazed happiness when she stood eye in eye with Lockhart. She kept her breathing slow and steady even as her ribcage constricted with fear. 

His smile didn’t reach his eyes when he looked at her. “You were in the lab before, right?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded, her own smile even less genuine than Lockhart’s. 

“And you did some calculations for me, if I remember correctly.”

Hermione’s mask almost slipped with indignation. What game was he playing? Did he exchange daily letters with so many people that he couldn’t remember who wrote him what? Or was this a ploy to enrage her enough to drop her act?

She held on to her smile, nodding.

“Good. I need you to keep doing that. Here’s a list with ingredients I’d like optimised, and the agent they’re interacting with. You can sit in that room there.”

“Thank you.” Hermione accepted the parchment and went into the indicated room, which was barely more than a broom cupboard off Lockhart’s office. The wall shelves were empty except for the Arithmantic ledgers. She sat down, putting the parchment with a grand total of three ingredients on it on the tiny desk.

She jumped when the door slammed shut behind her. She shot out of her chair, grabbed the door handle and tried to push the door open. It gave way easily, sending her stumbling into Lockhart’s office.

She stood, trying to quickly subdue her heaving chest, blinking at Lockhart stupidly. He raised his eyebrows at her. She scrambled for words, “I, er… have some tummy troubles.”

Wordlessly, he gestured at another door. It was the same one he’d disappeared through the night Hermione and Severus had stolen the documents from his office. Her face hot, she stalked towards and entered Lockhart’s private bathroom.

It must have been luxurious once but Lockhart didn’t seem to keep it up very well. The bottom of the toilet bowl was covered in yellowed limestone, the seat was slightly crooked and the washbasin was chipped. Hermione sat on the toilet much longer than necessary to make her ruse believable, then flushed twice and washed her hands for a long time.

With a stiff smile and nod at Lockhart, she went back into the broom cupboard, closing the door herself this time. For better or worse, she turned her attention to the task she’d been given. She frowned at the ingredients on the list. They weren’t from Severus’ improved version of the love potion, but when she looked them up in the ledgers, their values suggested they might be used for a similar type of concoction. 

If Lockhart was making an entirely new love potion, she had to work even faster to find the source and administer the antidote. For now, all she could do was to make her calculations as convoluted as possible to slow him down.

She pulled all the ingredients that even remotely had the desired effects from the ledgers. Some of those ingredients were nearly impossible to obtain – all the better. Lockhart would never be able to find his way in the mass of formulas she had written down. 

It wasn’t even noon, but the numbers and symbols wavered in front of her eyes. She yawned. How she longed to crawl into bed! She stared at the parchment she had filled, the formulas staggered neatly for ease of reading. That wouldn’t do. She grabbed another piece of parchment and began copying her work, minus the staggering. If she wanted Lockhart to get lost in her calculations, she had to make understanding them as hard as possible. It passed the time and helped her stay awake.

As she wrote, crossing out each line she’d copied, her mind wandered to last night. Where on earth had that pipe disappeared to? Could there be some kind of ward on the walls in the stairwell that kept spells like that from working? But then why were the water pipes still visible?

She crossed out another line. Pausing her quill, she looked at the pattern the staggered formulas created on the parchment. While ink from her quill soaked into the page, a thought arrived in her mind, sluggish from her lack of sleep: None of the floors at Gilded Aura were the same size. From the outside, yes. But inside, the place had been magically enhanced wherever necessary, tacking on rooms as the need arose. The rooms of Gilded Aura where stacked with just as little logic as she was stacking her lines of calculations right now. 

The fourth floor, which held the customer service office and the packaging room with the pipes, was much smaller than the third floor, which held living quarters. Hence, the pipe wouldn’t emerge in the stairwell but somewhere in the middle of the third floor. The water pipes had to supply every room and every floor, so they were everywhere. But there was only one single pipe for the love potion.

Hermione shoved her calculations to the side and began drawing frantically on a fresh piece of parchment, pummeling her tired brain into coming up with a way to line up floors that wildly differed in size. 

After lunch, Lockhart handed her another short list in exchange for the calculations she’d done. He didn’t even glance at them – not that she cared. When she was done with this fresh set of calculations, an hour and a half into the afternoon, she allowed herself to put her head onto her forearms. She wouldn’t close her eyes, just rest a bit.

The dinner bell ripped her from her dreams. It took a second to understand that the pleasant conversation she’d had with Severus, walking hand in hand through a field of flowers, hadn’t been real. She jumped up, her head still swimming, flattened her clothes with her hands, brushed her fingers through her hair and picked up the parchments with the calculations. 

When she went out into his office, he wasn’t there. She put the calculations onto the edge of his desk and left the office. Lockhart seemed to genuinely believe that she was fully under his control and would never step a toe out of line. It almost made her laugh.

During the seminar, she had to pinch her forearm, digging her nails into the skin, to avoid dozing off. Petra was droning on and on about how the correct mindset would breed success and that a lack of success was always the result of poor discipline. “If you haven’t yet been elevated to the next league, you have to ask yourself in which part of your life you’re letting yourself go. Your mind is always the first to give up – your body can endure far more than you think. And it will grow stronger through those trials. So don’t allow yourself to slack off.”

Hermione, her brain fuzzy from fatigue, involuntarily let out the quietest scoff. A mistake. Petra paused her lecture, her eyes snapping to Hermione. It was only for a second, but that was enough to make other peoples’ heads turn, giving her disdainful looks. Hermione’s head got warm and she cleared her throat in the hopes to pass off her scoff as a cough. Petra picked up her lecture but Hermione noticed people looking at her throughout the rest of the seminar.

By the time they went to the amphitheatre for Self-Actualisation, people weren’t trying to hide their looks and whispers anymore. Hermione’s hands and feet were tingling and her chest felt like a belt had been strapped around it and was being pulled ever tighter. She tried to breathe slowly and withstand the overwhelming urge to turn around and shout at them to leave her the fuck alone.

Of course, Petra called her down into the centre of the amphitheatre again. Hermione’s face hurt so much now from trying to smile, trying to look happy when all she wanted to do was crawl into her bed. But it was tantamount that she keep her facade intact.

The insults from the audience came swiftly, delivered with much satisfaction: 

“You’re rude and entitled.” 

“You haven’t earned any of the things you’ve received.”

“You think you’re better than everyone, but you haven’t contributed anything of value to our community.”

“You’re hurting Gilderoy.”

“You must be blackmailing him.”

The last remark garnered a lot of approval from the room and chatter rose, speculating and discussing how she might be blackmailing Lockhart. Hermione tried to let the insults roll off her. They’re drugged , she reminded herself, They don’t know what they’re saying. They need help.  

Finally, Petra called them to order, a smile playing around her lips. Hermione, drenched in cold sweat, was allowed to go back to her seat. Anger and endless exhaustion made her feel like she wanted to scream and vomit at the same time. She had to find the source of that fucking potion and get out of here.

Chapter Text

Last time:

The last remark garnered a lot of approval from the room and chatter rose, speculating and discussing how she might be blackmailing Lockhart. Hermione tried to let the insults roll off her. They’re drugged, she reminded herself, They don’t know what they’re saying. They need help.

Finally, Petra called them to order, a smile playing around her lips. Hermione, drenched in cold sweat, was allowed to go back to her seat. Anger and endless exhaustion made her feel like she wanted to scream and vomit at the same time. She had to find the source of that fucking potion and get out of here.

Finally, she was allowed to sleep. But after only a few hours, her alarm spell roused her. She pulled on some clothes and flitted out, ignoring her thrumming head and sore body. Soon, she was back in the packaging room where the cabinet with the potion-imbued cardboard boxes stood. 

Once again, she made the pipes visible. Instead of following them, she measured the distance from the door to where the cabinet stood.

Out in the hallway, she used that measurement to mark the position of the cabinet. From there, she measured the distance to where she’d lost the trace of the pipe before. Finally, she measured the length of the entire hallway. The most common expansion spells enlarged the area evenly from its central point. Hence, the midpoint of each hallway would be her point of reference.

One floor down, she had to be as quiet as she could, casting noise-cancelling and camouflage spells on herself before starting to measure. This time, she’d have to be very careful to limit her pipe-finder charm to one contained area. She couldn’t have any of the residents of this floor wake up to glowing lines running through their walls.

When she’d found the spot in the ceiling where, as by her measurements, the pipe should emerge, she cast the spell again. The fact that nothing lit up didn’t discourage her yet. Her measurements were based on a lot of assumptions, so she’d been prepared to have to search a bit. 

But as she walked along, scanning the ceiling, she couldn’t find it. She sat on the carpet, her back against the wall, and racked her brain for an explanation. Had her measurements been so far off? Or had the floors not been extended from the central points after all?

Desperation clawed at her heart. She absolutely had to solve this tonight – the thought of staying at Gilded Aura even one minute longer than absolutely necessary filled her with nausea. But at the same time, the carpet was so soft… she was already sitting, lying down would be so easy—No, she absolutely mustn’t. She opened her eyes wide, staring into the darkness. Lines of Arithmantic formulas danced through the air in front of her, shifting left and right, going in and out of focus.

Her head snapped up. Parchment was two-dimensional. In her sleep-deprived state, she’d neglected the third dimension. The living quarters weren’t as wide as the workspaces upstairs – the pipe wouldn’t come out in the centre of the ceiling, but far to one side of the corridor. 

Alert again, her heart hammering, she cast the pipe finder spell on the left corridor wall, hoping that the pipe didn’t emerge inside one of the rooms.

There, finally! She had to keep herself from exclaiming in relief. The pipe ran a short distance towards the stairwell, then bent to go straight down, into the next floor. After taking a moment to let new hope flood her, she pushed on, noting the pipe’s position before sneaking down the stairs. Armed with a better understanding of how the dimensions influenced the path of the pipe, she managed to track it down to the ground floor within a few hours.

Now, she stood in front of the large auditorium and the two amphitheatres. The pipe didn’t show up in the hallway, so she’d have to go inside.

Her hand on the door handle to the first amphitheatre, bile rose in her throat and her stomach constricted. She didn’t want to go in there. The thought of even seeing the rising, circular rows of seats… But she had to, otherwise this nightmare would never end.

She exhaled and unlocked the door to the auditorium. Working quickly, swallowing her nausea, she cast the spell wide. The pipe wasn’t here. 

She found it in the second amphitheatre. After a few bends to make up for the size difference between the floors, it ran down again – into the basement. The only way into the basement she knew was the stairs to Lockhart’s meat appraisal room, which was in a different part of the building. There was no way she’d find the pipe again just by counting steps. She’d need something else to guide her.

Clenching her jaw in fearful anticipation, she cast a Pinging Charm on the spot where the pipe met the floor. The light from the charm seemed obscenely bright, the quiet pings loud as a fire alarm. She’d have to go downstairs and find the pipe again quickly, so she could cancel the charm before anyone came into this part of the building in the morning.

Breathing hard, she almost ran back to the Pearl League quarters, dashed into her room to get the canister of antidote and a flask of retardant, then rushed to the basement. Once she’d descended the stairs, she quickly found the door that led her into the bowels of Gilded Aura.

A long corridor stretched into the darkness. She conjured a floating globe of light before locating the ping with her wand. Soon, she had lost her sense of direction, so long and winding were the hallways. 

After a while, the smooth walls and metal doors gave way to roughly plastered whitewashed walls and a low ceiling – she was back in the historical part of the manor. It couldn’t be far now.

And indeed, above a wooden door, the thin pipe lit up under her spell. She cancelled the Pinging Charm before turning her attention to the door. The love potion had to come from this room. 

Hermione had imagined glass vats with a mysteriously swirling, glowing liquid inside. But the reservoirs, two of them, were made from stainless steel and looked more like something from a Muggle factory. The copper pipe she’d chased through the entire building for two nights originated here. The other vat had a thick bundle of very thin tubes coming out of it and going into the ceiling. These had to be responsible for spreading the love potion throughout the entire building.

There was no time to celebrate. It was half past four in the morning. At six, the wake-up call would rouse everyone. She had to work fast. 

She smeared another thick layer of the neutralising salve under her nose. Hopefully, it would offer at least a little protection against the full force of a vat full of concentrated love potion. Holding her breath, she unscrewed the heavy lid of the vat that supplied the potion for customers’ orders and used her wand to direct half of the antidote into the love potion.

After closing the lid, she went out into the corridor. To breathe, but also to mix the retardant with the rest of the antidote. This would go into the other vat, the one distributing the love potion through Gilded Aura itself.

Customers would start receiving orders with the antidote later this day. The retardant should make sure that the workers were released from their spell around the same time. 

Ria and Xanimus had assured her that the few hours worth of notice she could give them was enough to clear the area of Muggles and set up all the necessary wards, but this part was what Hermione was most worried about. What if people were so disoriented they barely noticed the banners the healers had put up, or so traumatised they’d distrust the people trying to help them? What if their brains were so fried from months or years of love potion that they couldn’t even function anymore?

Once she’d vanished the empty canister, she had twenty more minutes before the wake-up call would sound – just enough to hurry to the side of the building that Severus could see from his tent. Hermione found a window and leaned as far out as she dared in order to subtly change the colour of one of the larger stones in the manor’s outer wall. Severus would let Xanimus and Ria know that the plan was set in motion.

Hermione lingered only for a few seconds, letting her gaze travel over the landscape beyond the manor, over the very same vegetation she’d had to push through when she’d fled from Gilded Aura. From this far away, Severus’ wards kept her from seeing his tent, but it was enough to know that he was down there, less than a hundred yards away.

Before her heart could grow too heavy, she closed the window and turned away. Only a few more hours, then she’d be reunited with him.

The moment she closed the door of her room behind herself, the wake-up call sounded. Sighing, she steeled herself for the day.

It happened at lunch. Tamara had taken her place beside Hermione, just like she had at breakfast. While she hadn’t spoken a word to Hermione, she sat uncomfortably close, got up when Hermione did and walked so close behind her she stepped on her heels twice. She’d trailed her to Lockhart’s office in the morning and snapped to her side the second she’d spotted her outside the dining hall at lunch time.

Now, Hermione sat staring at the table, trying not to collapse from the sheer nerves she was experiencing. The retardant would delay the antidote’s effect for roughly eight hours, Severus had said. It had been seven and a half hours since Hermione had emerged from the basement, her task fulfilled.

A spoon clattered onto the table. “Why is this avocado not ripe?” 

Tamara tore her eyes off Hermione and addressed the man across the table. “What are you talking about? The avocados are perfect, I had a piece myself. Are you so spoiled now that even the food isn’t good enough for you anymore?”

Another inhabitant of the Pearl League quarters, A woman called Yasmina, leaned closer to the man, studying his plate, then poking her fork into the offending fruit. “It’s really quite hard though.” Fork still in hand, Yasmina’s head snapped up. “What…” she dropped the fork and put her hands to her mouth. Tears suddenly streamed down her face.

At the same time, voices rose across the dining hall, some speaking, some shouting, some screaming – the harbingers of the chaos that was to come. It took less than thirty seconds for the entire dining hall to erupt in noise and movement. Chairs fell, tables scraped over the floor, plates smashed, adding to the already unbearable din of people shouting and screaming.

The mass moved towards the double doors of the dining hall, pushing into the hall beyond. Some people stayed behind. Yasmina was one of them, hunched over, hugging herself and crying like a child.

Hermione, overwhelmed by the sudden chaos, cautiously put her hand on the woman’s back. “This must be a shock.” She bit her tongue. She mustn’t sound like she knew what was going on. As she looked around helplessly, her eyes caught Tamara’s. Tamara didn’t look sad or confused. 

“Why do I feel like shit? What’s going on here?”

Hermione swallowed. “I don’t know. Maybe we should go outside.”

“And then what?” Tamara barked. “What good will that be? We have to find Gilderoy, he can make this right.”

“I—Gilderoy?” 

“Yes! Who else? He can help.” Tamara marched to Lockhart’s office. Hermione, her mind racing, followed, guiding the now sniffling Yasmina along. In their wake, four other women followed.

Tamara knocked on the office door before Hermione could even say anything. No one answered. Tamara knocked again, then opened the door just enough to call, “Gilderoy?” through the opening. Finally, she opened the door entirely. The office was empty.

Hermione let out a quiet breath of relief. Tamara suddenly turned towards her, frowning. “You’ve been in the office this morning, haven’t you? What did you see?”

“N—nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary, I mean.”

“You did something to him, didn’t you?”

“I swear I didn’t do anything to him.” That, at least, was the truth.

Tamara narrowed her eyes but didn’t press Hermione further. “Let’s see what the others are up to then.” She set off towards the entrance hall.

A whole drove of people were pressing into the large front doors, apparently struggling to get them open. But there were people sitting on the stairs, too, watching the goings-on with wide, fearful eyes. A few small groups stood around, discussing or even fighting with each other. 

Tamara scanned the crowd, then resolutely walked towards one of the smaller groups. “Where’s Gilderoy?” she barked. 

Hermione, one arm still around Yasmina, realised that it was now or never. Pushing away the awful feeling that she was shirking her responsibility, she steered Yasmina towards the stairs. “Wait here,” she whispered. “I’ll get you out of here, yeah?”

Why the fuck wasn’t the front door open? Hermione walked into the crowd, trying to push her way through, her wand concealed in her sleeve.

But the people were packed tightly, many of them shouting, some crying. Hermione squeezed through one row, then another. People pushed from behind, but the ones in the front wouldn’t part for her. “Let me to the door, I can help,” she shouted, but no one heard her. “Please let me through, I can open the door.”

As the last word left Hermione’s mouth, everything turned black.

Chapter Text

She gasped and stepped backwards, on someone’s foot. But the noise around her hadn’t changed at all – no one seemed to react to the sudden blackness. The pressure of the people increased until Hermione could barely breathe. At the same time, their voices grew muffled and faint, and eventually disappeared. Now, all that remained was black silence and an ever-building pressure that threatened to crack her ribs.

A second later, she fell onto concrete floor. Her first gulp of air was spent in a painful yelp when her ankle twisted. Whimpering, she found her bearings, sitting up and gently putting her leg in a less painful position. She shook out her sleeve, but her wand was gone. 

Looking around, she realised that she was in the lab. It was void of workers now. In fact, Hermione couldn’t even hear the shouting from the entrance hall. There weren’t any noises at all.

She gingerly stood on one foot to get up and take in her surroundings. No sooner than she stood, her hands were pulled back and promptly bound by something that cut sharply into her flesh. She lost her balance and fell, hitting her head on a lab bench.

She groaned loudly before her voice was cut off. Someone grabbed her hair and pulled her upright. The sound of hairs ripping out of her scalp reverberated through her head. Suddenly, there was movement all around her. Someone stood behind her, still holding on tightly to her hair. A door on the other end of the lab opened and in came a group of people, staring ahead of themselves quietly and filing into an aisle of the lab. 

Hermione gasped when she recognised Xanimus and Ria among them. The others had to be their colleagues. All of them stared at her, their faces blank, their eyes empty. Her heart hammered harder than ever before, making her temple throb where she’d hit the lab bench.

Adrenaline shot painfully through her body when she was jerked backwards and slammed into a chair, pain screaming through her ankle.

“Bring him in.” That was Tamara’s voice.

A thin, bald man entered. He wore only a pair of underpants and a torn, dirty shirt. Elena came behind him, her wand trained at his head. One of the man’s eyes was purple and swollen shut, the other as empty and soulless as those of the healers.

Hermione wanted to double over, to scream, but she was forced into total silence. She watched, the pain inside her threatening to rip her apart, as Severus went to stand in front of the group.

An outstretched hand with a wand appeared in Hermione’s peripheral vision and Tamara uttered a spell. The group of people behind Severus started moving.

It took Hermione a moment to realise that her hands were freed. She still couldn’t speak, though. So, the tears that ran down her face while she looked at Severus, searched for any sign of recognition in his eyes, were silent. 

Tamara pointed a finger at Hermione. “This is the traitor. Deal with her.”

As one, the group raised their wands, Severus at the forefront. Hermione only just had time to drop off the chair onto the floor. 

Tamara and Elena snickered somewhere behind her. A third person said, “Watch her dance. Finally burn some calories.” It was Babette’s voice.

Pushing herself off her good foot, Hermione slid over the floor past Severus, kicked the nearest healer as hard as she dared and used the momentary distraction to grab their wand. 

She rolled away from them and just managed to throw up a shield before Severus and the healers had recovered from the surprise and started pelting her with spells.

Somewhere in the outskirts of her mind she noticed Tamara, Elena and Babette blaming each other for releasing Hermione’s hands. But a second later they, too, had to scramble for cover. Apparently, they hadn’t anticipated that a horde of mindless drones might not be too precise in their aim.

What was a problem for them was a blessing for Hermione – had she been faced with Severus possessing his full capacities, she wouldn’t have stood a chance against him, let alone an additional nine people attacking her.

Although even the spells Severus employed automatically were so vicious that Hermione could all but stand her ground. There was no way she could subdue him. The healers, luckily, didn’t seem to be accomplished duelists, and their spells weren’t of the overly aggressive sort – maybe that came with the profession.

Hermione had managed to get up, but she stood against a wall, moving the wand in a flurry, focusing on her non-verbal spells with all her might. Her shoulder muscles hurt but she couldn’t slow down. She looked at Severus, tried to find his eyes – at least the one that wasn’t swollen shut. Maybe if he saw her, really saw her, he’d recognise her enough to at least hesitate, giving her an opening to disarm him.

But he kept attacking her, gaining on her inch by inch, never once slowing down, even though sweat dripped off his brow. He was aiming to do serious damage, that much she could tell from the shapes and colours his wand emitted.

He was so close now that she could look into his eye, but whatever hope she’d had that this might help her evaporated. There was no one behind the black void. Panting, she fought against the despair twisting her heart, trying not to lose focus. But Severus pressed into her shield. Only a few more spells and he’d break through.

Would he stop after he’d injured her? What orders had he been given? And what would they do to him once he’d fulfilled their objective?

She’d find out soon enough. Severus had breached her shield and lifted his wand, looking through her as if she wasn’t there. Whatever was brewing in his wand’s core would be unleashed any second.

Something fell out of the air onto Severus’ head. Hermione looked up at his scalp, confused. When thin black strings snaked their way around his head, then dropped down around his neck, Hermione’s first instinct was to dispel it, cut the strings, destroy the object now resting on his chest, but Severus’ reaction stopped her.

His eye widened and his wand arm made a strange jerking motion, detaching the spell. Babette, Elena and Tamara screamed as it soared just over their heads and showered them with shards of glass when it shattered the cabinet behind them. One more spell bound them tightly and robbed them of their consciousness.

Hermione, in one fell swoop, disarmed first Severus, then the healers, their wands clattering to the floor all around her. Unable to do magic, they instead rushed towards her, but Severus turned around and stretched out his arms, trying to keep them from reaching her. They would have pushed through him easily had Hermione not stopped them.

Now, she stood, trembling, the wand raised and pointing at Severus.

His good eye wide, he stared at her. “What—Oh, Hermione…”

“Severus? Is… is this really you? Say… say the name of the pathologist.”

“Dana Scully.”

Hermione let the wand sink, her knees going soft. “It’s you,” she whispered. Then, her eyes fell to the protection amulet on his chest. Someone had levitated it to him. Maybe Petra had finally woken up to how sick this organisation was. But whether it had been her or someone else, they weren’t here anymore.

Hermione took a step towards Severus, putting a hand on his cheek. “What have they done to you?”

He smiled weakly before the corners of his mouth pulled down. “How did I not realise it was you?”

“It’s not your fault. Lockhart must have had something else up his sleeve.”

A sound, a cackling that made all Hermione’s hairs stand up came from the door through which Severus had entered earlier. “I haven’t done anything,” said Lockhart as he stepped into the room. “That was all you. Did you think I wouldn’t notice your little manoeuvres, trying to make your calculations unnecessarily convoluted, hiding the real results in a whole lot of mess?”

His arrogant grin, his air of total superiority lit a fire of rage in Hermione’s core. She closed her fingers around the wand, still panting a little from the fight with Severus, sweat running down her back. But she was already gathering her wits again, making a mental list of spells to unleash on Lockhart’s abominable face. She just needed a second of inattention from him.

“You haven’t changed at all, Miss Granger,” he now said. “Still full of arrogance, thinking you’re the only smart person far and wide. Did you honestly believe I know nothing about Arithmancy and potion making when I have developed this miracle solution that soothes and enlightens all my followers? All it needed was a little tweaking to achieve this.” He jerked his head towards the group of healers who stood bound and petrified.

The gleam in his eyes now took on a dangerous quality. There was an edge in his voice when he said, “Although I have to admit I’m a little insulted that you thought my potion was the only thing keeping my followers with me. As you can see, many of them remain loyal even after your little stunt. The potion wasn’t a tool to enslave them, like you tried to make everyone believe, it was only one of the many things I developed to make people’s lives better.”

“If it wasn’t enslaving people,” Hermione said, her voice trembling, “then how do you explain my friends attacking me?”

Lockhart’s maniacal grin flickered. “I couldn’t let you bring down years of hard work and take away the livelihoods of hundreds of people. I had to helplessly look on while you tried to sabotage me and my entire organisation. I was desperate to protect my people!”

“Bollocks!” Hermione spat. “This wasn’t a desperate last-minute solution. You had to administer the potion somehow. This was planned! You knew we were coming for you!”

Lockhart raised his hands in a show of innocence. “No, I didn’t. I try to focus on making the world a better place. I never anticipated that someone would put so much effort into keeping me from doing that. And it was you who delivered the recipe. All you had to do to protect your friends here was walk away and leave Gilded Aura alone.

“But you thought you were too clever, didn’t you? Luckily, some of my followers didn’t take kindly to the fact that their lives and their family were being destroyed. If they took justice into their own hands, what am I to do?”

Hermione’s patience had run out. She slashed her wand through the air, firing her first spell. Lockhart stumbled backwards, tripping over one of the stools, but caught himself by the edge of a lab bench. Hermione shot her next spell, which he managed to roll out from under.

From his supine position, Lockhart retaliated. Hermione had her shield up within a split second, but it wasn’t much use – the room had filled with white smoke that left her all but blind. A stool knocked against the lab bench, then clattered to the floor. Hermione didn’t dare shoot spells into the haze for fear of hitting one of the healers.

When the sound of the door being slammed shut and the bolt clicking in the lock echoed through the lab, two other things happened: The smoke parted, revealing that the three women had awoken, and were freed of the magic ropes. And Severus collapsed.

Hermione’s head quickly turned from one to the other. A flash of bright purple lightning shot out from between Elena and Tamara, only narrowly missing Hermione. She cursed herself for not disarming them, but everything had happened so fast. She tried to get to a better defensive position without stepping on Severus, but the three women rallied quickly.

The spell that hit her made her shoulder feel like it was on fire, the horrible sensation quickly spreading through her entire body. Screaming, she doubled over, her wand clattering to the floor as her entire world turned into flames. The last thing she noticed was Severus’ body cushioning her fall.

Chapter Text

Last time:

When the sound of the door being slammed shut and the bolt clicking in the lock echoed through the lab, two other things happened: The smoke parted, revealing that the three women had awoken, and were freed of the magic ropes. And Severus collapsed.

Hermione’s head quickly turned from one to the other. A flash of bright purple lightning shot out from between Elena and Tamara, only narrowly missing Hermione. She cursed herself for not disarming them, but everything had happened so fast. She tried to get to a better defensive position without stepping on Severus, but the three women rallied quickly.

The spell that hit her made her shoulder feel like it was on fire, the horrible sensation quickly spreading through her entire body. Screaming, she doubled over, her wand clattering to the floor as her entire world turned into flames. The last thing she noticed was Severus’ body cushioning her fall. 

She was still burning on the inside. How could a human being feel so much pain? Her body convulsed and she wanted to scream, but a strange calm suddenly came over her. While the pain seemed to be the same, she now felt too exhausted to acknowledge it. Slowly, it subsided.

It was back just a moment later, ripping through her veins. This time, she heard someone speak.

“—better in a minute, love.”

The bright light that had shone into her eyes was darkened by a silhouette which uttered the words, “Just one or two more times.”

The pain ebbed away sooner than it had before. 

But again, Hermione awoke gasping, “It hurts!”

“I know,” said a woman’s voice, “It’ll be better soon.”

She tried to sit up but seemed to still be bound by some hex. She breathed deeply, trying to focus and  come up with a quick strategy to free herself. Where was her wand? She turned her head – the simple movement seemed to take forever. There were the healers, looming like zombies, an amorphous mass rendered out of focus by Hermione’s tired eyes. They swayed back and forth but didn’t come closer.

In front of them was Severus, his ripped shirt a sickly green colour. She stretched out her hand to offer him some solace. “I’ll get us all out of here,” she whispered. “Hold on just a little longer. I’ll get us out of here.” Even as she fought, her field of vision shrank, and she fell back into the void she’d just clawed her way out of.

It couldn’t have been long, for the group of healers were still there, still swaying. Severus was closer to her now, his scalp burning bright red. “What have they done?” she whispered.

“Mione? Are you awake? Can you hear me?”

She blinked. Her eyes strained to focus. What was this place? Turning her head, she took everything in. There was a lime green curtain on her right. Opposite her, an empty bed. To her left was—

“Ron!” She sat up as quickly as her smarting muscles allowed, shouting, “Help!” At least, she tried to shout, but only a croak came out.

“It’s fine, Hermione, it’s fine, I swear,” Ron stammered. His wand in his hand belied his soothing words.

Her vision was choppy, like a film played back too slowly, when she cast her eyes around for a means of defence. Miraculously, her wand, which she’d thought lost, lay on her bedside table. Underneath it was a card. The spell that it illustrated couldn’t have been simpler, yet it took Hermione a few agonising seconds to understand it. With stiff fingers, she picked up her wand and thought, Auxillium .

Ron hadn't cast any spell yet and was still just stammering reassurances.

The door flew open. “Weasley! You’re not supposed to be in here unsupervised! I told you we’d call you! Get out!”

“Yes, Healer Nettleship,” Ron said, jumping off the chair, dropping his bag before picking it back up, then having to turn around to also retrieve his jacket. “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered while rushing out.

Ria let out an indignant breath. “That bloke! Welcome back, by the way.” She cast a rapid succession of diagnostic charms on Hermione.

Hermione, her mind still trying to process, lay back down. “I—you… you’re okay. Where is everyone else?” She swallowed. “Where is Severus?”

“He’s okay. I can call him if you want.”

“Yes! Please.”

Ria nodded. “You seem to be fine enough. Should be able to go home in a few days.”

“In a few days? I still feel so weak… What was wrong with me?”

“Blood boiling hex, really nasty stuff. Severus can tell you all about it. I’ll go and call him now.”

Ria was out of the door before Hermione could say anything else. She turned her head looking at the place where she thought she’d seen the healers sway in their zombie-like state. What she had taken to be their heads were the leaves of a potted plant standing in the window.

She inhaled sharply when someone touched her cheek. She hadn't noticed falling back asleep.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Hermione grabbed Severus’ hand as he was about to take it away and pulled him in, wrapping her arms around him. He moved to sit on her bed, lifting her from her pillow and holding her close.

She hugged him tightly, inhaling deeply with every breath, basking in the sheer reality of him. “You’re okay,” she whispered over and over again. She felt his answering hum more than she heard it. “I’ve missed you so, Severus.”

He turned his head a little so his mouth was closer to her ear. “I love you, Hermione. I love you.”

“I love you too, Severus. So much.”

After a long time, they broke apart and took each other in. How long had it been? As her gaze roamed over him, his crown caught her attention. “Your hair!” she exclaimed. It was about an inch long on top, cropped shorter on the sides. “How long was I out?”

He smiled when he caught her meaning. “Only five days. I used a hair growth tincture.”

Hermione exhaled. “Right. What happened during that time? How did you and the healers get out? How did I? And why does recovering from a blood boiling hex hurt so much?”

His smile had disappeared. He swallowed before saying, “The name of that hex is to be taken quite literally. They hadn’t gotten too far with it. If they had…” He slowly shook his head. “The first days of your recovery were… difficult.” He looked at her, then down at her hand in his. The deep lines on his forehead smoothened. “The healers managed to renature most of your blood and could extract whatever was coagulated beyond repair. That last process is quite painful. They had to repeat it several times a day because when your blood got more and more fluid, it became clearer which areas couldn’t be renatured. They will check later today as well and may have to do another extraction.”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.”

“And how did you get out?” Hermione frowned in her effort to recollect those last moments at Gilded Aura. There were several emotions there: Horror and surprise and… a blink of relief? Suddenly, she remembered. “Someone had put an amulet on you! Who was it, do you know?”

“Well… it was Weasley.”

“Ron? Really? Why? How?”

“I haven’t talked to him in detail but it seems that he realised he made an error.”

Hermione scoffed. “I’d say so! Did he call it an error? And what, exactly, was the error, in his opinion?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself. His only words to me were, This whole thing with Lockhart was madness. I don’t know how it got so far. I shouldn’t have done this. I was transported to St. Mungo’s soon after that, so he didn’t get the chance to impart any more wisdom. I do have to admit that he played a vital part in getting all the healers to safety, though.”

“How did he do that?”

“We managed to procure another amulet, from Lockhart’s assistant. She was in the office, burning documents. Weasley arrested her on the spot and gave me her amulet. I used it to bring Xanimus out of the trance. The three of us could sort of… herd the others outside.”

“So, the amulet reversed the effect of the new version of the love potion too. But how did you and the healers get under its influence? The neutralisation of the aerosol worked, I saw it.”

“We drank it, unknowingly. We were waiting outside for the people who’d been freed from Gilded Aura. We hadn’t anticipated that practically the entire population of the manor would come out at the same time. We could barely keep up handing out flyers and answering questions. A few who remained loyal to Lockhart must have coordinated the exodus, maybe simply by barring the doors until a crowd had gathered behind them, demanding to be let out.

“The loyal followers came outside with the desperate masses and used the confusion to spike our water with the improved version of the love potion.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, Lockhart’s gleefully cackling voice suddenly loud in her mind. “I helped him make that…” she whispered. With her face in her hands, she breathed deeply. “I did those calculations for him after I’d come back. I was so focused on keeping my cover that I accepted the collateral damage I did by helping him with his recipe…

“He was right when he said that my arrogance was what did you in, and Ria and Xanimus and everyone else… I thought I was so clever and that he’d be too stupid to notice…” She swallowed a few times, but her voice still quivered when she said, “I thought I’d gotten better at recognizing my own shortcomings and the strengths of others, but… apparently not.”

Severus stroked her hand. “This is Lockhart you’re talking about. He’d very carefully curated his reputation to hide his cunning, both then and now.”

“I know, but he came to my bloody office to threaten me! He told me, in no uncertain terms, that he was much more sinister behind his ditzy facade. That was a very visceral experience for me, and yet, I still completely underestimated him! He developed that love potion, for which he had to know quite a bit of potions and Arithmancy, but I completely ignored all of that!”

“Hermione, listen to me. You’re berating yourself for not having perfectly anticipated the malicious plans of someone who enslaved, exploited and abused hundreds of people. You could have simply walked away when you first learned he may be up to no good, but you wanted to keep him from doing more harm. You cannot fault yourself for making mistakes going into an unknown, malicious situation.

“And don’t forget that you weren’t alone, either. All of us made decisions based on what little information we had. The damage we did through our imperfect attempts to help is far outweighed by the good we did. And most of that damage was temporary, too.”

Hermione fidgeted with the edge of her blanket. She couldn’t help but wonder whether the idea of “freeing” the people of Gilded Aura hadn’t been misguided from the start. What if they really had been happier under the love potion? What if having them come off it cold turkey had done more harm than good?

She asked, “How many of the people that came out of the manor are being treated? How are they doing?”

“About two thirds. And while many of them are still coming to terms with the fact that they were quasi-prisoners, they are improving. It helps that they are a community and have each other to talk to, in addition to the healers. Many have reunited with friends and family, who are also being guided in how to best help them re-enter society.”

“What about the other third?”

Severus took a deep breath. “Some remain loyal to Lockhart and have formed a group dedicated to freeing and rejoining him. The others, I don’t know. Some might be on the fence about the situation, some might be content working through what happened on their own. Xanimus and Ria are keeping all channels of communication open.”

Hermione nodded and gave a mirthless chuckle. “I thought I’d be relieved when all this was over. I was so focused on de-weaponising the love potion that I never thought about what the aftermath would be like.”

Severus didn’t reply for a long time, staring into space. Eventually, he quietly said, “While the end might look noble, the means rarely are. You do what you must. And the outcome is only ever good for one group. If one side wins, the other must lose.”

The breath caught in Hermione’s throat. Severus looked round to her with a sad smile. “It gets better over time. You did the right thing.” His smile deepened as he gently cupped her cheek. “I’m so grateful it’s all over, and you’re really, truly out of there.”

Hermione put her hand on his. “Me too.” As she sunk into his black eyes, she saw the same Severus she’d seen on the plane – her best friend, the person who truly saw her, and loved her because of it.

The door opened, prompting Severus to switch back to sitting on the chair, albeit without haste.

“How wonderful to see you awake,” said the healer, a woman about Severus’ age. She looked apologetic when she said, “We’re here to do another extraction of denatured blood. Here, this will take the edge off the pain. Would you like your partner to stay?”

Hermione nodded, looking at Severus, who returned her knowing smile about the word ‘partner’. How wonderful to be seen that way, and to be that way.

Chapter Text

Last time:

As she sunk into his black eyes, she saw the same Severus she’d seen on the plane – her best friend, the person who truly saw her, and loved her because of it.

The door opened, prompting Severus to switch back to sitting on the chair, albeit without haste.

“How wonderful to see you awake,” said the healer, a woman about Severus’ age. She looked apologetic when she said, “We’re here to do another extraction of denatured blood. Here, this will take the edge off the pain. Would you like your partner to stay?”

Hermione nodded, looking at Severus, who returned her knowing smile about the word ‘partner’. How wonderful to be seen that way, and to be that way. 

As it turned out, the word ‘extraction’ was to be taken quite literally. The younger man accompanying the healer made incisions in three places on Hermione’s body, and the healer coaxed out the coagulated blood. It wasn’t as agonising as Hermione remembered, but still far from painless, even with the pain relief potion. Severus held her hand the entire time.

“I’m hopeful that these were the last ones,” said the healer. “We’ll check again tomorrow morning. If we find nothing else, you’ll be able to go home.”

When the healers were gone, Severus asked, “Once you can leave the hospital, where would you like to go?”

“Not Hogwarts,” Hermione replied quickly, surprising even herself. “I’m sure now that I don’t want to go back to teaching. I’ll have to figure out how to tell Minerva—”

“Don’t worry about that now. Your replacement is doing well and he’s willing to stay another year. If you want to, you can live at my house until you’ve found other accommodations. I have a study that I rarely use; you can make it into your own room. Only if you’re comfortable with that, of course. ”

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Severus.”

Three days later, Hermione sat in Ginny and Harry’s living room. She’d told them all about the downfall of Gilded Aura and her recovery at St. Mungo’s, at least the parts she’d been conscious for.

Ginny asked, “What’s it like, living with Sn—I mean… Severus?”

Hermione smiled. “Firstly, it’s only temporary. I’m looking for a small place of my own. That being said, I suppose it’s much like living together feels for the two of you. I’m with the person who makes me feel safe and loved, who I want to share my life with.”

Ginny smiled indulgently while Harry shifted in his seat and took a gulp of his drink. After a few awkward seconds, he inhaled, giving Hermione a quick, guilty look. She braced herself for a lecture about Severus, but instead, Harry said, “Ron’s been asking about you.”

Hermione sat up, alert. “Asking what?”

“Whether maybe you’d agree to talk t—”

“Absolutely not.”

Hesitatingly, Harry explained, “He brought the Gilded Aura case to the Ministry. Without Ron’s testimony, we couldn’t have done anything against Lockhart, given that we only had one unfounded complaint about him.”

“Unfounded…” Hermione murmured, shaking her head.

“It was about when he came to your office, wasn’t it? Did you report it? Why didn’t you call me directly?”

Hermione looked up at Harry. “Severus made the report, and I didn’t think things with Lockhart would go any further. If I had known, I would have kept you in the loop… Also about Ron.” She shot him a dark look.

Harry exhaled, clearly conflicted. “Ron… he volunteers for everything, from combing through the mountain of documents to contacting victims to transcribing statements – he does it all. He sleeps at the office sometimes. I think he’s really trying to make amends.”

Hermione took a deep breath, her eyes boring into Harry’s. “Ron has been happily living off the perks Lockhart’s criminal activities afforded him. He was quite keen on having Lockhart deliver me to him, to do with as he pleased. Ron fully believed that I was not in possession of my mental faculties when he persistently tried to get me to sleep with him, and got angry when I wouldn’t.”

Her voice had started trembling with anger. “The fact that Ron now finally decided to do his actual job does not make any of it better. He should have brought the case to you the very moment he noticed people were being drugged without their knowledge. He had insider knowledge! Instead, he accepted Lockhart’s protection and started working with him, kidnapping me and casually attempting to seriously and permanently injure Severus.

“I’m honestly not even sure why Ron decided to help us in the end – was it because he truly saw the error of his ways, or did he simply realise that the jig was up, and that he better switch sides if he didn’t want to be regarded as one of the criminals?”

Harry’s eyes had grown larger, his brows travelling further up his forehead with every sentence from Hermione. “I hadn’t quite realised how… involved Ron had been.” He took a deep breath and rubbed his face with both his hands. “Fuck… Hermione, I’m so sorry. I would never have thought…” He shook his head.

Hermione exhaled, feeling somewhat vindicated by Harry’s reaction. 

He got up. “I need to go to the office. I have to take Ron off this case immediately and talk to my partner, work out how we handle Ron. I expect that we might arrest him.” He shook his head again. “I can hardly believe things got this far.” 

Hermione left soon after. She came home to Severus preparing dinner. His smile when he saw her melted the tension in her body. She put her hand in his hair to kiss him. It was still short, exposing his jaw and ears, which she couldn’t tear her eyes away from.

“I’ve made inquiries around the village,” Severus said, filling the plates Hermione had put out. “It seems that the cottage belongs to a family who don’t live here anymore. They had plans to make it into a holiday home, but no one seems to know if that plan still stands. It has been a number of years since anyone has heard from them.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows in amusement. “I wasn’t aware you had such good connections to the villagers.”

“They really appreciate my herbal teas.”

“Herbal—You’re giving them potions?”

“No, really just tea. Although some of the ingredi—I mean herbs, might help with their health concerns.”

Hermione laughed. “And might those herbs be unobtainable for Muggles, too?”

“Maybe.” His expression was inscrutable, but Hermione saw the glint in his eyes.

She said, “I wonder if the owners of the cottage know about the state of the roof. They’d have to invest serious money to fix that thing enough to rent it out.”

“I got their name and last-known address. I’m sure we’ll be able to find them.”

Luck shone its light on Hermione, for they found the owners of the cottage. After a bit of back and forth, they accepted the offer Hermione made them. She knew she’d paid too much, but she didn’t care – living across the hill from Severus was worth every penny. 

Ginny and Harry’s experience in home repairs were invaluable. On weekends, the four of them restored Hermione’s cottage to all its cosy glory. In the beginning, Hermione had been nervous about Severus and Harry working together, but Ginny was excellent at bridging the gap. 

At one point, Severus and Harry sat at the far end of the garden as they drank their after-work refreshment. “I think they’re talking it out,” Ginny said to Hermione. “Harry had a few bones to pick with him.” 

Hermione nodded slowly. “They’ll be able to make it right, I’m sure.” She still was nervous all evening – it took hours before the two came back inside. But Ginny was right. After their talk, any lingering heaviness between Harry and Severus had dissipated.

By the time all leaves had fallen, the cottage was done and ready to receive guests for Hermione’s housewarming party. Apart from the Potters, Luna and Neville, Hermione had also invited Ria and Xanimus, and even Cleo and Xenophilius. 

After giving Hermione a long, tight hug, Cleo asked, “This place isn’t haunted, right?” 

Hermione couldn’t help a chuckle. “No, there was barely anything left to be haunted. Besides, compared to everything else that happened this year, a little haunting would be a welcome break.” 

It was mild for November, so the party soon moved into Hermione’s back garden, where Ginny made fire in a fire basket and Harry brought out a long chain of fairy lights that he hung from the trees. Everyone was mingling and talking. Ria stood by Harry and Xenophilius, her eyebrows drawn together in deep disbelief as an unaware Xenophilius talked about who knew what. Neville gave Severus, who stood talking to Luna, Ginny and Xanimus, sideways glances, inching ever closer towards him. Hermione hoped that he, too, could have a healing conversation with Severus.

Only Cleo seemed uneasy, standing by herself, nervously sipping her drink. Hermione joined her, asking, “How is Hogwarts these days?”

Cleo shrugged. “Pretty much the same, I guess. Your replacement doesn’t want to collect ingredients with me, though. But hey, I’ve talked to Hagrid a few times, and you were right, he’s totally nice! He agreed to help me a bit with the ingredients and stuff.”

“That’s great. I’m really glad to hear that.”

Cleo looked at her feet in an uncharacteristic moment of shyness. “ Hermione, listen… I’m super sorry about the whole… thing with Ronald. I shouldn’t have dated him.”

Hermione let out a small breath. “That’s all right, really. Your love life is not up to me.”

“But what about girl code? I literally broke the first rule! It’s just that I didn’t know. Ronald told me you were just friends.”

“We weren’t anything. Neither a couple nor friends.” Hermione looked out over her garden, feeling a weight drop off her heart. He really was gone from her life. Just like Lockhart.

Cleo said, “Oh, I thought… right. Well, I’m also really sorry about Gilderoy. I didn’t know about his whole… cult thingy. And besides, I found an apothecary who also sell crystals, and they’re so much cheaper! At first, I thought they can’t be any good if they’re so cheap, but I really grilled the guy, and he promised they were pure and all. So, yeah. Anyway, sorry.”

Hermione smiled weakly. “It’s okay, Cleo. Lockhart’s business was designed to lure in as many people as possible.” 

“It’s bollocks that I have to find a new hobby now. I kind of enjoyed selling Gilderoy’s stuff. I was about to ascend to Emerald, too.”

“Maybe you could dive a bit deeper into potions?”

Cleo burst out laughing. “Right, like I’ll make my job into my hobby. Work-life balance, silly!” 

Hermione couldn’t help but smile while shaking her head. 

Xenophilius was now ambling over to them. After introducing himself to Cleo, he addressed Hermione. “I have good news from Mongolia.”

“Oh, really? That’s great! What is happening in Mongolia?” 

A few yards away, Severus raised his head and looked over to them. He said something to the others and joined Hermione’s group. He stood close to her, only just not touching her. His warmth and presence filled Hermione with deep peace and gratefulness.

“Proceed, please, Xenophilius. Forgive the interruption.”

“Right, so. As I was saying.” Xenophilius shot Severus a nervous glance. “They found the cause of the itchiness and blistering skin. It was a tiny spider that laid eggs in their skin.”

Cleo yelped, startling everyone, then turned on her heel and ran into the house.

“She’s a bit squeamish,” Hermione explained. “But, um… a spider, you say. Where did it come from?”

“From the Alma! It seems to be a new type of parasite.”

“I see,” Severus said. “And the illness from the spiders started at about the same time Lockhart was travelling in that region…”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up and she looked at Severus. “Do you think he tried to introduce the mites from the Meh-Teh to the Alma? They are much easier to reach than the Meh-Teh and had an established relationship with the people there. Maybe he was hoping to harvest their skin grease like that?”

“A novel parasite, maybe carrying diseases from a different part of the world, could have elicited a strong immune reaction.”

“That could be it, right? I mean, we can’t know for sure, but… Anyway, I’m really glad they’re better, Xenophilius.”

“Well, yes, but I said that it was a spider , not what you were talking about.”

“Right. Of course.” Hermione gave him a smile that she hoped would placate him enough to drop the argument.

There was a movement on Hermione’s left. Cleo came towards them slowly, walking on her tiptoes as if stalking a skittish animal. “Are you done talking about the… you know?” She whisper-shouted.

“Yes, I’m sorry, Cleo. We’ll keep the conversation off scary animals.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Suddenly, her eyes went wide, her gaze fixed on Xenophilius’ chest. “Is that amethyst?” she exclaimed, stretching out her hand to inspect a pendant Xenophilius wore around his neck.”

He smiled. “It’s fluorite. It improves spiritual balance and helps you open your third eye. But its true power only becomes apparent when I shine a special light onto it. Would you like to see?”

“Yes!” Cleo breathed.

Hermione gave Severus a look and they discretely moved away, grinning.

Severus took Hermione’s hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. They went to sit on a bench under a walnut tree, looking out over the people happily chattering away. Severus put his arm around her and she leaned against him. She’d finally found her place in life, and no one could ever take it from her again.

~*~*~*~*~  THE END  ~*~*~*~*~