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Day 10:

Thursday, September 10, 1998

. . .
Hermione
. . .
The dark swallowed Hermione whole, the walls pressing in around her as Bellatrix’s voice echoed, taunting her, drawing closer. Her legs felt like lead, but she tried to run, hands outstretched, reaching. Her mother’s face flashed before her — vacant, unseeing — followed by her father’s blank stare. Her own mouth opened in a silent scream, but the sound stayed trapped in her throat.Bellatrix’s laughter cut through the silence. “Mudblood…Filthy. Little. Mudblood…” Pain flared on her arm, and she looked down, watching helplessly as the word carved itself into her skin, blood welling up, hot and thick. Her breaths came shallow, each one fainter than the last as darkness closed in, tightening its hold—Hermione jerked awake, gasping, tangled in her sheets. Her chest heaved, lungs struggling for air, her nightshirt damp with sweat. She pushed herself upright, fingers fumbling against her forehead to brush damp curls away. Shadows twisted across the room, strange and unfamiliar in the moonlight. Her gaze darted to the window — still dark.The silver, simple wristwatch at the cabinet at her bedside beckoned her. The last proof in existence of a family who remembered her. The witch brought the object closer to her, her fingertips tracing the engraving on the underside of it. The way her heart clenched, twisting and tightening at lightspeed, left her breathless. No matter how many times she woke up, it always felt odd to mourn two living people and the life she’d thrown away in favor of protecting them and helping Harry. She couldn’t regret it, but she would forever miss them — and the bright, muggleborn girl the world cruelly molded into a shell of a woman.Squinting, she read the short and long hand of the watch: 3:12. She clenched her jaw, chest tight, heart hammering as the remnants of the nightmare lingered, pressing on her mind. She placed the wristwatch back down.“It’s not real,” she whispered, voice ragged, barely there. “You’re safe. It’s over.” She rubbed her forearm where the scars lay beneath the sleeve, feeling the faint ridges as she forced herself to steady her breathing.Her eyes fell on the empty vial on her bedside table, the last traces of the Potion for Dreamless Sleep clinging to the glass. She picked it up, her fingers tense as she turned it over in her hands, then set it down with a hollow clink. Her hands shook slightly as she released it, and she exhaled sharply, her lips pressing together in frustration. She wouldn’t get through another night like this without it.She stood, legs unsteady, and crossed the room to her desk, where her beaded bag sat on the chair. She gripped it tightly, letting the familiar weight anchor her as she slung it over her shoulder. She had kept the truth about the nightmares from Harry — hadn’t told him that seven doses a month barely lasted her ten days. He didn’t know about the full extent of what darkness that lingered behind her eyelids, the war that raged in her dreams.Fingers trembling, Hermione grabbed the Marauder’s Map, the old parchment rough beneath her touch as she tapped it with her wand. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”The ink rippled out across the page, tracing the castle’s every turn, every hidden corner. She traced her route, marking Filch’s patrol near the third-floor corridor, then glanced quickly at the dungeons, where Snape’s dot moved in slow, deliberate circles. Odd. Curious. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she looked away, dismissing it.Hermione slipped out into the spiral staircase of the eighth-year tower. Silently, she cast a quick Lumos , which illuminated the dark, drafty corridor. She’d ease down the steps to the house-agnostic common room, wand held low as she moved. Each step felt louder than it should have, echoing off the walls. Her heart raced as she glanced over her shoulder, checking for shadows. The chill in the air pressed against her skin, heightening the tension coiling in her stomach.The Potions Storeroom loomed ahead, its heavy door waiting in the dim light. She opened it as quietly as possible, stepping inside and closing it behind her. Stashing the map into her beaded bag, she surveyed the rather spacious closet. The air smelled faintly of herbs and aged wood, an oddly comforting scent. She ran her fingers along the shelves, eyes scanning for the ingredients she needed.Her hand brushed a small vial, and she added it to her beaded bag, mentally noting everything she took. She’d replenish it later. The potion was essential — tonight had proven that. She closed the storeroom door gently, locking it with a soft click and wave of her wand.As she turned to leave, movement caught her eye down the corridor.A shadow approached, tall and unhurried. She stilled, her stomach twisting as she recognized the dark figure. Snape. What good was the map if she didn’t reference it before leaving the storeroom? Her heart thundered in her chest, a deep, unsettling dread settling over her. He was close enough now that she could make out his face, expression vacant, gaze unfocused, as though he looked right through her.Hermione’s breaths shallowed, fingers clenched tightly around her wand as her mind raced. He would see her — catch her out of bounds after curfew. Her entire body went taut, muscles rigid as she waited for him to snap at her, to demand an explanation, to sneer.But he walked past her, eyes blank, face devoid of any of his usual sharpness. She stood frozen, watching him as he continued down the hall, his gait slow, mechanical, each step strangely measured. Those imposing, black robes did not billow behind him as they usually did. In fact, his pace was slow. Much too slow, she discerned. Her brow furrowed, lips parting as she struggled to make sense of it.The tension in her body shifted, worry creasing her brow. She tilted her head, studying his face — his eyes unblinking, his jaw set in an unnatural line. His hands hung limply at his sides, fingers barely moving with each step. He looked…wrong.Her grip on her wand tightened, and she stepped forward, the dread in her stomach replaced by a knot of something else. She whispered his title, the word barely a breath — as though testing the air between them. “Professor…?”Professor Snape didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed somewhere far away, his steps too steady, too rigid. Hermione’s lips pressed together, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Sleepwalking. That’s what he was doing. In all her years at Hogwarts, he’d never done this. At least, not that she knew of. She took a slow step toward him, hand reaching out cautiously, her fingers hovering close to his arm.Her touch barely grazed him before his eyes snapped open, suddenly fierce and alert — like a predator caught off guard. His wand whipped upward in a flash, his mouth twisting as he hissed, “Sectumsempra!” The curse slammed into her chest, tearing through her skin with an explosion of pain. She stumbled back, the world tilting as she fell to her knees, hands clutching her torso as blood poured through her fingers. The cold stone met her palms, unyielding, and her breaths came shallow, frantic, each one more strained than the last.Blood soaked her shirt, darkening the lavender fabric, warm and sticky as it spread beneath her. Her head spun, her vision dimming as she struggled to stay conscious, the pain pressing down on her like a weight, heavy and unrelenting.From a good distance away, Snape’s face hovered, horror etched into every line. His wand trembled in his hand, his mouth open in silent disbelief as he knelt beside her. He pressed his wand to her wounds, his face pale, eyes wide as he whispered urgently, “Vulnera Sanentur.” A faint warmth spread through her, dulling the sharpest edges of the pain, but her strength faded fast, her vision swimming as she struggled to breathe. His voice came again, insistent, the words tense as he repeated the spell, his wand moving over her with a steady, almost frantic precision.Her blood still seeped through her clothes, staining his hands, dark and warm against his pale skin. He muttered the incantation a final time, voice fraying, his gaze locked onto her as though he couldn’t look away, each second pressing down with a terrible weight. Her pain eased slightly, her breathing evening out, but her body felt heavy, her limbs weak, barely holding her to the edge of consciousness.Hermione lay still on the stone floor, each breath sending sharp, fiery pain through her torso. The sharp world blurred, dulling the longer she dwelled in the familiar space, buried in only pain. So much bloody pain. The curse ought to be classified as Unforgivable, she mentally noted. The healing spells may have knitted her wounds, but the memory of pain lingered. The witch knew her strength faded. Fast. She looked at Severus, who knelt close beside her, his face strained, his normally stoic expression barely holding back a storm.“Dittany,” she murmured, her voice a fragile thread. “In…my bag.” She managed a slight gesture toward her beaded bag, still slung over her shoulder. He glanced down at it, understanding dawning, and immediately raised his wand. “Accio Essence of Dittany,” he muttered, and the vial flew from the depths of her bag into his waiting hand. He uncorked it, his hands moving with the controlled precision she had come to expect from him. His gaze swept over her injuries, lingering on the fabric of her blood-soaked shirt.A slight hesitation flickered in his eyes, barely noticeable, but Hermione caught it. He carefully lifted her arms from the sleeves, and she felt the cool air hit her wounds as he raised the fabric of her long-sleeve cotton shirt up her torso, gently folding it at her collarbone to expose the worst of the gashes. Her skin was raw, the angry red lines standing out against her pale flesh.Then, his movements stilled entirely, his gaze catching on her forearm. There, still fresh and unerasable, the word Mudblood remained — carved into her skin like an eternal brand. She saw his eyes darken, his face going still. His entire body tensed as he stared at the scar. Professor Snape’s breathing slowed, his features locked in a trance-like expression, his face pale and tight as if he’d glimpsed a ghost.“Professor?” she whispered, her voice a tentative plea. His gaze remained fixed, his expression haunted, distant, as though he had been transported to a different time and place. She felt her heart pound painfully, a flicker of worry stirring even amid her pain.“Sir?” she tried again, the word barely audible, but he didn’t respond. His hand hovered just above her arm, his fingers curling slightly as he stared at the scar, his eyes hollow, his mouth set in a grim line as if wrestling with something too painful to voice.With what little strength she had left, she forced herself to say his name, her voice a faint, desperate whisper. “Severus.” The witch’s throat scratched and her voice rose on the last syllable, sounding a lot like someone on the edge of consciousness.At the sound of his name, he blinked, his gaze snapping back to her. His eyes were startled, wide, vulnerable in a way she had never seen before. For a moment, he looked at her, his face laid bare. All his carefully constructed walls crumbled in the span of a heartbeat.The vulnerability lingered, a flicker of pain and something deeper that softened his gaze. But then, in an instant, the professor pulled himself back, his expression hardening. His jaw set as he refocused on her wounds. He brought the vial of Dittany over her torso, carefully tilting it and applying a few drops to each cut. She clenched her teeth as the liquid touched her skin, the fierce burn jolting through her. But she held steady, allowing the potion to work.Snape’s movements were calm. Precise. His hands were gentle as he applied the Dittany to each lashing. He seemed to pour his focus into his work, shutting out whatever had haunted him only moments before. His gaze moved to the deep, ugly, and jagged slash that cut from her left hip to her right collarbone. His mouth tightened as he watched the potion age the wound but leave a thick, wide, and angry scar in its place.When he finished, he capped the bottle with a snap. The professor’s face was a mask of frustration as he tugged her shirt back down, carefully guiding her arms through the sleeves and smoothing the fabric over her torso. His touch lingered, barely noticeable, as he made sure she was fully covered before withdrawing his hands.Without warning, he reached for her, slipping one arm under her knees and the other around her back, preparing to lift her from the ground. She slumped in his arms, her body too heavy for her to manage. Merlin, she could barely murmur a faint question, her voice weak. “What…are you doing?”Snape glanced down at her, his face set in fierce determination. “Madam Pomfrey should deal with this,” he remarked icily. “Your injuries are neither trivial nor healed.”“No,” she whispered, her fingers clutching at his sleeve with what little strength she had left. “If…if anyone finds out…” She swallowed, the thought chilling her even as she struggled to form the words. “They’ll send you…to Azkaban.”That he taught potions here had been his sentence from the Wizengamot that summer. Under the careful supervision of the new headmistress, the professor was thrown back into the castle dungeons to teach potions. He’d never again teach DADA — though she suspected he did not find that all too unacceptable these days. It would take only one incident to send him to the wretched prison.The words hit him like a physical blow. His expression tightened, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her, the weight of her statement sinking in. For a moment, she could see the war in his mind, the need to do what was best for her clashing with the reality of the consequences he would face. His jaw clenched, the frustration evident as he battled with the decision.He drew in a tight breath, his words clipped and unenthusiastic. “Have it your way.”Adjusting his hold, he carefully rose, shifting her to hold her more securely as he descended the corridor. His steps were steady, each movement calculated and controlled, as he navigated the dimly lit hallways. Hermione felt her head resting against his shoulder, her exhaustion heavy. The warmth of his presence provided a strange sense of comfort amid the haze of pain.They reached the Potions Lab. Snape eased her down onto a cushioned bench, his movements gentle, though his face remained hard. His expression focused as he chose potions from the shelves. He returned with an assortment of vials, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he uncorked the first.“Take it,” he commanded, pressing the vial to her lips with firm insistence. “Now,” he spat, lingering on the vowel of the single syllable for a beat. The potion tasted bitter, the sharpness cutting through her daze. The young witch swallowed, feeling the warmth settle within her, easing the pain and loosening the tightness in her chest.He placed the empty vial aside and held out another, the blue liquid within glimmering faintly. “Slowly, Miss Granger,” he muttered, his tone terse, though his eyes held an almost unspoken concern.Hermione took the vial, her fingers brushing his as she lifted it to her lips. She drank, feeling the cool liquid slip down her throat, calming her further, and she allowed herself a slow breath, letting the warmth of the potion dull the lingering ache in her body.Snape remained close, his gaze steady, watchful — as though ensuring she was stabilizing. The silence stretched between them, each lost in their own thoughts. The air was heavy with things unspoken. His eyes assessed her, his face darkening as he stared at the shallow dip between her small breasts. A flicker of guilt tightened his mouth. The witch scratched at the word carved into her left forearm. Pain oozed from the long lash that now crossed her torso. It wouldn’t heal. It wouldn’t fade.Something changed when she settled her attention on his inky glare. His gaze dropped, his expression hardened, and she saw the subtle tremor. His breathing quickened, his face growing pale as the weight of the evening seemed to crash down on him, his shoulders slumping under the invisible burden. He had seen her through the worst of her injuries, but it was as though he were unraveling now that the immediate danger had passed.His face twisted, a haunted look clouding his eyes as he clenched his fists. His entire frame tensed. His breath grew shallow. Ragged. His eyes were too distant. Hermione realized with a jolt that he was spiraling into a place she knew all too well — a place where the horrors of the past refused to let go.Unsure of what to do, yet feeling a pull to help, Hermione moved closer, noticing a faint glimmer of firelight under a nearby door. She guessed it led to his private chambers. She hesitated, then, with a steadying breath, reached out and took his hand.The contact made him jerk, a flicker of confusion passing over his face. But he didn’t pull away. His hand hung loose in hers — cold, unresponsive. The witch held it firmly, anchoring him as best as she could. Her voice was gentle, barely a whisper. “Come on,” she said, hoping he would follow her unsteady, exhausted lead.His face remained distant, his gaze unfocused. However, he allowed her to guide him toward the door. She opened it with ease, keeping her hand on his and feeling his fingers tighten slightly in response. The professor’s expression remained vacant.Inside, the room glowed with the warmth of the fire, casting a gentle, amber light across the walls. Hermione dropped his hand, leaving him by the open door for the time being while she gained some bearings in the unfamiliar, minimal dwelling. There were two doors. Opening the one to the left, she mentally mapped out the washroom. That meant the bedroom must be behind the door to the right. The witch moved back out to the common room, maneuvering around his catatonic, imposing, and looming frame to ease the door leading back out to the lab shut.
Taking the edge of his sleeve between her thumb and index finger, Hermione tugged him toward the door to their right. Opening it, she guided them inside. A smaller hearth glowed, illuminating the cramped room in flickering, foreboding shadows.
Professor Snape moved, somehow lifeless, behind her. She needed to ensure he was safely in his bed before she could leave him. Right? Shifting on her wobbly feet, the witch bit her lip. She darted her eyes from one side of the small space to the other. The bed was a double, though it looked a bit too narrow and short for a man of his stature.Steadying herself by wrapping her unimposing grip around his wrist, Hermione twisted to face him. She locked her other hand around his other wrist, her grip loose and lazy now. Walking backward toward the bed proved rather foolish. Her ankle rolled, but she caught herself before she could completely make a fool of herself. When the backs of her knees impacted the hard mattress, she guided him closer to the bed, awkwardly shoving him. His body landed without protest, although seeing him bounce up and down a few times while still trapped in such a catatonic state made her heart clench.Where was the ruthless, sharp-tongued professor she’d once feared? The question felt like a betrayal. Where was the passionate little know-it-all who always felt emboldened to display her knowledge — even unprovoked? The war had erased the bulk of their colorful souls until only black and white existed.Hermione fought to steady herself as she knelt by the bed, her breaths shallow and uneven. As she touched him, he said nothing — did nothing. Every once in a while, he blinked, though that was likely due to his body’s natural functions as opposed to an intentional occurrence. Each of her small movements sent fresh waves of pain through her torso, reminding her just how little strength she had left.
But she couldn’t abandon him. Not now. Not Yet. Reaching out, she set her fingers on the stiff laces of his heavy boots, her hands trembling as she tried to unknot them. The leather felt stiff beneath her touch, the crisscrossed laces taut, almost mocking her exhaustion. She exhaled slowly. The simple task seemed insurmountable, her hands barely managing the task. Her vision blurred as she focused all her energy on loosening the first knot.“Sir?” she whispered, her voice just loud enough to cut through the quiet. She wanted to believe that saying something — anything — would reach him: that it would bring him back. She lifted her gaze to his features, searching for some sign that he was there, aware. “Professor Snape…please.”But he didn’t move. His body remained rigid, his eyes distant and empty. She forced herself to look away, returning her focus to the task at hand. Finally, she freed one boot and pulled it off. The weight of it nearly slipped from her grip as she set it down by the bed. Her shoulder throbbed in response, and she drew in a sharp breath.“Almost…done,” she murmured to herself, though she wasn’t entirely sure if it was for him or her own reassurance.The second boot proved no easier. As her fingers fought with the laces, she felt the edges of her strength slipping further. Her vision swam, her hands feeling clumsy, her own body weak and battered. At last, the boot slipped off with a small thud as it hit the floor. The witch let her hands fall to her sides, taking a moment to catch her breath.“Sir?” she tried again, her voice hoarse but gentle. She shifted her weight, pressing her hands against the mattress as she hoisted herself up to her feet, her legs unsteady. Leaning over, she rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Professor Snape…it’s all right. It’s just Hermione. You’re safe.”No response. The emptiness in his eyes gnawed at her, leaving her feeling helpless. Her own pain was a dull echo to his silence. But there was a part of her that refused to give up. She couldn’t just walk away. Not while he was lost somewhere inside himself.Summoning what little energy she had left, Hermione took a deep breath and leaned closer, her voice a soft plea. “Severus.” She whispered his name, her voice gentle, weighted with something she couldn’t quite put into words.His hand twitched, a flicker of movement, almost imperceptible. She held her breath, watching, waiting for more, but he only stilled again. Yet the slight movement was enough — it was something, a faint reminder that he was still there beneath the layers of anguish that held him captive.Hermione straightened as best she could, her body aching with each small motion.
She forced herself to leave his side, her steps shaky as she moved back out of his quarters and into the potions lab. The cold air bit into her skin, sharpening her focus. She scanned the shelves, her vision still hazy, and then whispered, “ Accio Dreamless Sleep.” The vial flew into her hand, the glass cool and solid against her fingers. She closed her hand around it, grounding herself before she made her way back to his side.Sitting on the edge of the bed, she reached out, her hand brushing his shoulder as she leaned over him, holding the vial. “It’s Dreamless Sleep, sir,” she said softly, coaxing him with the gentleness in her tone. “It will help,” the witch whispered after a beat.He blinked slowly, his eyes narrowing. The professor’s gaze flickered over her face — as if trying to make sense of her words. She held the vial a little closer, her eyes searching his for any hint of recognition. Snape just shook his head slowly, a quiet refusal that held firm. Though the hint of wariness in his gaze pained her, the witch knew better than to press him further.With a sigh, she set the vial on the small table by the bed, her hand lingering there for a moment. She watched him, her breaths aligning with his as she tried to keep herself grounded. The fragility of the moment felt as if it could shatter with a single word. Therefore, she held back, letting the quiet speak for her.After what felt like an eternity, she spoke, her voice soft but steady. “I should go…back to my quarters,” she murmured. The thought of leaving him alone filled her with a reluctance that she couldn’t fully understand. She didn’t want to leave him like this, caught in a nightmare she couldn’t pull him from. But she wasn’t sure if her presence would bring him any comfort.What could a student — one of his least favorite, at that — do to help one of the most powerful wizards still breathing? Doubt snapped her determination. Here, she was a hindrance. She was of no help to him. Rather, she was an intruder within his solitude.As she made to stand, his hand shot out, catching her wrist with a surprising firmness. She stilled. The warmth of his hand grounded her. His grip was tight — but not harsh. The witch turned back to him, meeting his gaze. In that vulnerable stare, Hermione glimpsed something unguarded, something raw and unspoken that he couldn’t express in words.“Should I stay?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, the question hanging between them like a fragile thread.A faint nod, so small it could have been missed, but she caught it. Her heart gave a small, steadying beat as she eased her wrist from his grip. The witch offered a gentle nod in return. “I’ll just…go to the other side,” she said softly, her tone reassuring — promising that she wouldn’t leave him.Carefully, she walked around the bed, her footsteps light, His stare followed her as she lowered herself onto the mattress. She settled beside him, keeping a respectful distance but close enough that he could feel her presence.The silence stretched between them, no words needed as they lay there: side by side. Hermione could feel the tension slowly easing from his body. Snape’s breathing settled into a rhythm that matched her own. The quiet had a heaviness to it, but it wasn’t oppressive. Rather, it felt like a shared space where both of them could simply exist without the need to fill the silence with explanations or apologies.She stole a glance at him, catching the steady stream of falling tears that traced down his temple — dissolving into his long, black, and glossy hair. Her chest tightened. Grief. The weight of whatever had officially broken him. Without thinking, she reached out, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. It was a silent offer of comfort.Professor Snape tensed for a brief moment, but his shoulders relaxed. The older wizard’s head turned slightly toward her. She guided him closer, her touch gentle as she brought him into the hollow of her neck. The warmth of his breath hit softly against her collarbone. His grip on her shirt sleeve tightened, his hands clenching as if holding onto her was the only thing keeping him grounded.She closed her eyes, her fingers tracing soothing patterns along his back. The pain in her own body faded into the background. Hermione’s focus was solely on him — on the quiet anguish he’d allowed her to witness. Sob after sob crushed her: their weight far too much for her own weak shoulders to bear. Too many demons and monsters lingered there. She couldn’t take away his — or her — pain. The witch could not erase the memories that haunted him. But in that moment, she could be a steady presence in the dark.They stayed like that for what felt like an hour at least. Her own fatigue mingled with his, the boundaries between them dissolving. Slowly, she felt his body grow heavier. Snape’s breathing evened out as sleep began to claim him. The weight of the night finally lifted for him — if only for a while. In the stillness, Hermione held him, her hand steady on his shoulder, knowing that for tonight, neither of them had to face their fears alone.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day 10:

Thursday, September 10, 1998

. . .
Severus
. . .
Darkness enveloped him. Its texture was rich and infinite — a tranquil weightlessness that softened the sharpness of his memories, betrayal, conflicting loyalties, and loathing. For the first time in decades, Severus drifted. The wizard remained wholly unburdened by the ghosts: their faces, their voices, and their screams. His mind, normally a battlefield of scorn and pain, now lay quiet. Still. He floated, his limbs slack and vision blank. The calm wrapped around him like velvet on his thin, aged, and scarred skin.It must be death — for nothing in life could offer him this...sobering peace.Nothing was what he truly deserved, but a flicker of fragile hope rooted in his rotted heart until it bloomed. Surely, he prayed to the folly of gods that did not exist, it was earned, at least? This oblivion? That hope stretched from his gut up to his throat, where the scar could no longer torment him with its pain. It grew beyond the confines of his corporeal body until it enveloped all around him.Yes. He’d earned his place in this silent void — far from the snarls of life that clawed at his every step. At last, the years fell away until nothing except this vast, cold emptiness built the foundation of a safety he’d truly never known. Everything silenced. Gone. A shuddering joy surged through him — singing a delicate lullaby of demented, desperate, and delirious happiness. To him, it whispered that this was real. It was his, and he was finally irrevocably gone.Obliterated from suffering itself. Bliss.Home.Death, a true vixen that adequately choked him into a consensual submission, seduced Severus. Her, for it could be no man as they had only shown him the deepest cruelties when he’d been alive, arms lined the cage in which he could feel happy. She squeezed his body like she had rather dark yet delicious plans for him. This was more intoxicating than power ever could be.
A gentle, cool touch traced the shallow trench that dipped at the center of his back. Death coaxed a shiver from Severus’ spine. It was a wholly uncontrollable response. Safer than any other’s touch ever could be. She smelled of rosewood — contradicting the cool, sharp pinch enveloping him here in his happy solace. A crisp, subtle warmth disarmed him as the scent dwelled around him: a prize for only him to enjoy.The note of rosewood, rich and dusky, lingered like an unbidden yet entirely pleasant memory, haunting in its familiarity. It possessed an aged quality to it…like well-worn pages of a most beloved book. Present amongst its richness was a sweetness that was not at all saccharine; it was mature, softened by time and shadows, a warmth that sits at the edge of nostalgia.Next, a tone of cloves shifted the air, charging it with a disarming gentleness never before extended to the wizard. Before he could, perhaps, resist, it slipped behind his every defense: under his skin and shielding his hollow heart. The cloves were somehow darker than the blackness showering him presently. It was spicy in such a way that sharpened the moment with surprising clarity. It was a whisper of something safe. Forbidden. Beautiful. Singular.The overall blend disoriented him. It held a promise he could not understand. It left him as comforted as he was unsettled…like a room that resembled home but was, indeed, not. That such a place could exist for him was unimaginable.Yet, here in this space, it anchored him.Severus Snape wished never to leave. This was a paradise, and he could not bear were it not real. It had to be real. It was! Wasn’t it?The jagged recollections of sharp fangs, burning poison, and bitter betrayal flickered faintly. But it quickly dulled, dissipating in the abyss. Relief pulsed within him, wild and unchecked. To be dead — truly dead — was a mercy beyond any he’d ever dared imagine. He sank deeper, letting himself dissolve into it — into the thought of final peace. His heart felt weightless. His mind, of course, was clear.But the borders of his sanctuary shattered: much like glass. Only without the brilliance.A warmth at his side, something unrelenting, seeped through the cracks of his now fragile haven. The presence disturbed the darkness, an unwelcome flame of reality prodding his peace. Panic flared, frantic, and all-consuming. He willed it away, pushed it down, wishing only to cling to the darkness. But the warmth persisted. It was stronger and invading.Severus’ eyes shook open, lashes scraping against each other as he registered the faint, pre-dawn glow in the otherwise darkened room. Air filled his lungs, suffocating and damp, dragging him back. He tensed, fighting to retreat, to let the nothingness claim him again. But each breath anchored him further. The truth struck him, vicious and unforgiving.He was alive.Before the sob threatening to burst from his chest could, something that lay over his hand brushed his skin there. A thumb? That was impossible, for if he lived, he’d still be within the confines of Hogwarts Castle. Yet the softness at his side, solid and inescapable, felt like chains. It shackled him to life. His pulse thundered in his ears, a sickening beat that taunted him. Alive. Here.Cursed to breathe, to think, to endure.Severus’ eyes shifted, sharpening as life raged all around him. His palm lay flat against someone’s stomach. Their hand covered his, their fingers loosely weaving together. The hollow of the person’s hot throat remained a sanctuary for his forehead. For once, sweat did not drench it. Long, scratchy curls tangled with his straight, inky locks. His ear listened to a gentle heartbeat — songlike as it held the tempo of a fragile anthem that clung to life itself, the chin of his overlong, ugly face settling over the top of a soft, small mound. A breast?Every bone, muscle, and inch of his lanky, old, and war-scarred body froze. The deep crease between his brows pinched, sinking to further demonstrate the years that both wars had stolen.
“What?” he muttered, so quiet that he wasn’t sure he’d even uttered the word.
His gaze swept over the warm figure beside him. Miss Granger. Her sleeping form lay close. Orange embers glowed across her normally pale skin in such a way that would have been pleasant had her presence been welcome here. The girl’s breathing was soft. Consistent. Unassuming. The very sight ignited a scorching, guttural rage he managed to contain, for if he moved, he’d surely wake her.
Moments of only hours ago flooded his mind. The curse, the witch’s blood, the potions lab, the moment he’d snapped back enough to realize she’d delivered him to his private room. It all coalesced until the image of Lily’s lifeless body once more took shape in his mind — amongst the other memories his brain contained.
The thin control threatened to snap. Severus could not return to that place. He hungered only to infiltrate the comforts of death again. But his heart stalled. It hadn’t been real. That lovely place Hermione had ripped him away from had been of her own creation: a comfort he did not, in fact, deserve.Fuck, it didn’t even exist. It was simply an illusion that teased only everything for which he yearned.Every bloody thing lately was too good to be true. When he’d welcomed Nagini’s venom, accepting the inevitable end that would blissfully follow such pain, this fucking witch had stayed behind long enough to administer to him a number of potions that kept him from jumping off the edge. Madam Pomfrey had found the anti-venom in his headmaster's office and made quick work to save him. No. The crux of his worthless existence remained with the witch whose gentle hand cupped his own. This vile girl had again stolen his chance of peace.Hermione Granger.The mere mention of the girl’s name evoked in him the same revulsion he felt whenever he heard the Dark Lord’s name.
Severus loathed her. He despised her arrogant mercy and foolish bravery, for she alone stole the solace away from him. She alone denied him an end. And they called her ‘hero’ for it. It was because of her that he now had fifteen more years of teaching at this miserable school — where his students wished him dead almost as much as he hungered for it.Life was wasted on the man named Severus Snape. And yet, he was too much of a bloody coward to slit his own throat, for he could not risk being true the muggle theories that one ended up in hell itself for opting out in that way. If they held a measure of truth, he would find a way to live what life dealt him. He’d lived through every hell imaginable.Spending any amount of eternity in such a place would not do.Slowly, the professor shifted, inching himself free from her sleeping form and untangling their joined hands. The skin on his arms tingled with revulsion at the closeness, the unwelcome proximity. Each of his movements was as deliberate as they were silent. His mouth tightened, bitterness pooling on his tongue as he put space between them. However, he could not look away from her face, which remained serene and oblivious even in his absence.In the dim light, he forced himself to stand, each movement heavy — as if every part of his body protested against this grotesque continuation of his life.Severus’s gaze lingered on her, dark and brooding and narrow. He took in the curve of her cheek and noticed the quiet rise and fall of her chest. Her hair, tangled and endless and wild, splayed across the emerald pillowcase. How could she sleep so soundly after what she had done? How could she lie there, undisturbed, when he had been denied his rest, his ending — however artificial?The loathing bubbled within him, fierce and relentless. She’d saved him, thought herself some righteous, noble savior, did she? The witch’s peaceful breathing filled the silence, a soft rhythm that grated against his every nerve. He imagined her face twisted in pain. A part of him craved to see her suffer again if only to balance the scales of what she had cost him. And yet, even as the thought flickered, it faded. There was no satisfaction in it.
Nothing.He loathed her, but even the familiar hatred lacked its bite, a cruel mockery of what he once could summon with ease. Nothing mattered anymore. Life was a waste. Breathing was a chore. His place in the world would forever remain a joke.It was only a matter of time before someone within the Wizengamot would unceremoniously release his greatest humiliation: his unrequited feelings for Lily Potter. Although allegedly sealed with the highest confidentiality, those records would fetch quite a handsome price for anyone.Perhaps Skeeter had her claws on the information already?Granger, of course, would know. Potter couldn’t help himself when it came to prattling on about everything to his two friends.The only comfort he still possessed was the cruelty he inflicted upon his students here at Hogwarts. They feared him, and that was about the only thing that gave him any shred of gratification. When the news broke, no one would even give him that much. The next fifteen years would be unbearable. Forced into the dungeons where he belonged. It’d been the only alternative for fulfilling his full sentence at Azkaban, where the Death Eaters he’d betrayed dwelled.Perhaps not taking Miss Granger to the hospital wing was an oversight?At least, one of those marked would kill him. They would not have the advantage of their wands, so they’d rely upon muggle options for murdering the former headmaster. They would spare him no kindness, but they wouldn’t be able to torture him. They’d have to kill him quickly.But what if the Ministry held him in isolation — far away from those Death Eaters who could give to him what he coveted? ‘For your protection,’ they would say. No. He’d lose his mind — though he did that to a milder degree already. Apparently, the wizard strutted about aimlessly in his sleep about the castle. That was news. He’d never woken up anywhere other than in his bed.No. Hogwarts was his best option.Perhaps, if fate were kind, he could march up to the headmistress’ office and beg her for her to quickly kill him. Minerva was hardly capable of that, but it was about the only hope to which he could realistically cling.Severus was but a hollow man, one robbed of the singular gift he’d earned. Yes, he mused. Earned. After everything that was asked of him and everything he’d done to aid the Order? The professor was no hero, but he was a selfish man who would need to begin taking things that belonged to him — if nothing else…He stood over the girl who had stolen it from him. Tears stung his eyes, and he clenched his fists. The idea of letting her die inflicted upon him an unusal grief. Just yesterday, he was sure he’d have relished her being in any amount of pain. But now, she’d offered him something he resented: comfort. Kindness.The juxtaposition of his loathing against the awkward gratitude he felt compelled to extend to her almost wounded him in the same way a physical blow would have — like a bludger to the head. He forced his body to shift, pulling himself away from her side as if the distance alone could quell the violence that smoldered beneath his skin.Quiet as death itself, he slipped from the room and into the den. The walls seemed to close around him, steeped in the familiar, oppressive silence of the castle at this hour. His footsteps, which absorbed into the depths of stone and shadow, led him to his potions lab — a place he’d spent years cultivating, a fortress for his solitude. He pushed open the door, inhaling the sharp, earthy scent of crushed roots and aged elixirs.Crossing to his private stores, Severus selected a set of vials, each one glinting faintly in the dim, torch-lit room. His fingers hovered over a vial of Dreamless Sleep. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, fingers tightening around the bottle before setting it back down. She would never need it. The thought struck with an arrogant certainty. Never in her life had she watched, helpless to stop it, the Dark Lord murder a most tolerable colleague and feed her corpse to his pet snake.Charity Burbage. She was among the many ghosts who haunted his nightmares.
Never had Hermione bloody Granger had to hold total control of herself in the effort to protect a host of ungrateful witches and wizards who depended upon her work to win the war. Never had she, the supposed brightest witch of her age, needed to watch from the sidelines as students dealt the Crutiatus curse on her youngest students — students who now would not meet her eyes in her own classroom. Never had the fucking young, twaddling girl needed to murder the very man who swore (but failed) to protect the love of her life.No.Where he did not deserve the false pretense of its effects, she was entirely unworthy of it on principle. She was still young. Although quiet in his classroom and quite without the same vigor as before, the Gryffindor hero could still come back from whatever trauma she thought haunted her mind at night. Fuck, she’d probably find a young wizard to simper over soon enough — if she and Weasley weren’t already a pair. Not even Severus could fully stop teenage hormones from accosting the castle’s walls last year.
If not a romantic partner, the witch certainly had no shortage of willing friends. She had a family to which to return. How she’d kept them hidden enough to steer clear of the Dark Lord’s notice was, quite unfortunately honest, impressive. Miss Granger would find her comfort and solace somewhere and grieve for a time before moving on.But Severus? No life existed within him anymore. So, no. He would not indulge her with the mercy of forgetfulness. Not when he himself refused it.The professor selected instead a strengthening tonic, its deep emerald hue refracting in the dim light, among a few others. He gathered enough for two weeks, calculating that she would need every drop, given the damage inflicted by the curse. He imagined the scar she’d bear across her torso, a permanent mark left by a magic too vile to erase entirely. It would drain her strength in waves, seizing her energy like a thief, demanding more than even her stubborn resilience could supply.Bottles clinking softly, he returned to his desk. Every action felt precise, rehearsed. Automatic. He set down the potions, retrieved parchment and quill, and composed a note in his cramped, deliberate handwriting.
Miss Granger,

You will take these potions with breakfast daily for two weeks to ensure your recovery. Leave by Floo. You’ll find the powder atop the small table beside the hearth in my common room.
Henceforth, you will refrain from sneaking out after curfew. Do not speak to me outside of Potions class, nor in any capacity unrelated to the curriculum. I shall speak with the headmistress on your behalf. Your assistance in this particular matter is unneeded. She may probe, though. You found sufficient rest on the sofa of my den.
Speak of this to no one. See that you burn this note in your own quarters. Before breakfast.
— Professor Snape
He paused, the nib of his quill pressing deep into the parchment. Detachment. Clinical accuracy. He could not afford even the semblance of gratitude — not after everything. The words themselves felt like stones, cold and unyielding. Each one was a deliberate barrier, a reminder that whatever had passed between them was an aberration.Nothing more.Setting down the quill, he folded the note with exacting care. Collecting the vials, he moved back to his private room, placing everything on the bedside cabinet. He’d have stored the vials in her bag, but she still wore it around her body. He would not risk waking her — not when the chit was more than capable of packing them herself. For a moment, his fingers lingered on the parchment, an unbidden hesitation creeping into the gesture. He owed her nothing. Nothing! Yet here he was musing over a cold, distant note like an inexperienced schoolboy. He recoiled from it, drawing his hand back as though burned.For one final time, he regarded her slumbering form. There she lay, the moonlight filtering faintly through the high, arched windows. They cast an ethereal glow across her face. In sleep, her features softened, the lines of worry erased, leaving only a quiet, unguarded peace. Her hair, a wild, unruly mass of curls, framed her face, catching in the moonlight like wisps of shadow and light intertwined. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening.This girl was the one who dragged him, unwilling, back into the world he despised — far more than her. This witch denied him peace, the solace of oblivion.A faint line marred her cheek, a shallow scratch nearly hidden by the shadows. His eyes traced it, lingering. The act was a strange, foreign impulse — a need to ensure she was, indeed, safe. After all, she was his student. He’d been sworn to protect all of his students.Resolute, he turned away. Leaving her there, he felt as though he were retreating from a battlefield, each step a severance. It was a reassertion of the crucial distance he needed to keep: from everyone. Even if he welcomed it all, he was unworthy of the things she offered him: kindness, comfort, and care. The witch could join Minerva in wishing she could dote upon him with any measure of success. At least, he bitterly mused, the headmistress would have some company.
The door closed behind him with a faint click, a sound swallowed immediately by the unyielding silence of the early morning. He moved forward, the darkness pressing close, his mind a fortress once again.
. . .
“Merlin, Severus!” McGonagall’s voice held both exasperation and a faint thread of sympathy as she looked him over, her brows knit tightly. “I’m not sure what to say.”Severus leveled her with a sardonic look. “Saying nothing is always an option, Minerva,” he retorted, dry as ever, as he crossed his arms. A slight twitch in his mouth hinted at a wry smile, though his eyes held no mirth.
Now that she wished not to kill him, it was…less inconvenient to remain civil with the witch.She rolled her eyes in response. “Merlin forbid you’d make this easy,” she muttered under her breath, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at her lips before she composed herself once more.Her demeanor softened as she continued, “Miss Granger…I’ll confirm with her that she remains well enough to resume her studies.”Severus dismissed this with a huff, his expression unimpressed. “She’s presently attending Charms. Hardly on her deathbed.”McGonagall’s eyes narrowed, an amused gleam flashing briefly before she rolled her eyes again. “Nevertheless, I shall confirm her condition myself.”“Very well,” he said, voice clipped, and glanced away briefly. He shifted in his chair, the tension in his shoulders betraying the discomfort he worked to hide. After a short pause, he looked at her with renewed resolve. “Since we’re already addressing precautions, you must charm my door for the nights I am not on patrol to prevent further…unconscious nocturnal wanderings.”Minerva’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze softening. “Of course,” she replied, her tone gentler than before. “Consider it done. I’ll set the wards after dinner.”With a faint nod of acknowledgment, Severus said nothing more. They both knew it wasn’t a request he’d make lightly, and she respected the vulnerability it implied. The silence between them was brief but thick, filled with unspoken understanding.Clearing her throat, McGonagall straightened, clearly shifting the topic to something else. “There is another matter we need to discuss — apprenticeships,” she announced, with a tone that brooked no avoidance.Severus’ reaction was immediate and curt. “I require none.”“That’s not for you to decide, Severus,” she replied, arching a brow as she leaned forward, matching his unwavering stare with her own. “This program is integral to the students’ growth and recovery.”He scoffed, disbelief coloring his expression. “Recovery, you say? Since when has trailing after me in the dungeons ever been a…therapeutic exercise?”McGonagall held firm, her face stern but not unsympathetic. “Since the students who have returned need precisely this — a structured, hands-on experience. They need purpose, Severus. While you may disagree, apprenticeships provide that.” She met his gaze, unflinching, and then continued, “It’s as much about them as it is about the school itself. They need stability.”His eyes narrowed. “And I am to be the pillar of stability, then?” he said, his voice a blend of bitterness and irony. “Surely there are others more suitable.”“Perhaps,” she conceded.“I have no need for their assistance, Minerva,” he replied, his voice low and tight.“Need, perhaps not. But this program stands. I shall not make exceptions,” she replied, each word deliberate, pressing against his resistance with unwavering persistence. “Draco Malfoy has chosen Potions. I expect you to make room for him, at the very least.”Severus’ expression darkened, a flicker of distaste twisting his features. “There are other subjects, Minerva. Place the boy elsewhere.”But McGonagall shook her head, her tone firm. “Draco has chosen Potions, and his preference is well within his rights as a student.” Her gaze held his steadily, daring him to challenge her.His jaw clenched, his voice steely. “Then surely you’ve considered the Ministry’s decree that Malfoy and I are not to be left unsupervised. We both know they’re watching.”McGonagall gave a solemn nod. “I am well aware of the restrictions placed on both of you. Hence, the necessity of a second apprentice — for each subject, Severus.”He scoffed. “Another warm body to ensure we don’t conspire in dark corners, then?” He shook his head, derision heavy in his tone.“Necessary or not, those are the Ministry’s rules,” she replied. “Their paranoia is not something we can sidestep. Not if we want to maintain Hogwarts’ autonomy.”The professor would not win this particular conversation. With a tired sigh, he said, “Finding another student who would willingly enter my domain borders on the impossible.”“That’s precisely why I’ll assign a seventh-year — if necessary. Shortage there may be of eighth years who received an ‘O’ on their Potions O.W.L., I’ve a few seventh-year candidates in mind. Mr. Malfoy will be your apprentice, and we will comply with the Ministry’s terms,” she replied, her voice calm but resolute.He folded his arms, his gaze steady but filled with reluctance. “Very well, do as you must; however, you will spare me the theatrics of altruism. If you insist on this farce, then continue without my approval.”McGonagall raised her chin, accepting his reluctant concession. “Thank you for your…cooperation, Severus. However grudging it may be.”He grimaced, glancing away briefly as though the very thought that popped into his mind brought him the exact discomfort of Nagini’s bite. “I should hope you’ve assigned Granger elsewhere,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain.The headmistress narrowed her eyes, and she studied his unpleasant features for a moment. “She’s chosen Charms,” Minerva eventually replied, watching him closely for any sign of satisfaction or disappointment.“Final?” he pressed, his tone revealing more than he intended.“Yes, Severus. Her choice is final,” McGonagall replied, and there was a softness in her gaze as she regarded him. “I have no intention of altering it.”“Good,” he murmured, barely audible. “She remains unwelcome in my dungeons.” His eyes flickered, a shadow of something unreadable passing across his expression.McGonagall’s expression softened, though her gaze remained unwavering. “Remember, Severus, these students bring fresh perspectives. You may not welcome them now, but they have something to offer.”“Spare me the lecture on youthful wisdom, Minerva,” he replied coldly. “I assure you, their presence does little to ease the burden of my work.”Her lips tightened into a line, yet she held her ground. “Severus, they are not here to burden you but rather to grow from your expertise. Much as you insist to be a lost cause, I firmly believe you have yet much to offer our students.”A bitter smile flickered on his face. “You expect me to be their guiding star, I presume? That no matter how afflicting life is, we must pursue such misery anyway?”“They don’t need a ‘guiding star.’ What they need is structure, Severus. Purpose. That’s all I’m asking for,” she said gently. So she would not indulge his grim musings, then? Fine. “Surely, I do not need to remind you of the alternative to your post here?”He watched her, his dark gaze unreadable — as though weighing her words against his own resentment. Silence filled the room, heavy and fraught with the tension of their shared history and newly recovered rapport.Of course, she meant Azkaban.Finally, she extended a small olive branch. “If there is someone specific you’d prefer as a second apprentice, you’re welcome to choose. Otherwise, I will appoint someone myself.”He hesitated, his lips pressed into a tight line. “I name no one.”McGonagall regarded him with a faint sigh, a mixture of resignation and understanding in her gaze. “Very well, have it your way, Severus.” There was a finality in her tone, one that signaled the end of their discussion.The headmistress sat back, her hands folded on her desk as she watched him. He felt her eyes linger, as though searching for any sign of weakness, vulnerability, or even the faintest hint of understanding.He rose, his movements stiff and controlled. With a curt nod, he made for the door, his robes sweeping — not billowing now that his steps lacked their previous intention and bitter urgency — behind him as he paused momentarily in the doorway. He didn’t look back as he spoke, his voice low and almost weary.“Minerva…don’t expect gratitude.”Her answer was calm. Without a hint of surprise. “I would never expect that from you, Severus.”And with that, he was gone, leaving McGonagall alone in her office. The faint, almost imperceptible sigh that escaped her lips spoke of a quiet acceptance, a burden she had willingly taken on — one of many, for she watched over the fractured remnants of Hogwarts. The school was still held together: seemingly by sheer will and perhaps, reluctantly, by Severus Snape’s obedience.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day 11:

Friday, September 11, 1998

. . .
Hermione
. . .
Hermione’s breath came in short, strained gasps as she pushed herself down the castle corridor, her legs quivering with each step. The dull, burning ache in her chest where the Sectumsempra curse had struck made each movement feel as though fire pulsed beneath her skin. It was only yesterday, yet the pain lingered, a raw reminder with each beat of her pulse. Every step pulled at the edges of her wound, and a cold sweat dampened her brow. She hadn’t expected the chase after Neville to feel like this — every step dragging her deeper into a pit of exhaustion she hadn’t realized was so vast.Hermione’s skin tightened across her ribs. She slowed, pressing a hand to her side. The hall stretched endlessly before her, an unkind tunnel with Neville’s shadow just slipping around the corner up ahead. She forced herself to keep moving. Giving up now felt weak. Useless. She set her jaw and pressed forward, each step deliberate, ignoring the flaring pain that threatened to double her over. The sound of her footsteps echoed against the stone walls, too loud in the empty corridor, too telling of her struggle.“Neville!” Her voice broke, carrying down the hall in a breathless shout.The boy had stormed out of Herbology without so much as a word. Luna had looked as if she would chase after him. Instead, she’d asked Hermione to do so. Curiously, Terry Boot had called the eccentric, kind student back to where they worked. Luna’s ethereal, serene expression faltered, and her eyes flickered back to where Neville had stormed out.
“You’re one of his closest friends, Hermione. I’m sure he would appreciate having some familiar company.”
So, here the witch was, skipping class to chase down a friend in need — even if he certainly did not appear he wanted any.Neville paused, glancing over his shoulder, surprise and concern etched across his face as he saw her. He looked as if plagued with deep thoughts that pulled him from reality itself. A look of worry creased his brow as she stumbled to a halt just a few steps away, pressing a shaky hand against the wall to catch her breath.“Are you all right?” His voice held a softness that only made the ache inside her worse.“Fine,” she managed, brushing away the pain with a tight, barely-there smile. “I’m…fine. Just…wanted to catch up.” Her words were clipped, almost forced, but she hoped they’d reassure him enough to avoid further questioning.Neville’s gaze lingered, his eyes searching her face for any sign of the truth. He didn’t seem entirely convinced, but after a moment, he nodded, casting his gaze down the corridor, where the shadows seemed to deepen. “I was just…walking,” he said, voice trailing off as though he hadn’t thought much about where he was going.She took a breath, stilling the throbbing in her side. “Mind if I join you?” She forced the words to sound light, casual, though her body protested the thought of further walking. A companion felt necessary — even if she would be imposing hers onto him.He hesitated, but only briefly. “That’s…fine.” A quick nod followed, and he added, “Anywhere you need to go?”“Potions, eventually.” She gestured vaguely down the hall, as if Potions was a distant idea rather than an inevitable destination.“I’ll walk with you,” he offered, his voice carefully neutral, and she could sense the underlying kindness that didn’t need to be spoken.They moved in silence, their footsteps merging in a slow, steady rhythm. She let herself sink into that silence, grateful for its simplicity. She stole a glance at him, noting the faint lines of strain around his eyes, the heaviness in his gaze. It was the first time she’d seen him like this — truly alone, a quiet intensity wrapped around him like an invisible shield. She knew he had been through his own share of pain, far more than most people could comprehend. She wanted to reach out, to say something that would acknowledge it, but she found herself at a loss for words.Only weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, a rogue band of Death Eaters had murdered his grandmother. The witch was sure Neville and Luna had started their relationship during the battle, but they did not seem as though they were still together.

A sharp, indelicate pang clawed at her gut. She was a terrible friend. In far too deep with her own grief, Hermione hadn’t even spared those friends who’d fought beside her — and died in her place that horrible day.They continued in silence, until finally, she asked, “How are your parents?”Neville didn’t look at her. “The same.” The two words carried an entire weight she couldn’t imagine, an ache that lingered in the short, sad reply. It told her everything she needed to know, yet nothing at all.Hermione swallowed, finding herself compelled to offer something in return. “In order to protect my parents from Voldemort,” the witch said, hearing the sharp intake of breath behind her before she saw the figure materialize in their path. Continuing, she said, “last summer, I—”“Miss Granger,” Professor Snape’s voice, low and cutting, sliced through the stillness, his eyes dark with displeasure. “If you insist on invoking that name, I would advise you to do so privately. Some of us would rather not be subjected to its…vulgarity. Five points from Gryffindor.”Hermione straightened, meeting his gaze with a surprising surge of defiance. “T-That was his name, Professor.” Her voice held a steadiness that surprised even her, a quiet strength that stood in direct opposition to his cold reprimand.Snape’s mouth twisted in a cold smirk. “It’s astounding, really,” he said softly, glaring down his long, aquiline nose at her with a vicious sneer and continuing, “how loudly youth insists on wisdom it has yet to earn.”The word that marked her forearm burned. A tightness coiled in her throat, thick and imposing. It pressed against the back of her tongue and refused to ease. The emotion gathered, hardening like a sharp stone lodged in her boot. It pulsed with every shuddering breath she took. There, it waited for her to choke on her reply.Hermione hadn’t earned her wisdom simply because of her limited years? It was honestly the most absurd thing she’d ever heard him say. Everything she’d endured for the war had stolen her ability to truly smile anymore:Bellatrix’s torture: the scar, the primal fear, the Crutiatus curses. To others, the witch haunted the depths of faraway shadows while remaining at large. But to Hermione? She occupied the largest dwellings in her mind.The thought she’d lose her best friend (given that he was, indeed, a horcrux himself).Losing her parents. There was no reversal for the extent of Obliviation she’d subjected them to. She’d tried to return home once over the summer, but that’d only been a rather big failure.Starving while on the run. The witch still couldn’t eat too much at once. Her ribs jutted out, though now to a much less severe degree.Never knowing if the day she woke up would be her last.Splinching Ronald. She’d hurt the boy she believed herself in love with — at least at the time. While their strained friendship seemed stronger these days, her grief had permanently severed any possibility of them being together. She’d said such horrible things to the boy who’d only tried to help her.Imposing on the kindness of Molly and Arthur Weasley. Even in grieving their son, they made her feel unbearably welcome. They’d become her found wizarding family, yet guilt remained in their home for her. She now felt like a guest — or a ghost forced to haunt a home once significant to its past.In another life, perhaps they’d have been her parents by law. Their many children would have adorned her life with many nieces and nephews — including Harry and Ginny’s. The holidays would have been warm, lovely, and crowded. Though Ron had insisted on waiting to have children, he would have given her at least a couple to adore, admire, and spoil. They’d have had a wonderful life together.The illusion, however, came crashing down around her the moment Ron accused her of wanting to be with him for his family — not for him. In hindsight, that observation (absurd at the time, for she loved him, right?) had been a somehow unsurprising wisdom for the wizard. They broke up on her family home’s doorstep. The summation of their short-lived relationship would only ever be a few stolen kisses. Neither of them had ever wanted more, though she had good reason to suspect he’d been sexually active with Lavender Brown in the sixth year. The war had been too much for all that.Everything was such a mess — especially now that she lived in a world where she lashed out to her friends and kept secrets from them rather than talk to either of them and Ron made sense.Compellingly so.The witch had had her eyes on working at the Ministry for a few years now after Hogwarts. It felt only natural that she would focus herself on her career aspirations — make positive changes in the Wizarding World for magical creatures. But even with Kingsley Shacklebolt at the helm, the Ministry’s corruption would never fade.
So, here in the halls of Hogwarts, Hermione waited for her future to call out to her as clearly as the life she would have lived had things been different. Resolute, the witch had returned — hoping to delay her grieving and step into adulthood while also proving to herself she did not need a shortcut into wherever life took her next. Whilst her nightmares, shame, and guilt held her hostage in her bed, the day still held a hint of promise.The Gryffindor could be among the few to hold seven N.E.W.T.s. Even if she didn’t put them to the same use she once dreamed of, Hermione Granger could still invoke the same good she wished to see in the world in some other way. The point was that she would keep an open mind.Keep flexible on the path ahead.Shouldering the pressure of being the one Harry and Ron looked to for information. Failing to see how to destroy the locket before Ron and Harry’s horrible fight. Any tension between them had been her fault.All that she’d sacrificed — including her exceedingly limited supply of girlish confidence — had forced her to grow up faster than she’d ever preferred.
Did Professor Snape think himself the only one capable of choking on the demons in his past — just because, what? Because he’d suffered longer? She would speak. She would overcome this despair — if only to lash back out to the very man she’d saved.
Helped!
Neville shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She hadn’t said a word. Professor Snape still glared down his repugnant nose at her. For at least a minute. Drat! She would remedy that. Fast. For all intents and purposes, he’d not so much as acknowledged Neville’s presence. Wait. The foreboding, sinister glare he’d locked upon her had eased into an intense stare.
What was going on? What she’d give for the ability to be a Legilimens right now.Scratching the back of his head, Neville muttered, “Hermione? Perhaps, we should get going—”“What I have earned or have yet to earn is of no concern to you, Professor Snape,” she spat. It wasn’t anything so achingly inflicting as the old potions master could muster, but it was something. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin, narrowing her eyes at the dark wizard.No one had ever complimented Hermione’s eyes. Their hue was a rather muted, bland shade of brown. They would never impress anyone. Yet no one had either trembled before her just by looking into them. Snape’s eyes possessed a dark quality that rivaled the very presence of Lord Voldemort — perhaps now even more so. No. Her presence wasn’t imposing, but the witch knew she could endure this man’s bite as equally as she could try to find it within her to at least bite back.“Do not forget, Miss Granger,” the professor retorted, his shoulders shaking and chin clenching tighter than she had ever seen. “You are nothing save a child who imagines herself courageous simply because she dares to speak.”Tears glossed her eyes, but the Gryffindor in her refused to back down. Did he stand in his room and practice these insults before his standing mirror? Or did cruelty simply come naturally to him? The silly thought of him spending hours alone cooped up in his room rehearsing his vitriol made any intimidation she may have felt for the man melt away.For a brief moment, something flickered in his gaze — something she would not dare interpret to be regret or a hint of an apology. It hid in the slight softening of his brows and the brief break in eye contact when his black gaze lowered: quickly popping up. But it disappeared just as quickly, replaced by the same steely mask he wore so effortlessly.He cleared his throat, his tone shifting to something slightly gentler, though still edged with authority. “Why are you not in class, Miss Granger?”Before she could answer, Neville stepped forward, his voice steady but quiet. “Professor Sprout excused us,” he said, his words carrying a calmness that seemed determined to defuse the tension.Snape’s eyes did not leave Hermione’s for a moment longer. Suddenly, the professor turned on his heel and stalked down the corridor in the opposite direction of the dungeons, his robes trailing behind him like shadows. For the first time that school year, they almost billowed after him. He hadn’t ever acknowledged Neville.Hermione watched him go, her chest tightening with the remnants of their exchange. The sting of his words, still fresh in her mind, finally swelled enough to chip away at whatever defiance she’d had before. A flicker of memory surfaced — the quiet night she’d spent beside him, the rare moment of vulnerability that had passed between them, a moment she didn’t dare share with anyone.That night was hers. If she had it her way, no one would have it. Know of its existence.“I’ve never seen him so angry, Hermione…”Crossing her arms, Hermione cleared her throat. The fresh, aged gash between her breasts ached. Immediately, she regretted not resting yesterday. Skipping classes would have had very little impact on her coursework.Shaking her head, the witch sighed. “Suddenly, I don’t want to go down to the dungeons.”“You’re skipping?”“No,” she assured. They were starting a new potion, and she could not afford to skip the lecture — if he would even spoil the twelve of them in his N.E.W.T.s level Potions class with one. It was a concoction, he’d said, that would not be found in their texts. “But I can’t bear one moment more in his presence than necessary today.”“Where shall we go, then?”Relaxing her arms, she clasped the thin string of her beaded bag, which hung at her left hip. They currently lurked about the halls during Remus’s free period. The witch suddenly had the urge to spoil the baby the headmistress allowed to live in the castle.
What a lovely idea. She could visit with Remus and Tonks and plot yet another failed attempt to sneak Teddy away. A flash of her family home yanked the mischief from her heart. She frowned. Yes, visiting them made quite a lot of sense. She had something she needed to give the Lupins anyway: the deed to her home.Before she changed her mind. Again.It broke her heart…the idea of selling it to strangers, but she hadn’t even had enough courage to walk through the doors. No, better the let the Lupins make it a home of their own. Teddy wouldn’t have to grow up knowing cramped, dilapidated spaces. The family could begin to build some equity of their own — if they wished to sell it later on. Never again would Remus have to worry about not having a place over his family’s head. Even after all he’d done for the Order during the war, nobody wanted a werewolf working with them.Except the headmistress.She turned to Neville, offering a small, tentative smile. “Would you like to have some tea with me?” she asked, the words carrying a softness that surprised even her. “Professor Lupin takes his tea around now…with Tonks and their son. I think he’d be glad to have us.”Neville hesitated, the same reluctance lingering in his eyes. However, he nodded after a moment, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. “All right,” he agreed, his voice barely above a murmur.They continued down the hall, moving together toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom in a comfortable silence. Their unspoken understanding was a balm against the weight of their unshared burdens. As they reached it, Hermione felt a sense of calm settle over her, a quiet reassurance that this, at least, was something familiar.
Something safe.She pushed open the door, and Lupin looked up from his desk. Tonks, who of course held her son, sat upon the desk — her back to the door. As she glanced over her shoulder toward them, a warm smile broke across Remus’ face.“Hermione! Neville! Come in.” He gestured for them, his expression one of welcome. Hermione felt the last remnants of tension in her chest begin to ease.
. . .
In the dimly lit dungeon, Hermione sat stiffly beside who she speculated would be her new partner for the term, Draco Malfoy — feeling a palpable tension radiate from Professor Snape as he lingered at his desk. His mouth curled into a sneer as he surveyed them before facing his back to them, wand in hand for some reason.The long, disfigured scar that marred her otherwise pale, unblemished skin itched. The pain there intensified the longer she glared at her professor, who ignored her for now.
Class had minutes before it would begin. The witch narrowed her eyes at the professor, and she unconsciously itched at her left forearm. Just then, a sharp and somehow delicate ache resonated at her forehead. It almost felt like an intrusion. Though, she supposed, all headaches were a particular sort of unwelcome trespasser.
Perfect, the witch mused. The pain in her torso had some company. For a brief moment, her vision blurred and her brain felt…fuzzy, stretched in an abnormal way. However, the world sharpened again, and she shook her head for added emphasis. Odd. Perhaps this was a latent side-effect of the rotation of Snape’s potion regimen? She hoped it would not limit her ability to focus during class. She had a point to prove to this foul, loathsome man.
The edges of the ugly, long gash prickled, beckoning her to lean into the temporary gratification that scratching the wound would give her. Quietly, Hermione closed her eyes and expunged the air from her lungs. Instinctively, her fingers rubbed at her left forearm. Again. Busy, she thought. The Gryffindor needed a distraction to busy her mind for a few minutes.This new partnership was, no doubt, a deliberate choice that bordered on punishment. Why? Why in Merlin’s name did he have to be her partner? Padma had been perfectly acceptable. Snape, it would seem, wished to make Hermione’s time in the dungeons as unbearable as he made it obvious that she was rather unwelcome.Balling her hands into fists, she dropped her attention to the parchment the professor had supplied to every pair of partners. Reading the familiar script immediately stabbed her gut. This man, though unknowingly at the time, assisted Harry Potter in cheating. No matter how crucial it had been to their horcrux hunt, that hardly gave her a reason to ease the harsh features of her face. Potion of Steeled Perception, the top of the parchment read.Hermione’s fingers paused over the magically copied ink, her gaze caught on the way each stroke appeared poised and confident, like it couldn’t bear to wait — for what? The witch could only speculate. She frowned, tracing the shapes with her eyes.A pinch at the front of her mind made her wince. The dull ache penetrated through her focus. The witch whined. Hopefully quietly.“What’s with you today, Granger?” Malfoy asked.Nope. Not quietly.“Not that it concerns you, Malfoy, but nothing. I…I stayed up too late last night. Studying.”“Unsurprising.” The disdain in his bored, detached voice made her eyes roll. Studying. It’d become her go-to excuse with everyone lately. Nobody needed to know the horrors of which the word hid — from Ron, from the Weasleys, from Remus and Tonks…Headmistress McGonagall. Especially Harry.Hermione had been in too much pain to brew the Potion of Dreamless Sleep for which she remained ever desperate. Thus far, it was the only thing keeping Bellatrix Lestrange at bay at night. It was the only thing that helped her to remember her parents’ lives were indeed safer — better off — without knowing she existed. Oblivating them had spared them from Voldemort—Cupping her forehead in her warm palm, the witch winced, groaning where she sat. Just then, a most unfortunate spasm at the center of her brain squeezed. Before this moment, Hermione never knew it was possible for a brain to melt, for that was what she felt. Both of her hands jittered in response. Merlin, she would need to visit Madam Pomfrey if this kept up. Without another second passing, the violence in her mind dulled, leaving her breathless.Draco glared at her with narrowed eyes and his signature sneer. At least the ferret said nothing. Small victories!The parchment…the new assigned potion. Right, she was rather poorly distracting herself.The way each letter of instruction drew her in annoyed Hermione. Some were thicker, denoting a heavy and intentional hand, while others formed with a gentle precision that confounded her. Severus Snape — gentle? Absurd. But the script did not lie. Somewhere within the potions master existed a quiet tenderness.Clearing her throat, the witch rolled her eyes. It was just instructional scribbling magically copied to her parchment. Perhaps, she thought, she indeed read much too deeply into things. Especially if she believed she could glean any understanding about this wizard by simply examining his handwriting.Now that was absurd. Mental. Merlin, she was referring to herself as mental now? No, she was merely tired. After all, the very professor whose classroom she dwelled within had hit her with a crude curse only a day ago. Perhaps, she ought to have acted with more caution. But comforting those who needed it was like breathing for her. Why hadn’t he given her detention? — not relevant. Honestly, nonsensical. He’d been in a deep sleep, and she’d been on a mission to borrow ingredients from his storeroom…not that she’d ever let him know. No. Detention fell by the wayside when a professor accidentally cursed his too-nosey student, she supposed.
Why were her thoughts so scattered at the moment?
With a sigh, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the parchment again. The sharp lines of his penmanship angled with an elegant, masterful severity that bordered on arrogance: each stroke a little too deliberate. The strokes of the private note, which she had not burned yesterday, he’d left for her hadn’t possessed the same intensity. Rather, the letters had been thin. Small. Unimposing. Though his message had been adequately authoritative, his script hinted at an uncharacteristic uncertainty that had only left her more hungry to know a bit more about the man.That was, until just an hour ago.Professor Snape was the same horrible man who seemed to devour upon the infliction that his words imposed upon others like it sustained him in a way no food ever could. Hermione had much to work through within herself. She would not again spare him another thought. What had she been doing for the past five minutes? Glancing at her father’s wristwatch, she saw she still had a few more minutes until class officially began. But how to pass the time?The imposing thought could hardly stop the witch from examining his script further. Her eyes followed the heavy, unyielding downstrokes. Each one was firm, almost possessive in the way it claimed space on the page. The lighter strokes rose up in contrast, restrained. As if he held something back — a flash of temper held under tight control, perhaps? It was frustratingly…composed.Hermione could almost feel him in the lines: like he stood there beside her watching her reaction with that insufferable smirk. A sudden, gentle sensation prodded at her forehead. The headache finally dulled.
The witch peeked up, sparing the professor her attention only long enough to see he had his back to the class. He busied himself with several rolls of parchment on his desk. She bit her lip, annoyed at herself for lingering.
Rolling her eyes, she regarded the parchment before her. Even as she pulled her hand away, the impression of that handwriting lingered, feeling almost like a touch that she couldn’t quite shake off.
Ridiculous.
Reaching for the watch again, she turned it over, her thin, feminine fingers tracing at the words inscribed into the expensive metal:
Happy Christmas, Dad. All my love, Hermione.
Tears blotted the classroom, and she wiped at her eyes. Shaking her head, Hermione’s lip quirked. The heartbreaking proof of the last Christmas she’d ever spend with either of them felt cool in her palm. No pictures of them together existed. She’d taken this wristwatch in the middle of the night before she Obliviated them. Her father could not have it, but it did not name him. No threat existed in saving this one treasured relic from her past.Someone across the room giggled, snatching Hermione’s attention once and for all. She deposited the watch back into her bag and continued to ignore Draco until absolutely necessary. Finally, the ache in her head faded until it was nothing more than a past inconvenience. Once again, she could steel her focus on the setting around her.Two seventh years, Laura Madley and Eleanor Branstone, blushed, both fawning over Theodore Nott. No matter what horrors transpired, romance and teenage swooning would remain in full effect. At least they’d give Severus Snape something to do this year.Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Hermione sighed. Unsure of how to distract herself for another minute, she glanced at Malfoy again, brows pinching when she saw he stared at her.“What now?” she asked.“You’re above all of it, then, Granger?” Draco crossed his arms on the workstation. His eyes never left hers. Why was he speaking to her?
“If you insist on speaking, then, at the very least, make sense,” she retorted. “Above what, Malfoy?”“I’d have thought that you and Weasel would be married by now — off snogging and shagging more Weaselbys into existence,” he said, his tone never more disinterested.“You’re foul, Malfoy.”“Instead,” he continued, lowering her pale gaze to quickly assess her. He settled his eyes back on hers, his glare a long distant memory. “Here you are: judging your classmates for having a life to live.”“There it is.”Draco drew his head back. “There what is?”Hermione tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “Your famous superiority.”“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Malfoy asked.
Searching the stone ceiling for answers that were not there, the witch rubbed her temple. “Am I a footnote requirement of your sentence?” she asked. “Speak to the muggleborn witch your aunt tortured so you get…what? Bonus points? A month shaved off your sentence?”“I see you’re as closed-minded as always,” he muttered.Hermione scoffed. “I’m closed-minded? Me?”“Do you repeat what I say to annoy me, or is that just a muggle trait?”“Because muggles are so stupid they’d have to hear you twice to understand you?”Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Forget it, Granger.”
“Gladly.”
“Fine,” he retorted.“Perfect.”“Brilliant.”Hermione would not give him the satisfaction of having the last word. “Splendid.”“Capital.”“Lovely.” “Are you both quite finished?” Professor Snape barked.Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. Honestly! What had the professor expected? “Apologies, professor,” she muttered.“The potion you’ll attempt today,” he began with disdain, “is one of my own invention.” He held up a vial filled with a faintly shimmering liquid, and Hermione leaned forward, drawn by the mysterious sheen. Any other professor would have waited a beat more so that the class had the chance to show their appreciation of such talents. But Snape was not just any professor. “I call it the Potion of Steeled Perception. A solution designed to enhance one’s Occlumency talents. I doubt any of you would have need of this particular brew.”Snape let the words hang in the air, the challenge implicit. He narrowed his gaze, sweeping over the room before his eyes landed briefly on Hermione. She felt her skin prickle under his stare, and she fought the urge to speak. Her mind whirled, already dissecting what little he’d offered. How exactly was he getting away with introducing his personal creations into the curriculum after it had already been posted?Her hand shot up. Snape’s expression darkened, and with a slow, measured roll of his eyes, he acknowledged her.“What is it, Miss Granger?” His voice dripped with irritation.“Professor,” Hermione began, careful to keep her tone respectful despite her growing frustration. She’d been eager to brew the original assignment. It was familiar and useful. Why change the curriculum? “Per the syllabus you handed out at the start of term, we’re meant to brew Polyjuice Potion. Why—”Snape’s eyes glittered with annoyance as he cut her off. “It is most fortunate, Miss Granger, that you are not the potions master, then. I do not believe your peers appreciate your arrogance in this circumstance, for you waste the precious time they need to begin working on this brew.Hermione glared at him. Harry Potter was no longer a Hogwarts student, but it felt like every ounce of this man’s hatred channeled solely on her.“If you believe yourself so capable as to instruct your peers, I shall eject you from this class and curtail any chance you have at achieving your Potions N.E.W.T. — for if that is, indeed, true, then you have nothing more to learn from me. Is. That. Clear?”She bristled, her cheeks heating. “Of course, sir.”Snape’s lips twisted into a thin smirk. “Tell me, what are the benefits of powdering unicorn hair in certain potions?” he said smoothly.Hermione’s brows knit in confusion. “Professor, you…don’t powder unicorn hair for potions,” she replied, certain of her answer, if a bit thrown by the question.A gleam of cruel satisfaction flickered in his eyes. “Perhaps, Miss Granger, you might discover the answer to that question — if you would only allow me to teach.”Hermione clenched her jaw, her hand lowering to her lap as she fought to remain composed. Snape dismissed her without another glance, his voice rising as he addressed the rest of the class. “Remember as you work: if it sparks, restart.” He folded his arms, signaling the end of his lecture, and gestured for them to begin.The brief instructions filled her with a sense of unease. She glanced down at the parchment detailing the potion, the ingredients, the delicate measurements, and felt Draco’s presence beside her, his own attention shifting to their workstation.“Better get started,” he said, casting her an amused look before reaching for the copper cauldron. His hands moved with practiced ease, filling it with 500 milliliters of distilled water and working to heat it to precisely 75 degrees Celsius.Hermione focused on her own task, gathering a pinch of unicorn hair and placing it into the mortar. She knew the general technique for grinding ingredients to powder, but the added instruction about sparking had her second-guessing herself. Taking a deep breath, she held the pestle lightly, pressing down and rotating it in a slow, controlled circle. Her movements were deliberate, but a small flash of light flared up, her signal of failure.She huffed, tipping the scorched hair into the dish off at the side and gathering a fresh pinch. Draco continued his preparations in silence, monitoring the simmering base as if it were second nature, a calm contrast to her growing frustration.“Perhaps you need a bit more finesse, Granger,” Draco murmured, a hint of a smirk gracing his face as he stirred the water. “Not everything requires such…brutish force.”“I know that,” she snapped, feeling her patience wane. She refocused, pressing the pestle more delicately and rolling it again. Slow, she thought, slower than before. But as she ground the hair, another spark sizzled from the mortar.Draco’s lips twitched, though he said nothing. Hermione tried once more, adjusting her grip, going slower, applying even less force. She experimented with her speed and pressure, but each attempt resulted in the same annoying spark.Eleven tries, eleven failures. Her hair frizzed wildly around her face, damp with sweat as she leaned forward, determined but tiring.“Twelfth’s times the charm…” she muttered under her breath. Grabbing a fresh pinch, the witch bit her lip and narrowed her eyes as she touched the bulbous end of the stone pestle to the strands of unicorn hair.
The pressure of the pestle stole her reserves of focus. Already, this pinch lasted longer than the eleven of its singed predecessors. Hope itself brightened her eyes and stretched her lips. Hermione guided the pestle around in a delicate circle. No powder, but at least the hair wasn’t sparking! Her speed grew slightly unsteady. The gash between her breasts devastatingly itchy and distracting. But the hair did not spark!Was she doing it?Before she could bat at the sweat pooling at her forehead, a wayward drop splattered over the unicorn hair pinch, igniting the brightest, largest spark yet. When the light dulled, tears filled her eyes. Hopeless. This was maddening!Professor Snape intended for them to fail. How was that learning? How was forcing Hermione to partner with Draco, who’d rotated through three other partners in only 11 days of school, anything other than a punishment? Cruelty! That’s what it was.Hermione Granger would not cry in his classroom. She would not give him the satisfaction. Never.The witch watched the singed unicorn hair pinch like it had the power to resurrect Voldemort himself.“Merlin, Granger! You’re sweating like a post-coital wizard…” Draco muttered.Professor Snape growled from his desk. “Quiet, Mr. Malfoy.”After a beat, Draco shrugged, paying Hermione his full attention. “You know, if you’d let me have a go, we might actually get somewhere,” he said, his tone dry.Hermione gripped the pestle tighter. “I’ve got this,” she insisted, though her voice sounded more frustrated than confident.Professor Snape’s voice cut through the sounds of scraping and murmuring in the dungeon. “Thirty minutes remain,” he announced, his voice cold. “Do keep in mind that the unicorn hair requires precisely ten minutes to administer into the base. Assuming any of you manage it, of course.”Hermione froze, a realization forming in her mind. Precisely, Snape had said. She was sure he’d said it at the start of class, too, but her brain worked: determined to overcome her failure. Skill. Delicate. Slow! The word ‘slow’ echoed in her head, but it took on a new meaning. She hadn’t been moving nearly as slowly as she’d thought — her focus had been on control. Not gentleness. She looked up, her eyes meeting Draco’s. The same understanding flickered in his gaze.“It’s gentleness,” she whispered, almost to herself.He gave a small nod, his gaze shifting to the mortar. “We’re running out of time...”Gathering a fresh pinch of unicorn hair — the last of three (precisely what they needed to make the potion), Hermione placed it in the mortar. Her fingers lightened around the pestle, the tension in her shoulders easing as she began the process again. This time her body had not the rigidity that had plagued her earlier attempts. She guided the pestle in gentle, feather-like circles to a tempo slower than she’d ever moved previously. It felt like her hand almost floated as she pressed.The difference was not immediate. The witch was convinced she wasn’t doing anything. How could such a delicate touch produce the friction required to powder the hair? The delicate fibers broke down slowly — without sparking. She moved in smooth rotations, each circle slower than the last. Her focus sharpened to the quiet, rhythmic motion. The task required all her patience, but she felt the hair giving way, the texture crumbling into smaller pieces.Draco watched, his expression attentive. He leaned in, careful not to disturb her focus. A small hint of approval was so clear in his eyes. After several painstaking minutes, Hermione finally leaned back, exhaling in relief as the mortar revealed a fine, shimmering powder. Two more pinches remained. She’d been grinding for a total of eighteen minutes. At last, they had precisely three pinches of powdered unicorn hair.Draco lifted the small copper bowl she’d used to store the powder in while she worked the other two pinches with care, transferring the powder toward the simmering base.“Three pinches, gradually,” she reminded him quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.His nod was barely perceptible as he took a precise pinch of the powder and began sprinkling it into the cauldron.They had exactly one shot at this. Professor Snape had told the class that success was all but hopeless. The witch furrowed her brows, and a renewed vigor and sense of determination hardened her features. She refused to live in a world where a man named Severus Snape was right — particularly about this!Draco’s fingers worked so delicately, deliberately, and slowly that she had to focus quite a lot to see that they even moved. One pinch after the other, he gently administered all three. Hermione let loose the breath she’d held. Reaching for her bag, she retrieved her father’s wristwatch.
Two minutes! They had only two minutes remaining before class ended. He stirred nine times clockwise. His hand was so steady — his count almost ritualistic as he paused for three seconds between each rotation. Hermione’s eyes followed each movement, feeling a surprising sense of partnership with him.The witch’s heart pounded in her chest. How on Earth could Malfoy be so calm at a time like this? Was he Occluding right now? She found herself envious that he could know such a valuable skill. Peeking at the pile of singed unicorn hair, the witch wondered if Occluding during grinding was the real secret she’d missed all along. Was that why the professor had made it seem like success of any kind with this brew would prove impossible?Their potion shimmered in the cauldron — a translucent, opalescent sheen forming over the surface. The color was exactly as described in Snape’s vague instructions, the mark of a successful start of an impossibly difficult brew.Hermione lifted her arms above her and jumped once. Gleefully, the witch squealed, unable to contain their success. It resonated in her belly, tickling her knowing they’d defied their professor. She covered her mouth, but it was too late.“There’s hardly a reason to gloat, Miss Granger,” Snape seethed from his desk. He’d stood and swept his bulky, black cloak about the classroom toward them.She rolled her eyes, lowering her hand and unable to stop smiling. When was the last time she felt this happy? So pointlessly full of cheer and pride…Professor Snape studied the start of their brew, his sharp eyes looking for any reason to rightfully inflict his cruelty upon them. After a few seconds, however, he watched Draco for a moment before settling his black eyes on the witch. The older wizard tensed, his spine straightening so he stood at his full, towering height. She was only five feet and five inches tall. He had to be at least six feet.For a few seconds, she watched as he inventoried her features: paying particular mind to the bright smile breaking her normally sullen face. The frown he wore eased — as if her happiness melted away his misery.
Someone’s boot scraped against the stone floor, stealing Hermione’s attention. Blaise Zabini and Ernie Macmillan grumbled their disappointment. Across the room, other pairs struggled, sparks occasionally lighting up the dim dungeon as students muttered in frustration. Luna, seated nearby, clapped softly. Her usual serene expression was bright with genuine admiration.The professor still loomed over her, so close she could smell the faint hint of parchment and…Ogden's Old Firewhisky?
“Nice job, Granger,” Malfoy said, his voice surprisingly warm. The Slytherin student flashed his pale blue gaze to their professor — briefly assessing him for…whatever reason. “Perhaps, Professor Snape has a partner competent enough in this ridiculous class for me, after all. This year won’t be nearly as insufferable as I thought.”She met the boy’s gaze, for she could not trust herself to meet Snape’s black stare right now for some reason. “There are worse sentences than suffering another year of Hogwarts, Malfoy.”The witch’s smile fell slightly. All of a sudden, in the periphery of her vision, she saw the professor shake his head. Without another word, he sauntered back to his desk. She’d done it! They’d done it, she mentally corrected. Malfoy deserved the credit, too.
When she glanced back at Draco, he stared oddly at Snape for a second longer. Curious. The others had long since began cleaning their stations, so Draco and Hermione remained behind only long enough to do the same. This was their last class for the week. They wrapped up, and moved to leave. Draco stalked off ahead of her, not bothering to mutter a goodbye. That was to be expected. As she left the classroom, hair frizzed and fingers aching, she allowed herself to savor the rare victory.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day 16:

Wednesday, September 16, 1998

. . .
Severus
. . .
The Potions lab held its usual chill — an ever-present reminder of the unyielding stone walls that contained them in the dark, cramped confines of the Hogwarts dungeons. The soft, muted bubbling of cauldrons combined with the occasional metallic clink as students stirred their potions created a symphony Severus Snape knew well. Today, however, the sound grated against him.Polyjuice Potion was among the most convoluted brews at the N.E.W.T. level. Friday’s exercise had been a most important lesson for his twelve eighth and seventh-year students. Reading a book would not get you far. Translating words on the page into successful action required understanding the function and properties of each ingredient with which a witch or wizard worked. No one ought to have powdered the unicorn hair; yet, one set of students had.Severus glowered at that very pair right now. He crossed his arms as he pretended to monitor the progress of all the partners about the lab — each supervising their own cauldron. After a bit, the professor drummed his fingers on his arms and walked behind Draco and Miss Granger. The insufferable witch worked with a sort of precision he knew: intimately so. Her movements, deliberate and confident, spoke of more than mere competence.
Severus’ eyes narrowed as he watched her add the final measure of knotgrass with practiced care. As the professor rounded her workstation, careful not to linger behind her for too long, he once again observed her completely disregarding her textbook. Its instructions were, apparently, unworthy of her notice.The momentary gleam in her eye hinted at satisfaction, but she quickly subdued it. Instead, she focused intently on the slight whirl that formed on the potion’s surface. Her wand moved in a controlled arc, and the soft glow that followed indicated she had reached the end of the potion’s first step — flawlessly, of course. Not once did her gaze flit to the open textbook beside her; it lay untouched, as if mocking the struggles of her classmates.
How often had she brewed Polyjuice? Had she helped brew all that damned Polyjuice when they’d moved Harry last summer from Privet Drive to the Burrow?
That she could have such instruction and its recipe memorized — work with such restrained precision and care that rivaled his own — annoyed him far more than anything the bloody infamous Harry Potter had done. Including his birth.So this was why she’d dared ask him about his curriculum in front of the class Friday. The wizard moved back to his desk, slowly sitting like his own chair had offended his arse in some way. She’d have a sixty-minute wait time with her copper cauldron. Besides, he’d lingered far too closely for too long anyway.Draco Malfoy, seated beside her, masked his frustration poorly. A subtle twitch in his brow betrayed him as he added the last bundle of knotgrass. His hands worked methodically, yet the impatience rolling off him in waves was almost tangible. Severus caught the slight tremor of the boy’s exhale as he cast a sidelong glare at Hermione. Then, against the rule of silence Severus enforced with iron-clad consistency, Draco’s voice cut through the subdued noise, brittle with irritation.“How long have you brewed this potion, Granger?” he muttered.Hermione’s head turned, just enough for her profile to catch the dim light. As the warm hue of the fire burning in the wall sconces glowed against her delicately pale skin, Severus swallowed, adjusting the high collar of his teaching robes. Doing so made the scar on his flesh there burn against the fabric’s friction.Hermione’s eyes narrowed with a flicker of caution, but the answer slipped from her lips before she could stop it. “Years, Malfoy,” she said, the word carrying a weight that landed squarely in Severus’ chest. The silence around them thickened as if absorbing her confession. She blinked so erratically, and a visible tension knotted her shoulders. “I-I mean,” she added, clearing her throat as doing so would cleanse the slip in her tongue, “since last year.”“You said years…”Granger cleared her throat, her brows pinching together as she threw her attention between her peer and potion. “Yes, well…Last year was 1997, and this year is 1998. So…years.” The witch scratched at her forearm, and Severus held his breath — just for a second, for she asked, “W-Why?”Draco could not contain the slow, dramatic eye roll any more than his disdain. But, just then, the boy glanced at Severus, straightening under the weight of the professor’s attention and shaking his head.“Quiet,” the professor reminded his students.
Severus felt his fingers curl, the rough fabric of his robes pressing into his palm. Years. The implications of that admission reverberated in his mind, triggering him to do the one thing he swore to never do again — search his memories. Their fourth year spoke for itself: Barty Crouch Jr. But when else had he discovered his ingredients missing? A simmering anger coiled within him, potent and dark. The sheer audacity, the gall to raid his stores under his very nose — no doubt to aid Potter — made the rational part of him demand retribution.And yet…There it was again — this insidious thought that gnawed at the edges of his anger until it dulled entirely. The memory of his own youth, of hours spent mastering brews by candlelight long after curfew, surfaced unbidden. He knew the pull of ambition, of knowledge pursued in secrecy. This unwelcome connection between them tightened like a vice around his throat, drawing out a respect for the Gryffindor that was neither wanted nor welcomed.Professor Snape’s dark eyes snapped back to the familiar shape of her…gentle features. Peeking behind his equally obsidian hair, which curtained his overlong, ugly face, he carefully ensured none of his students watched him. Only when he was truly certain none did, he returned his undivided attention to the witch.
With a soft, quiet swallow, the old wizard studied the tension in her jaw, the way her lashes shadowed the high bones of her cheeks, the tight coil of steam spinning up around a loose strand of her golden chestnut hair. Plenty of parallels existed between this witch and another – always hidden away from his mind in the confines of his small, blackened heart: Gryffindors, muggleborns, studious, gifted in potions, an insatiable need to help.That’s all, Severus privately scolded. The only possible way he’d hold any empathy for her — for anyone, really — was because of the singular sentimentality that had enslaved him decades ago. Lily’s ghost, perhaps, mocked him. Though…anything was truly preferable to the incessant haunting she’d inflicted upon him.The sight of the young witch anchored him to the present, thankfully breaking the stranglehold of a most beloved friend. Friend. He’d lost the privilege of calling himself hers the moment the bloody word etched into Hermione’s forearm tumbled from his thin, chapped lips. Though sharp his mind and tongue were, in rare moments, control proved to be his greatest weakness. He could never again afford to lose it, lest he again owe an old, great wizard something until he’d have to murder him to.Severus, for the few positive actions and all of his misunderstood qualities, belonged in the cold, dreary dungeons. Here, he could exercise his rage upon unsuspecting dunderheads in a most constructive, controlled way. Here, nobody could want to linger for too long. Here, he was simply a potions master — not a Death Eater defected, not a murderer, not in love with a ghost who hated him in the end, not a hero, not alive, and certainly not a friend.A scuffle of feet from another student — Ernie Macmillan — interrupted his unwelcome musings, a jarring reminder of the room full of observers. Severus allowed himself a single, calculated sweep of the room, his black glare searching for any prying eyes. Ultimately, thank Merlin, he found none. Years, she’d said…The word replayed, carrying the undercurrent of something deeper. It suggested not just skill but intent. Purpose. What had driven her to brew such a dangerous and intricate potion repeatedly? Curiosity? Necessity? The possible answer twisted in the recesses of his mind, evading clarity until, for the first in a very long time, curiosity overrode reason.Severus had to know it all: how old she’d been on her first successful attempt, how the fuck she’d secured her ingredients (though he felt positive to have solved this piece of the puzzle), how had she first discovered this particular potion, and why she’d need the it in the first place.Draco exhaled again, this time more evenly as if resigned to Hermione’s talents — if only for the time being. Severus’ gaze flicked back to him, noting the subtle shift in his posture. The boy’s hands resumed their movements, stirring with a grace learned under the professor’s careful tutelage. The older wizard found no small satisfaction in Draco’s effort — a word the potions master used ironically if anything else.Malfoy’s earlier potential felt dimmed now, buried beneath the haunted glances and the weight of his family’s downfall. The world had taken much from Draco: had expected even more from the boy. Even so, the Slytherin student had allowed himself to drift, unfocused. Aimless. Unlike Granger, who, despite everything — all the loss and agony he now knew she carried — continued to hone herself with relentless precision.The edges of Severus’ vision softened as his mind traced the implications of that realization. The urge to dismiss her as another insufferable Gryffindor clashed with the undeniable evidence before him. The professor regarded her again. A resilience etched into every measured movement. It was, perhaps, a determination that belied her youth. It stoked the embers of something Severus loathed to acknowledge: a rare, grudging admiration.…ill-suited for the likes of any student.The low hiss of the flame beneath Miss Parkinson’s cauldron hummed as she adjusted it slightly. The disturbance distracted the professor for only a moment. Quickly, he sought out the witch again. She didn’t look up, not once. It was as if Draco’s question and her subsequent slip had never occurred. The impudence of her composure, the refusal to wilt under scrutiny — how very…
Unacceptable.

Intolerable.

Offensive.

…Familiar.
Granger was the first to complete step one of the first part of this brew. The witch busied herself with cleaning up her workspace. Every now and then, various students glared at her: Draco, Parkinson, Mr. Boot, Miss Madley, and Zabini. Long moments later, Malfoy wrapped up his station, too. On the opposite side of the room, Miss Lovegood cleared her throat, nodding as she referenced her text one last time before depositing her cauldron into the closet and moving to clean her station.The bell shattered the silence with a finality that stilled the room. A cascade of movement followed. Students scrambled to leave behind the suffocating vigilance of Severus Snape. Two words formed — distinct and irrevocable in the recesses of his mind.“Miss Granger,” Severus said, his voice cutting through the noise. Heads turned; students hesitated at the door. The witch tensed, grabbing the beaded bag at her hip with an audible sigh. He held up a hand, silencing the question at the tip of her tongue before they formed. “A word.”After a beat, the heavy oak door shut with a loud groan and booming thud, leaving Severus Snape and Hermione Granger in the sudden, sharp quiet of the Potions lab. The fire bouncing in each sconce lining the walls crackled low, sending shadows skittering across the room, wrapping them in their silent dance. Severus could feel the tension pulse between them, an invisible thread taut with suspicion and unsaid words.Hermione stood before his desk, her posture rigid but not fearful. The set of her jaw, the way her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her bag — these small details spoke volumes. She was ready for whatever came next.
At least, she believed she was.“I recently conducted an inventory of my storeroom,” Severus began, his words sharp and meticulously measured. His soft, studious glare held hers. The wizard keenly searched for any trace of defiance hidden within her often unguarded expression. “I noted several key ingredients missing — ingredients that, coincidentally, match those necessary for the Potion of Dreamless Sleep.”A flicker of something — perhaps indignation — passed through Granger’s eyes. It had only been recently that he’d seen the witch’s remarkably perceptive gaze infuse again with something akin to life: a familiar sharpness that allowed him to move to a simpler time.Warm. Strong.The old wizard found it entirely preferable to the soft, meager, and incognizant emptiness he’d seen in them at the start of term. Despite himself, the potions master cleared his throat.“I didn’t steal them, Professor,” she said, her voice steady yet tinged with defensive sharpness. So she would deny it. “I borrowed them. I’ve already sent away to replace them. I-I was rather hoping you would not notice.”Severus thinned his mouth into a tight line. Leaning forward so that his elbows rested against the top of his desk, he steepled his fingers and glared up at her. “It was not the first time you stole from my stores…”Granger cringed, biting her lip as she pulled her bushy curls to one shoulder. “It was second year, sir,” she said, clutching the bottom of her elbow and squeezing the bone there. Furrowing her brows, she rolled her eyes and sighed. “Let’s add powdered horn of a bicorn and shredded skin of a boomslang to the list of borrowed ingredients while we’re at it…”“You brewed Polyjuice in your second year?”Severus dragged his stare — glossy and black like obsidian — from her face down to her waist before settling them back in her awkward, watchful eyes. Her reply launched about a thousand more questions — though he had not the time to ask them now.The witch cringed, her face pinching into a pained expression. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it before she could. This repeated four more times. Biting her lip and twisting her finger at the loose end of a curl, she said, “Mostly successfully…”“I find your reply most unhelpful. If you insist on continuing your vague, non-answering, I shall be forced to deduct points.”“Actually,” she replied, her voice carrying a certain higher pitch that was most pleasant to hear. “You’d be doing me a favor, sir. Care to make it at least ten points?”Severus sighed. The one thing that permitted him a hollow, artificial joy no longer held its luster. “You want me to deduct points from Gryffindor house?”“Yes…”“Then, I must ask yet another question: Why?”Granger straightened her posture and cleared her throat. “As it happens, you do not need to know.”“You are…” he retorted, continuing, “up to something.”Crossing her arms, Granger looked down at him. Although the defiant act ought to have made the deep crease between his brows pinch, the professor could not find it in him to correct it. The years had softened her features. He found himself unable to cease such…proximity. Only the width of his desk separated them.
Granger’s nose was petite. Delicately shaped. Its subtle slope gave her face an air of quiet confidence. It sat perfectly balanced between her expressive, inquisitive eyes and her determined mouth, a small yet defining feature that lent her an air of unyielding focus.
The professor could wait no longer for her reply. “Well?” he asked, his sharp voice booming in the quiet of the lab.Rolling her eyes, the witch turned around and clutched underneath the top of the closest potions stool. When she sat upon it, she licked her lips and fluffed her hair — an act likely unconsciously done.“Ellis Greaves,” she said, acquiescing most reluctantly.The boy was a first-year Slytherin: a half-blood wizard abandoned in a muggle orphanage in Ireland. “What about Mr. Greaves?”Granger pinched her brows together and frowned. “Well, sir…he — rather unwillingly — called me…the foul version of muggleborn over the weekend. A couple of third-year Slytherins made him do it.”Severus would remain quietly grateful she’d spared him from hearing the word. Swallowing, the professor leaned in, adding weight to his elbows atop his desk. “And this incident has to do with you losing house points…why?”“Well, he’s bullied — almost by everyone. Students and—”“So?”Gritting her teeth, the witch fisted the air before expunging the frustration from her lungs with a long sigh. “So I’ve been watching him for the last few days, and—”Severus hated running in circles, so he grumbled a curse under his breath and shook his head, saying, “If a first-year boy makes you quiver in your boots, Miss Granger—”“Sir, I’ve a point…” she said. When his glare heated, she sighed again — clearly entirely unbothered by his growing impatience to reach said point. “I’ll also remind you that you asked,” she added.“If you, indeed, have a point, Miss Granger,” Severus muttered, slowly adding, “Get. To. It.”“Do you know how repugnant Percy Weasley is?”“Professor Weasley,” he corrected.The Ministry, which he’d supposedly rejoined after Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped in as Minster of Magic, had appointed him the new Transfiguration professor for students in years first through fifth. The new headmistress had many duties preventing her from thinning her time so much. Instead, she taught the N.E.W.T. level years — at least until a better-suited witch or wizard presented themselves for the role. “Percy,” she repeated, continuing, “is determined to unfairly win House Cup this year. So much so he docks points from Slytherin house for minor uniform infractions. He—”Though it did not please him to say such, the wizard begrudgingly admitted, “Such is his right, Miss Granger, as a professor of this school.”Hermione stood, planting both palms on the top of his desk — inches from where his arms rested. She loomed over him with such a fierce intensity he had to lean back in his chair, though only slightly. Regardless, the act stole her notice. Gritting his teeth, the professor swallowed, preparing to speak again.“Stop interrupting me!”Severus quirked his brow and stood from his chair, slowly rising to tower over her. She would do well to remember just who was in control in this damp, dark dwelling. “Do not presume shouting at me is ever a good idea.”Granger straightened, leaning away and crossing her arms over her chest. Just slightly, the witch lifted her chin. “Professor, Percy throws Slytherins out of his class for nonsensical reasons. Yesterday, he dismissed Ellis for failing to transfigure a match into a needle. He claimed that he could do so because it was clear the boy sought to waste his time. At this rate, your students won’t learn an essential subject. Does this truly not concern you?”
“What?”
That the vile Gryffindor professor — the very Head of such House, appointed only because the Ministry would never approve of a werewolf for the role — could think he could treat his students thus made Severus close both of his fists in such a way that both hands shook. No, he could be angry in private.
“Twenty points from Gryffindor for shouting at a professor and stealing from my stores.”The witch smirked, clearly satisfied with him for abetting her little scheme that very much impacted him. That smirk was not the smile that radiated in the lab last week, but it still gave him pause. Dropping his gaze to his desk, the potions master sighed. Just off to the side of the desktop lay four vials of Dreamless Sleep.
Ah, yes. The original reason he’d held her back…
The glass caught the light, each one shimmering with a faint glow of liquid trapped within. Waving a firm hand over the vials, Severus regarded her once more. “These,” he said, his voice softer now but no less intense, “are yours. Earned, I might add, from your...intervention the other night.”The statement hung in the air, charged with implications that neither of them, it would seem, dared address directly. Hermione’s gaze darted to the vials, then back to Severus. Suspicion flickered again in her eyes as she processed his words, fingers hovering just above the glass but never touching them.Her lips parted, a question teetering on the edge of articulation, but she hesitated, measuring his expression for any hint of deceit. When she finally spoke, her voice was laced with a mix of curiosity and caution. “Why?” The single word carried the weight of all her unspoken thoughts.A muscle in Severus’ jaw tightened, the question cutting deeper than she likely intended. He fought to keep his composure, pushing down the storm of conflicting thoughts threatening to surface. He could not — would not — admit how he knew. Of course, he’d gleaned the knowledge of her needing such a potion by infiltrating her mind.
Years spent watching and searching the Dark Lord’s mind had convinced him there was little beauty in the human mind. The only success he’d achieved in culling information from the dead master was because of the Potion of Steeled Perception. Painful as it was that he could not trust his Legilimency abilities to do so without such help, the brew had aided in preserving his place among the Death Eater’s highest ranks.But Hermione Granger’s mind had held him as much a hostage as his feelings for one Lily Evans always had. It was lovely — a word he’d not used for as long as he could remember. Though vast, its boundaries were defined. Strong. He knew she had no experience with Occlumency, but she’d certainly possess a particular talent for it. He was sure of it.Friday, just before class, he’d sipped only enough of Steeled Perception before class to ensure she would not feel him invading her mind. It would not do to have her running to the headmistress. With the assistance of the potion, he’d focused his attention on her thoughts — her memories felt much too intimate to explore. However, the poor witch knew not how much she’d given to him.Bellatrix haunted her.A ferocious memory clutching to the thought had sharpened his presence within her mind enough that a clear flash of Hermione shivering, sweating profusely, and screaming in her bed as if the at-large bitch, indeed, lingered in the shadows of her Hogwarts dorm.She’d stolen from his stores. She wished to brew more Dreamless Sleep.
Granger had Obliviated her parents last summer. That’s why the Dark Lord never located them, for there was simply no one to find. What little he’d gathered about the witch over the years could be briefly summarized:Her parents were muggles (dentists). She’d grown up in the upper echelon of the middle class (for he’d personally seen her family home at the Dark Lord’s insistence late last summer prior to the start of school). Thankfully, they’d fled elsewhere. Now, he knew why. Granger enjoyed the library, studying, and being a nuisance in his class. Perhaps there existed other things, but he would not dive into his mind too far for such a pointless exercise.Sacrifice.The Gryffindor girl had not hesitated when the time came to accomplish two things in the only way she knew how at the time: protect her parents in perpetuity and help Harry. All this time, Severus remained convinced that not another soul knew the acute agony of eschewing yourself so thin that your soul would forever fray for those you loved. But here, in his own fucking class, he’d happened upon the truth in a most unassuming person. Hermione Granger mirrored Severus Snape in a way that was entirely unacceptable.
Oh, he mused, his features darkening. She also found him vile. Unsurprising.

Who did not?
The moment his mind had melded with hers — unbidden — had marked a line that would forever divide him with the likes of everyone. Though they were not (and would never be) close, he’d violated the inherent trust of a student, who could not, in truth, trust her professor.
“Sir?”Severus flicked his gaze up to her, seeing her brows pinch and mouth flatten — silently indicating her growing concern. He would not tell her, he vowed. He couldn’t. Not when this was the first real conversation they’d ever had. It was not comfortable…nor was it, exactly, unpleasant. No. He could not tell her that, at that moment, she’d ensnared him with an empathy he wanted so fiercely to bury. So he would. The lie came smoothly: practiced and poised.“The headmistress spoke to me,” he said, letting the clipped words fall between them like a gavel. “Regarding your...your parents last summer.”The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Severus watched Hermione’s reaction, the slight widening of her eyes, the way her breath caught before she exhaled slowly. She believed it, or at least, she was too stunned to question its veracity.The old wizard’s gaze shifted to the desktop for the briefest moment. The headmistress remained unaware of Hermione’s ordeal, ignorant of the lengths to which one of her brightest students had gone to ensure her family’s safety. But Severus knew, and that knowledge had burned within him since the moment it had seared itself into his mind.Yet here he stood, offering easy fabrications of truths. Truly, Severus was a crude shell of a beast. He would remain unworthy of such pleasing smiles and Granger’s thin trust. “Your former Head of Gryffindor House does not appreciate my...indelicate treatment after the events that transpired last week,” Severus added, his voice taking on a colder edge. It felt safer this way: to keep the air between them bristling rather than softening.Hermione’s brows drew together, confusion mingling with the still-lingering suspicion. She seemed to search his face, as if hoping to find some hidden layer, some sliver of insight that would make sense of this rare display. “She said that?” Hermione’s voice held disbelief, yet the hope threaded through it was unmistakable.“Yes.” The lie tasted acrid, bitter. He shifted, leaning back slightly, the flicker of a candle casting shadows across his face. While lying to the witch hardly felt right, perhaps doing so could be a conduit to convey things he’d otherwise never say. Yes, Severus thought, he would exploit this opportunity to suit him. After all, offering her facts about him seemed like an adequate consolation to partially pardon last week’s mental intrusion and the curse to the chest. “According to my sentence keeper, we possess a great deal of...seemingly similar discipline and devotion.” The words, detached and measured, were as close to revealing secrets of which he was particularly possessive.Hermione blinked, as if recalibrating her understanding of the man standing before her. The compliment, though swathed in cold logic, seemed to root her in place. It was not approval. No. Acknowledgment.
The silence that followed was no longer hostile but steeped in an uneasy, very fragile truce. Severus studied her: the slight tremor in her fingers as she reached for one of the vials and hesitated and the way her eyes still held that glint of relentless pursuit.
She was formidable, even now. Even against him.“Thank you, sir,” she said finally, the words cautious, as if testing the air between them.The professor inclined his head, a gesture so slight it could be mistaken for a trick of the light. The room felt colder as her gaze dropped to the vials once more, the question still lingering between them, unanswered and raw. Severus’ mind churned, battling the contradictions that surged within him. He could not afford for her to know the truth — that he had looked into her mind and, in doing so, had felt the echoes of her grief and resolve settle in the deepest parts of him. But now that he knew such information, he found he was…unwilling to yet let go of this understanding between them.“Do not mistake this for leniency, Miss Granger,” Severus added, his voice regaining its familiar edge.
The flicker of challenge returned to her eyes, a spark that told him she understood his words as a warning and something else — a vow, perhaps, that he was paying attention.“I understand, professor,” she said, and this time her voice was steady, the hesitation gone.Severus watched her slowly claim the vials on his desktop. She did not deposit them into her bag. Did she believe he would take them away? “You will remain under my watch and out of my stores. Return here when you run low of those and the ingredients you took.”“Borrowed,” Hermione corrected.Severus rolled his eyes. “I hardly need a vocabulary lesson from the likes of you, Miss Granger.”A tentative, soft smile stretched her lips. He’d made her smile? The potions master dropped his stare to the desk. The witch lingered by the desk, her fingers curling tighter around the vials as if they anchored her. Finally, she deposited them in that bloody bag. The tension in the room had taken on a different shape — no longer just wary and combative. Now, it was layered, thickened with the weight of truths unspoken.Severus’ gaze flickered back to her, a subtle reminder that their interaction was not yet concluded. He noticed the way her brow furrowed, the gears turning behind those perceptive eyes. The silence crackled, as if the air itself were too taut to hold its breath any longer.“Sacrifices,” Hermione said suddenly, the word landing with a weight that belied her composed tone. “They are never simple, are they?”
What was she thinking about?

Was she veiling her words behind her own experience to allude to Lily?

What would this witch ask of him?

What would she eventually take from him?

What would she ultimately expect of him?
It would be so easy to Legilimens her. Their gazes held firm, after all. But to do so would feel crude. It would be a violation most unforgivable. This conversation had lasted this long without her asking things of him. Rather, she’d simply confided in him the weights of her past and the righteous schemes with which she presently busied herself. She’d made no effort to lie to him when he’d accused her of stealing — borrowing — the ingredients last week.The question pulled at something within him. Severus met her eyes, dark and unreadable. For a moment, he hesitated. The memories he guarded so closely threatened to surge forward. Instead, he allowed only a measured response — a platitude she would know already. “The world demands much, Miss Granger. It often gives little in return — in my experience.”The witch nodded, and he could see in her the echo of someone who understood more than her years should allow. “And sometimes, it gives nothing at all.”The room felt colder with that admission. Severus’ jaw tightened imperceptibly. Her understanding, while comforting in its rarity, was unsettling. He hadn’t expected to find a mirror of his own past reflections in her eyes, yet here it was: the shared recognition of sacrifice without recompense.“I know you believe me to be rather limited in my experience and insufferable in your classroom, sir.”Despite himself, the dark wizard opened his mouth, seeking to rectify that false opinion. “Miss Granger—”“But if I learned anything from the war, it’s that I would sacrifice everything for those I care about,” Hermione whispered, her voice ringing with unflinching conviction. The vulnerability of the statement left a silence in its wake, not awkward, but charged with an unspoken accord. “Without hesitation to what it costs me to do so.”Severus had no reply. She could never know just how much those words struck him. Clearly, she expected a clever retort in kind, for she waited in silence while never once taking her eyes from him. The wizard remained silent.“I agree with her — the headmistress,” she said. The Gryffindor witch tucked a wild portion of curls behind her ear, swallowing as she narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
“Differences aside, sir, I found myself unable to refute the similarities we share…not that I would begin to compare my life with yours, Professor Snape. I just think there is a certain opportunity to acknowledge the understanding I may share with you. You’ll never have need of a student’s friendship. I know that, but I am here. Whatever you require that is within my power to give, I’m happy to help. However I can…”Something sharp lanced through him, an electric current that stirred the embers of his long-buried sentiment. He should have rebuked her audacity, reminded her of their places — student and teacher — but the words wouldn’t form. Instead, he watched as the conviction in her eyes made his chest constrict.Yet again, this witch intended to give him something. Not once had she asked him for anything. Did she need to be needed? Was that it? With Potter and Weasley out of Hogwarts, she simply wanted to stick her nose where it did not belong?

What was her game? What did she want from him? How could he deny her?
“It is a perilous path,” he said finally, his voice rough with something he would not name. “To give everything and expect nothing.”“I know,” Hermione replied. There was no hesitation, no pretense. “But it’s worth it.”The simplicity of her answer gnawed at him, as if she had stripped away the complexity that had always shielded him from confronting his own choices. She shifted from on foot to the other, the sole of her boot scraping against the stone. With a shake of his head, Severus realized, with a sharp pang, that he had been biting the edge of his thumbnail — a remnant of a habit long suppressed. He stilled, his hand lowering with deliberate care, before he cleared his throat to mask the momentary lapse in control.The old wizard studied her, searching for signs that she might retreat from this shared space of raw, veiled honesty, but Hermione held her ground. There was a glint in her eyes — something unyielding. However, it dulled the longer she held his black, foreboding stare.The silence pressed at them again, less suffocating now, more like a curtain waiting to be drawn. Severus shifted, the subtle scrape of his robes breaking the stillness. “Miss Granger,” he began, each word carefully chosen, “if there is nothing else…”Hermione shifted, almost imperceptibly, and the moment began to lose its sharpness. The edges of vulnerability blurred, giving way to something more pragmatic. She tilted her head slightly, breaking eye contact as if the intensity had finally become too much. “The party on Friday…” she said, her voice regaining its usual clarity. “Have you found anyone for the remaining spot?”Severus blinked, the shift in conversation jarring him back to the present. The dance. The apprenticeship. Mundane realities that seemed out of place in this charged space. “I have not,” he said, his tone more guarded now, a reflexive retreat to safer ground.The witch nodded, accepting the response but not letting it deter her. She swallowed and cleared her throat. “I thought it best to ask you in private.”Severus pinched his brows together and narrowed his eyes. “And I have given you my answer.”A quiet chuckle — a perfect blend of melody and comfort — resonated in the shared silence of the lab. Shaking her head, she met his stare again. “No, professor. I meant to ask you another question…”With an exasperated sigh, the potions master rolled his eyes. “Ask it, then.”“Right,” she answered. “If no one else steps forward,” she ventured, her eyes catching his once more, “would you consider me for the final Potions apprenticeship?”The question hung between them, bold and without pretense. Severus studied her, taking in the determination etched into every line of her face. The moments stretched, heavy and weighted, as he considered the implications of her request.“I had heard you’ve chosen Charms.”Hermione grimaced, muttering rather quietly, “If that’s all you’ve heard, then I am glad to hear of it.”“What students discuss in their personal time is of no concern to me, Miss Granger.”“We’re getting a bit off of subject, sir.” Granger played with the ends of her chestnut curls, the act mesmerizing him for only a second. When he cleared his throat, she stood a bit taller and appeared resolute. “Would you object if I were to assume the second spot or not?”Finally, Severus allowed himself a small nod. “If that is your decision, Miss Granger, I would not refuse.” The admission was careful, each word tested before spoken. “But know that an apprenticeship under my instruction shall not come so easy to as brewing Polyjuice. I’ve begun setting aside the dullest essays from my younger students for Draco in anticipation. I will expect no less of your commitment than any of your N.E.W.T.s classes. Am I clear?”“Perfectly, sir,” she replied, the words simple but infused with genuine sincerity.He inclined his head, the formality a barrier to the unfamiliar warmth that settled into the silence. For the first time in what felt like years, Severus felt something shift — less a softening than an implicit acceptance.The room felt less oppressive — more like a space reclaimed. Severus’ gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, tracing the determination in her stance before once more sitting in his chair.“That will be all. I’ve many essays to organize.”“O-Of course, professor.”Granger shoved her hair over her shoulder so it loosely hung down her back. The Hogwarts emblem on her robes flashed him once again. “See you Friday, sir,” she said, not offering him the opportunity to reply with parting words in kind.Grabbing the stool she’d moved earlier, the witch placed it precisely where she’d found it. Quietly, she left him alone in the company of his own solace. The past was never truly left behind. But, perhaps in moments like these, the weight of it became a touch easier to bear.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day 18:

Friday, September 18, 1998

. . .

Hermione

. . .

The corridor outside the Great Hall glowed with the warm flicker of torchlight, casting shifting shadows on the ancient stone walls. The torches floated just out of reach, their golden light dancing like fireflies, illuminating faces etched with anticipation. Clusters of seventh and eighth-year students gathered in small groups, their conversations weaving together in a gentle hum that filled the corridor. The sound was punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter, sudden and bright, cutting through the deeper tones of murmured conversations.

From the open doors of the Great Hall, the strains of soft music drifted out, wrapping around the waiting students like a silken thread. The air carried the subtle scent of enchanted candles, mingling with hints of jasmine, rose, and something spicier that Hermione couldn’t quite place. It was dizzying, almost surreal, as if the atmosphere itself buzzed with the unspoken promise of the night ahead.

Hermione lingered just out of sight, her back pressed against the cool stone as she tried to steady her breathing. The dress she wore was beautiful — too beautiful. Such a lovely garment was wasted on a witch like Hermione Granger. The gown’s dark crimson velvet shined a deep onyx subtly with every movement, its rich hue bold against her pale skin. The sconces, looming high along the stone walls, embellished its resemblance to a black baccara rose.

The heart-shaped neckline accentuated her figure in ways that left her feeling exposed, unfamiliar. Vulnerable. Each of her collarbones arched too high, clearly indicating the truth her Hogwarts robes and strategically layered personal clothes naturally hid. The A-line skirt fell gracefully just below her knees, swaying slightly with each subtle shift of her weight.

But it was the sleeves that had made her cry in her room for the past two hours. She’d run out of time to fix her hair into a more intricate style, so she’d pulled back her face framing curls into two thin plaits that joined at the back of her head. At least her hair wouldn’t be flying in her eyes all night. Crying for so long had made it impossible to apply any glamour charms or muggle makeup — not that she’d have spent much time on such a step anyway. But, at the very least, the witch could have better hidden the bluish hue under her eyes and the lack of color in her cheeks.

Harry and Ron would worry, and she could not have that.

The sheer Chiffon fabric puffed delicately at the shoulders, which featured a delicate collection of roses, before narrowing to fitted cuffs, leaving the jagged, bright scars on her forearm exposed.

No matter how much time passed, the scars appeared only hours old. Despite much effort, Hermione could

not

figure out how to magically hide it — let alone age it so it appeared faded on her pale skin. The word

Mudblood

etched into her skin throbbed, a phantom reminder of a distant agony she thought she still struggled to carry.

Unfortunately, that was hardly the only scar giving her grief for the evening. The aged gash stretching from her left hipbone to her right collarbone felt like it burned, though she knew it was just her nerves playing cruel tricks. Professor Snape’s regimen of potions had helped in dulling and aging it as best as possible, but it still was very much a noticeable feature fixed upon her body.

Biting her bottom lip, the witch swallowed and bent to slide her deep crimson blocked heels, only just three inches tall, over both feet. There was nothing left to delay her. She took a breath, willing her pulse to slow, and glanced at the faint reflection in the window nearby.

The image looking back at her was a contradiction — a woman dressed in a gown that exuded elegance but with eyes that spoke of awkwardness and discomfort. It was just wrong. She was only a witch of middling appeal. Yes. There was precisely nothing endearing about her plain features.

Not for the first time, Hermione waged a pointless war in her mind between two sentiments. On one side of the battlements, she had no interest in being the object of any wizard’s affection. Therefore, sparing any amount of thought on her appearance was rather a waste of time. Wasn’t it? Standing at the opposite end of the field, Hermione yearned to start a family of her own. Though she’d never forget her life as a Granger, possessing a name attached to no family felt like the cruelest form of mockery — superseding even Bellatrix’s scar.

Hermione wanted a new name, a new home, and a new family. Perhaps, even a partner with whom to share her life. Someone kind. Someone safe. Someone who would spoil her precisely the same way her father spoiled and adored her mother.

“Stop it,” she whispered, wiping at her eyes. She shook her head and cleared her throat as quietly as she could muster. A tight ball constricted in her throat, and Hermione covered her mouth with her shaky palm. Exhaling, she slowly inhaled until her body managed to calm down.

It was moments like this where she was still very much a girl who needed only her mother. She’d know what to say to make everything make sense. Her father would play some jazz music and dance with her until she forgot to overthink for a few hours.

But she was alone.

Instead, here she stood: in a body she felt less connected to most days. It felt almost fraudulent — like stepping into someone else’s life. She was Hermione Granger, the bright student with too many answers and ink-stained fingers…not this witch cloaked in deep crimson and lovely velvet.

The enchantment Tonks had placed on the dress kept it firmly as it was: no transfiguration allowed. It was a gift — one meant to bolster. To empower. Rather, it made Hermione feel trapped, like the hem was stitched with secrets she wasn’t ready to reveal.

The murmur of voices outside the Great Hall sharpened as she stepped into view. The corridor seemed to shrink around her. Each step drew the eyes of her peers. Some turned subtly, their expressions shifting from surprise to something unreadable. Perhaps, if not Hermione herself, the scars on display were not welcome? Others stared openly before quickly looking away, caught between pity and discomfort. A sixth-year girl from Ravenclaw (clearly someone’s date) cast her a wide-eyed glance before leaning close to whisper something to her companion.

Hermione’s stomach tightened as if twisted by an invisible hand.

She walked past a trio of Slytherins who watched her with expressions that could only be described as mixed: a host of resentment mixed with a thin veneer of curiosity. The pity, Hermione mused, felt the most acute. Now, she was entirely aware of how the fabric clung to her curves, how her sleeves did nothing to conceal what lay beneath.

“Stop this at once. You’re going to walk into the Great Hall and see Harry and Ron. You’re going to have a wonderful time,” she reminded herself, forcing her shoulders to relax.

The witch knew her body well enough — knew the subtle cues when tension threatened to seize her. The trick was to appear unfazed, to let the gaze of others wash over her as if she were immune to its touch. But tonight, that armor felt as thin as parchment.

A dreamy, familiar voice pulled her from the spiral of her thoughts. “Hello, Hermione! You look lovely tonight.”

Luna Lovegood stood before her, the glow of torchlight catching the silvery sheen of her layered, eclectic gown. It fell in soft waves around her, the fabric catching the light as if woven from stardust. The skirt bubbled at her knees. Her smile was serene, and her eyes were wide and genuine. Unclouded by judgment.

Hermione’s breath caught, not at Luna’s compliment but at the warmth it carried. “Thank you, Luna,” she managed, the words feeling heavy in her mouth. “You’re glowing!” She wanted to hold on to that moment, to let Luna’s easy acceptance drown out the prickle of insecurity that lingered beneath her skin. But it was a fleeting comfort, dissipating as quickly as it came.

Out of nowhere, a shiver ran down Hermione’s spine — a sensation that gripped her so suddenly she nearly faltered mid-step. It was like an unseen tether had looped around her, binding her attention as if it squeezed her body like pages of a book between a thick cover. The feeling of being watched settled over her — not with the scrutiny of her peers. Rather, it was an intensity that sent a different kind of warmth coursing through her veins.

It wasn’t unpleasant. It did not make her feel unsafe, but it was…disarming.

Hermione’s eyes swept over the corridor, scanning faces and finding none that matched the quiet burn of that mysterious gaze. It was maddening, a dissonance between what she felt and what she saw.

Was she just imagining this?

Her heart quickened: not with fear but with something that left her both bewildered and curious.

Who could it be?

The question thrummed through her, insistent and unsatisfied. The warmth of the stare didn’t fade. In fact, it held ever steady, grounding her in a way she couldn’t explain. It felt familiar, as if it belonged to someone who saw more than the surface, more than just the scars and the clever façade she wore like armor.

She had to find its source. Nothing would stop her from discovering the owner of such safe, welcome attention. Nobody would—

“Come on, Hermione,” Luna said, gently linking her arm through Hermione’s, steering her toward the Great Hall. The motion broke the spell, pulling the witch’s focus away from her search. Frustration bubbled up inside her, mingling with a strange reluctance. It was as though letting herself be led meant leaving that gaze behind, that inexplicable connection.

Hermione’s eyes darted one last time over her shoulder, scanning the hall for any sign of the person who had stolen her breath. But there was only the blur of students, a sea of lovely gowns and dress robes under flickering torchlight.

None held the answer for which she so desperately sought…

As Luna guided her, Hermione felt the weight of the unknown settle deeper, tinged with something that felt almost like loss. She forced herself to focus on the present, on the laughter that met her ears as they neared Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville. Their faces were bright with anticipation, voices mingling in a familiar, comforting cacophony.

The last glance she cast over her shoulder caught nothing but the closing shadows. The echo of that unseen gaze lingered, an unanswered question she mentally dogeared for later.

As they passed under the archway, Hermione took a steadying breath, letting the light from the Great Hall wash over her. It was warm, inviting. It eased the tension just enough for her to release her grip on her elbow. The weight of that unknown stare faded but didn’t quite disappear.

Not now, she told herself, the words firming her resolve.

The night stretched ahead, full of moments she could claim, if only she let herself step fully into them. With Luna’s reassuring presence beside her, Hermione moved forward, into the light, into the night. The questions at the back of her mind hummed quietly, content to wait.

For now.

The Great Hall. Floating candles cast a golden glow that shifted as they bobbed gently overhead, their reflections shimmering in the freshly polished floor. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the night sky — a black velvet expanse dotted with the cold light of stars, occasionally streaked with the phantom arc of a shooting star. The charmed gramophone in the corner breathed out slow, lilting notes that meandered through the air, soft and inviting. Yet, despite the orchestrated elegance, an unnatural stillness gripped the room, as if the night itself held its breath.

Nobody danced.

Clusters of students adorned in their finest robes huddled near the periphery, their conversations muted and guarded. The war had imprinted an unshakable hesitance on them all — even in moments meant for celebration. Headmistress McGonagall stood by the entrance, eyes sharp beneath the brim of her pointed hat as she surveyed the gathering. Her expression bore the weight of hope laced with vigilance, a silent plea for harmony, if only for the night.

Harry’s presence near the back wall was a steadying force. His sharp, black robes, embroidered with delicate deep red threading, brought out the seriousness in his eyes as he laughed quietly at something Ginny whispered. His girlfriend beamed at him, fingers squeezing his arm. However, her gaze shifted the moment a soft gasp rippled through the room.

Hermione entered, the tap of her heeled steps muted as she slowed her approach to join her friends. The velvet fabric with which she fidgeted absorbed the room’s breath, amplifying the heartbeat that thrummed in her ears. She felt the stares like pinpricks — each one tracing the scar that cut across her collarbone.

Merlin, help her.

Harry’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing with concern. Beside him, Ron’s brows drew together as he muttered, “Merlin’s beard, Hermione! You’ve got another scar!” The volume of his voice pulled more glances their way, curious and nosy.

Hermione’s chest tightened, arms instinctively crossing as if to shield herself and hide the foul word etched into her skin. “Charming, Ronald,” she muttered, forcing her lips into a wry smile. It felt brittle, like it could shatter if touched.

Harry stepped forward, his gaze locking onto hers, searching for answers. For the moment, he’d forgotten all about Ginny. Only the three of them existed, it seemed. “What happened?” His voice, though calm, had an edge that hinted at a deeper worry, one they had shared too many times before.

The explanation came easily, polished by days of rehearsal. “An experiment in human transfiguration late early in the term in my room. I thought I’d perfected the technique,” she said, letting out a soft sigh that mimicked exasperation. “Obviously, it went…less smoothly than anticipated. Good thing I had the presence of mind — and my bag — to handle it.”

Harry’s eyes lingered on the scar, doubt flickering in their depths, but he nodded, accepting the story for now. “Early in the term, Hermione? It’s only the eighteenth of September.”

“Well, I know that, Harry!”

“You should be more careful,” he said, his voice a murmur, soft but insistent. “You have the rest of your life to perfect dangerous spells.”

A memory flashed behind her eyes — the slice of silver, the cold rush of panic as Sectumsempra arced through the corridor, and the wide-eyed horror in a face marked by darkness and regret. The guilt coiled in her gut, threatening to climb up her throat.

Pushing it down, she managed an easy, wry smile. “Careful, Harry?” Her voice aimed for humor, but it landed with an edge. “Like riding dragons out of Gringotts?”

Harry’s mouth twitched in reluctant amusement, but Ron scowled, his gaze darting between them. “Hermione, we’re not at war anymore,” he muttered, the words weighted with irritation and something more difficult to name. “Or so says the Ministry…”

Ginny stepped forward, effectively joining them. “Some things never change, huh?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange is still out there,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung between them, tangible and cold.

Harry reached for Hermione’s hand, rubbing the top of it with his thumb. “You know it’s only a matter of time before we find her and—”

“Yes,” she retorted. “It’s a great comfort knowing that she’ll go back to Azkaban — living each day with the possibility of escape.”

Ron swallowed, scratching the back of his head. “We’ve talked this to death, Hermione. We’ve sworn to follow the Wizarding laws. We’re training to be Aurors, you know!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Some people deserve the Killing curse.”

Harry sighed. “It’s a good thing you’re here and not out there, then.”

Her two best friends knew. The war had changed something within her. The more time passed, the more solid that fact became. If presented with the opportunity to kill the bitch, Hermione would — with obvious hesitation. However, Magical Britain would not be safer while she still breathed.

Neville cleared his throat. “Perhaps, we could speak of…anything else?”

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Ron?”

Ron shifted, unease crossing his face. “Well, you look…” His gaze dropped for a moment before meeting hers again. “You look…like a woman,” he said, a clumsy attempt at something like admiration.

“Nothing escapes your notice, Ronald,” Hermione said, arching an eyebrow. The sarcasm softened the tension just a little, a familiar dance of banter that hid too many truths.

Ron rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flitting to the rich hue of her dress. “It’s just…isn’t that a bit dark for you?”

The question pricked at something tender inside her. “It was my mother’s dress, Ronald,” she said, the words gentle, not meaning to sting but doing so all the same.

Silence claimed them for a moment, the background hum of conversation and music a buffer against deeper meanings. Hermione’s thoughts shifted to the day Tonks had brought the dress to her private room at Hogwarts earlier in the week. The tag still hung from the garment — a precious relic of a life forever lost.

Ron’s eyes widened, guilt and an apology fighting for space on his face before he mumbled something incoherent and stepped back, eventually walking away.

Harry stayed rooted, his expression shifting from concern to a familiar determination. He shared a look with the others around them, nodding. They were left alone. Rather quickly. “Hermione, can I see your bag?” His tone had changed, low and threaded with an urgency that made her fingers twitch.

The request caught her off guard, the weight of trust pushing her to comply before reason could intervene. She pulled the beaded bag from her body, fingers lingering on the cool fabric before handing it over. Harry’s glance around the room was quick, practiced. He ensured that no unwanted attention lingered upon them before he set the bag on the table beside them.

The faint whisper of magic tingled in the air as he drew his wand. “Accio, Snape’s memories,” he whispered, each word precise.

The space between heartbeats stretched out. The air felt colder, the warmth of the Hall receding as Hermione’s gaze snapped to Harry, disbelief sharpening her features. “What are you doing?” The question came out fierce, low, eyes narrowing as she tried to read his face.

The muscles in Harry’s jaw tensed, his eyes not leaving hers. “Don’t hate me, Hermione. I had to. The Ministry…they, well,

lost

Snape’s memories.”

The sentence struck like a physical blow, leaving her breathless. “So they sent you to spy on me?” Her voice shook, teeth clenched around the accusation that burned in her chest. “It’s my birthday tomorrow, Harry!”

Harry didn’t flinch, but there was regret in the set of his shoulders. “I’m not spying. I’m proving that they’re wrong.” He took a step closer, voice dropping to a near whisper. “Ron and I…we need to rule out everything. Some at the Ministry think us three took them.”

“Well, that’s just absurd,” she bit out, snatching her bag back, fingers clenching the beaded fabric until her knuckles paled. She threw the strap over one shoulder until it hung loose at one hip again.

“Well, it’s what they think,” Harry said, eyes pleading for understanding. “Ron’s checking your room. I’m going to Snape’s quarters after the party. It’s protocol.”

“Protocol?” The word dripped with indignation. “What about privacy, Harry? What about—”

“It’s not about trust,” he interrupted, softer now. The resolve in his voice didn’t waver, but the lines on his face deepened with worry. “I had to. The stakes are too high.”

Flashes of that summer bombarded her mind. Polyjuice. Incapacitating a Ministry worker. The stress of where the memories would be. Knowing she had only one chance to take them on Snape’s behalf. For safe keeping. She’d not seen them. In fact, only Harry and Kingsley had. She’d not told a soul of her plan, and she’d not been caught.

But they weren’t supposed to discover the memories missing this soon! That, however, did confirm that someone (or a group of someones) wished Professor Snape ill. Stealing his memories had, indeed, been the correct call.

“A-Are they really missing?” The question carried a weight she couldn’t hide, each syllable edged with a fear she hadn’t dared voice until now.

A short nod. “They are. And Snape doesn’t know. Not yet, at least…” The silence that followed felt like the moments before a storm, brittle and humming with anticipation.

Hermione’s heart beat in a painful rhythm, a drum of guilt, anger, and something more complex. “Do you…Do you think I took them?” Her question emerged quieter, her breath catching on the words.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, eyes searching hers for something he couldn’t find. “It’s not so much that I

think

anything, Hermione,” he said, the implication clear and heavy.

He knew.

Hermione swallowed, whispering, “Is this when you arrest me?” Her voice cracked, a tremor betraying the calm she tried to project.

Harry shook his head, the movement slight but resolute. “No. I’ll be leaving Hogwarts tonight with empty hands — without evidence. That’s what we need, Hermione. To clear this up before Snape finds out and…handles finding the memories himself.”

The realization settled like a lead weight. Leave it to Harry to remain her faithful friend — even when what she did threatened his position within the Ministry and life itself. She could delay giving them back to the potions master no longer. The longer the

evidence

of his memories remained tangible, the more vulnerable they all were.

Hermione leaned forward, embracing Harry. “Thank you,” she whispered into the space between them. The gratitude was real, even if layered with a dozen other emotions she couldn’t untangle.

When they pulled apart, Harry’s eyes softened. “I’m doing this because I trust you. Completely, Hermione. And because the Ministry isn’t as stable as I or Kingsley hoped for.”

“Things are still that bad?” She kept her voice steady, but the question came out hollow.

A nod. “Yes. There are whispers, supporters for Bellatrix in the shadows. It’s obvious she works to reviving Voldemort, but we do not know what lengths she’ll go to…what dark magic she knows about. Kingsley said the Order’s still active, but they’re slipping through every report and our intelligence.”

“For how long? No one told me anything,” Hermione said, eyes widening with the suddenness of it.

“I’m telling you now,” Harry said, squeezing her hand. “Promise me you’ll keep your eyes open. Something’s coming, and it could start here. It could be elsewhere, but we both have to remain vigilant.”

“I will, Harry,” she whispered, a vow laced with dread.

Students began moving closer, the party resuming its flow now that the headmistress had corralled the students inside the Great Hall. Their conversation would have to end. For now. Hermione’s chest felt lighter, though the unease still simmered beneath her skin. The witch looped her arm through his — precisely what she’d done in the graveyard at Godric’s Hollow last Christmas. Leaning her head on his shoulder, she exploited their proximity to whisper, “I’ll give them back. Tonight.”

Harry’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Good. Though..I can’t imagine how Snape will react.”

Just then, Professor McGonagall approached the pair. Her voice was unmistakably direct. “Miss Granger? A word, please.”

The command held a steeliness that stilled Hermione. She blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before giving Harry a reassuring nod and stepping away from the safe orbit of her friend. The headmistress gestured for the witch to follow her. She trailed a step behind the headmistress across the polished floor, her thick heels clicking lightly in a rhythm that belied the thundering pulse in her chest.

They stopped at the edge of the Great Hall, where the flickering shadows of enchanted lanterns met the brooding figure of Severus Snape. He stood ominously still, his faded black dress coat falling around his knees. The potions master wore no cloak, and the silhouette of the fitted robes afforded him some youth to his features, upon which the decades of spying had imposed. The coat cinched at his narrow waist and flared slight out the lower the stiff fabric flowed.

Had he worn these same robes to the Yule Ball?

The dress robes fell around him like shadows woven into cloth, creating an effect that both softened and sharpened him. Hermione’s eyes lingered on the high collar, which framed his neck with a precise elegance that made his presence even more commanding. Just there on his throat hidden beneath the layers of his white undershirt and thick black coat, an ugly scar and deep puncture wounds told the story of his irrevocable strength.

Had it healed properly? Did it still trouble him?

The clean, unembellished lines emphasized the rigidity in his posture. His figure, tall and lean, conveyed a sense of precision in every detail — down to the faint tension in his hands and the slightest arch in his back. The robes, modest in their faded color, emphasized his signature control. They drew attention to the quiet power he always held within himself.

And yet…

Beneath that shield of careful control, a flicker of something more — a vulnerability etched into the deep lines of his face — weighed on him as he stood there. Entirely motionless. His eyes never left her. For all his severity, there was something profoundly human in him right now.

The layers of the stiff fabric did nothing to hide the tautness in his frame. His arms held just so, each finger in a poised stillness that spoke of control refined to an art. It was as if his very blood had retreated inward, leaving only the faintest shadows of veins. Professor Snape’s hands, like his face, held a peculiar duality; they were hands that had been wielded both for precise creation and destruction, for saving lives and ending them.

It was

quite

time to stop thinking about this man’s hands…

There was a gravity in him that spoke not only of his power but of the years spent carving his own boundaries, creating an indomitable space that probably only one dared to penetrate — the very wizard who’d asked the professor to kill him. He was a man made for solitude and shadows. But each crease that abbreviated the spaces between his every pronounced and harsh feature and every worn edge of his robe invited her to understand their complexity. Discover their secrets.

Merlin, she was mad. Truly mad…and staring.

Hermione swallowed, rubbing her fingers over her heart, which still pounded from the brisk pace the headmistress had set for them to move here. Breathless, the witch caught some of the ends of her barely smoothed curls, which had tumbled over her shoulder in the mess of rushing across the spacious hall.

Why had the headmistress pulled her here?

Professor Snape’s gaze, sharp and penetrating, flickered from McGonagall to Hermione. She bit her bottom lip. His jaw tightened, a small but perceptible reaction. Every other second, her stare bounced between the professor and their headmistress.

“Professor Snape,” McGonagall said, her tone unyielding, “Miss Granger will be your first dance partner this evening.” When Snape glared at the headmistress, the brief silence that followed crackled with tension.

“I must decline,” Snape’s response came — clipped and formal. His eyes did not leave McGonagall’s face, a silent battle waging in the slight narrowing of his glare.

McGonagall leaned in, her voice dropping to a near whisper, though Hermione still caught the words. “Refuse me, Severus, and I’ll have no choice but to inform the Ministry of your unfortunate lack of cooperation.” The statement, sharp and precise, left no room for argument. It cut through whatever protest might have lingered in the air.

Hermione stepped closer to McGonagall, fidgeting her hands together and clearing her throat. “That’s all right, Professor McGonagall. We don’t—”

“Hush, child,” Minerva said, holding her hand to Hermione without looking at her. “Do you have any idea how poorly the students receive this ridiculously solitary man? You’ve forced my hand, Professor Snape. I come in here only to find you sulking in a corner.”

Snape rolled his eyes and glared down at the older witch. “I am

not

sulking, Minerva. I am not even in a corner…”

“Another word, Severus!” McGonagall threatened. “Do you have any idea the strings I had to pull to ensure you spent your sentence here rather than in Azkaban? All I asked of you is to

try

and integrate with the students. How else are we to fill the final apprenticeship?”

“Minerva—”

Hermione reached for the headmistress’ arm. When the witch held her attention, she said, “I’ve spoken with Professor Snape. If no one steps up, I should like to switch from Charms to Potions.”

Snape glared at Hermione. Eventually, however, the older man sighed and shifted his gaze to McGonagall. “It’s quite all settled up…” he muttered, abruptly starting a rather brisk pace away from them. But Minerva caught him.

“You

will

dance with Miss Granger. Now, Severus!”

The potions master regarded Hermione and threw his glare from her uncertain gaze down to her heels. Slowly, he dragged his black eyes up her body. Hermione gripped her right elbow, her grip instantly loosening so that her hand fell down her unscarred forearm. She swallowed, unable to endure Snape’s attention standing completely idle and still.

“You, Minerva, are not so cruel to subject your favorite pupil to sharing a dance with the likes of me. The room is filled with more suitable partners. Perhaps Potter or Weasley?”

McGonagall tightened her grip on his arm. If he meant to get away, he’d take her with him. Hermione was sure of it. “Take her hand, Severus, and I shall promise you she’ll be the only partner to whom I subject

you

for the remainder of the night.”

“Professor, there’s surely other ways to connect with the students?”

Headmistress McGonagall regarded her, her harsh scowl softening. “There

was,

but now dancing is about all we have left. He was meant to stand with me to greet the students into the Great Hall, but he was nowhere to be seen. He ought to have spoken with Harry while everyone mingled, and yet he did not,” she said, eventually looking at Snape again. “No, Miss Granger. Dancing has always broken the ice efficiently, so that is what he will do. Now!”

“If dancing is, indeed, the only option…Tonks, perhaps—”

Minerva furrowed her brows. “Tonks is not one of the Golden Trio, Miss Granger. And I’m quite sure Professor Snape would rather avoid dancing with Harry and Ronald. So that leaves you.”

A flicker of something flashed in Snape’s dark eyes — perhaps resentment or resignation. With a sigh so subtle it barely lifted his chest, he extended his hand without another word. Hermione’s gaze shifted from the outstretched hand to his face. Determined to steady her nerves, she slid her fingers against his palm.

A strange current passed between them, startling in its warmth. His hand, rough and calloused, bore the evidence of years spent grinding ingredients in the solitude of his potions lab. They bore the weight of the loss of his own agency, the weight of Lily Potter’s lifeless body, and the weight of the many terrible deeds he’d committed in Voldemort’s name. Even still…they radiated a safety Hermione had not known in years.

Hermione let her fingertips trace the soft network of creases across his palm. They were like a map she wished to memorize. Explore. She hadn’t realized she’d been staring at their joined hands, so the witch inhaled, the air sharp against her throat. Uncertainty weighed her gaze as she lifted them to meet his inscrutable stare. His features were remarkably blank. He gave her nothing. Except…a quick bob of his throat.

Snape pulled her to the middle of the Great Hall.

When had the room gone so quiet?

Her skin prickled as whispers rose around them, weaving through the room like a thread that wished to strangle her. The soft strains of music from the charmed gramophone echoed across the hall. On the far side of the space, someone coughed.

Snape’s hand slid to her waist, hovering for an instant as if he reconsidered. Hermione felt her breath hitch, the warmth of his touch so foreign and oddly welcome. His other hand readjusted against hers with calculated pressure, a silent assertion of control.

The silence between them was so heavy and thick, almost suffocating. When the music flourished to its full volume, the crowd around them blurred into a mosaic of gowns and robes. The potions master set a familiar pace for them, chasing the notes of the music until he achieved the perfect symmetry.

Hermione’s focus sharpened solely on the man in front of her. “H-How are you enjoying the evening, professor?” she asked, her voice low, trying to cut through the tension.

“I am not,” he said. The response, cold and succinct. It felt like a slap, though his gaze never met hers. He looked over her shoulder, scanning the hall with the practiced vigilance of someone who had learned to find safety in awareness — and avoidance. The line of his mouth deepened into a scowl, detached and impenetrable.

Annoyance flared within her. He would not even deign to look at her. Still? She shifted her weight. The music swelled around them, its notes insistent. But his gaze remained fixed elsewhere, as if searching for an escape from the very moment they shared.

“Look at me,” she muttered, an edge of defiance in her voice. “Please…”

At last, he did. Snape’s eyes, deep as the sharpest obsidian, locked onto hers. Something unspoken passed between them. The taut line of his shoulders tensed, just barely. It was like seeing her took some hidden toll on him. The silence stretched, and she discovered how little she cared for it. The corners of the room, the curious eyes, all dissolved as his focus anchored on her, present and heavy.

For an instant, Hermione’s breath caught in her chest, held hostage by the weight of his stare. It was him — the mysterious person whose attention she’d felt out there prior to entering the Great Hall. It

had

to be him. But how was it possible to feel such safety in someone’s gaze?

Snape’s stare flickered down, taking in the fabric and overly ornate detail of her sleeves and bodice. The rich, blackish crimson hue did nothing to hold his notice. Rather, his attention fixated on the thick scar that shot above the heart-shaped neckline — a jagged reminder of when he’d hurt her.

A shift in his expression, so minute it was almost imperceptible, broke the moment. He opened his mouth, perhaps to speak. But whatever words hovered there died as Hermione, suddenly self-conscious, spoke first.

“The dress wasn’t my choice, you know.” Her voice carried a nervous tremor, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Tonks fetched it from my mother’s wardrobe. Out of all the options, she chose the one that suits me the least. I tried to transfigure it so the scars wouldn’t show, but she charmed it.” A half-laugh followed, brittle and too loud. “She even hid my other dresses.”

The hardness in Snape’s gaze shifted, something like contemplation overtaking the sharp lines of his features. Silence, thick and awkward, draped over them again as they continued their measured movements. Ever so slightly, he lifted the hand placed at her back. The act brought them an inch or two closer.

“Why did Potter search your bag?” His voice, low and unwavering, cut through the fragile space between them. It was a demand, not an inquiry.

Hermione stiffened, the unexpected question jolting through her. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of impatience betraying his curiosity. “It’s complicated,” she said, glancing down as though the answer might have fallen to the floor. But when she looked up, his stare pinned her in place.

“Perhaps you could

uncomplicate

your answer to include context or instruction enough so my ancient mind may keep up, Miss Granger.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, squeezing the hands that clasped her own as he led her through a far less formal waltz than she’d expected. “You know, you

don’t

have to speak of yourself so negatively. And you’re not that old, sir.”

Snape quirked his brow and glanced down at her dress before flashing his obsidian stare back to the muted brown hue of her stern eyes. “I don’t heed advice from those who do not follow their own wisdom.”

Sighing, the witch shook her head. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But we

must

speak later,” she whispered, urgency carving sharp edges into her words. “Privately. It cannot wait.”

Professor Snape stiffened. “So it

does

involve me,” he replied, his voice so quiet she could barely hear him over the music.

“What I say matters not — I know that, professor. But please trust me when I say it’s a good thing. I suspect you won’t like it, but you can, at least, save your panic. There’s little reason to worry. Harry and Ron won’t find anything.”

“Find what?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s the thing I can’t tell you until we’re alone later tonight. All you must know now is that Harry and Ron won’t find anything, so you’re safe.”

“And you know this…how?”

Shrugging, Hermione smirked up at him, perfectly adjusting her steps following his lead as he maneuvered them around other couples crowding the dancefloor. “I did learn a thing or two about hiding dangerous objects whilst hunting for horcruxes…”

“Smuggling dark artifacts now, are we Miss Granger? ‘Borrowing’ more things that are

not

yours?”

Hermione leaned in some, wary of the others circling around them in various states of dancing…or, at the very least, attempts at dancing. That he did not back away from her proximity surprised her. “Oh, no. This I stole — with practiced ease. And alone. It’s not so much an artifact as it is…” she said, clearing her throat, “abstract information.”

The silence between them deepened, his jaw setting in response. His fingers shifted on her back, the subtle motion revealing tension he usually cloaked so well. She noticed the fine tremor that ran along the line of his hand, fingers that had mixed potions with precision, that wielded a wand with deadly skill, now trembling at the simplest touch. The sight triggered an unexpected pang in her chest.

Ever so slightly, the professor pointed his left index finger and waved the strokes of a silent Muffliato charm. Unseen magic squeezed around them — somehow coaxing them closer together. The sneer looming over her hid very little from her. Snape looked like he was quietly fighting the urge to be impressed and resisting the thought of killing her before dozens and dozens of spectators.

“How long have you had them?”

Clearing her throat, the witch bit her lip. “Since late June.”

“And you never thought to give them back?”

“Of course, I did! But you were under house arrest all summer awaiting your trial. The Ministry knew your every drawn breath and step. Tell me, how could I have arranged a visit that wasn’t suspicious?”

“You would have ended up in Azkaban had anyone caught you!” he seethed, the words of concern buried under his suffocating magic.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione grumbled an unintelligible curse under her breath. “It’s the least any of us could do for the man who ensured we won the war, Severus. Besides, I had

one

opportunity to steal your memories. Kingsley watched them so he could corroborate Harry’s testimony. You know Harry secured them, right? That’s why they weren’t used as evidence in your trial back in August.”

“I shall remind you, Miss Granger, that you may only address me as Professor Snape, professor, and sir.”

“Yes, yes…” The witch sighed, her eyes locking firmly with his. “My point is that the Ministry is still compromised. I still don’t trust them, and Harry confirmed my suspicions to be correct — just now!”

Snape’s sneer was his only reply for a little while. “I did

not

ask for your help, Miss Granger.”

“I had the chance to help you, you ungrateful oaf. I did so without hesitation. I stole something some in the Ministry would use against you. I’d do it again, sir. And spare me any lectures about me not having regards for my own life.”

“Five points from Gryffindor. Name-calling a professor of all things is hardly appropriate, Miss Granger.”

Hermione smiled, the irritation and impatience faltering in her features. “I shall miss those particular five house points so terribly, professor.”

“Floo in after midnight,” he said, the finality of his tone offering no room for negotiation. “If I am not yet there, wait in my den. Touch nothing.” His voice, though steady, resonated with an undercurrent of something unsaid. She nodded, barely a breath escaping before he continued, his voice dropping lower. “And, Miss Granger…thank you.”

His hand slid from her waist, their final step punctuating the end of whatever fragile understanding they had reached. The absence of his touch left a surprising emptiness as he turned from her. He walked away with purpose, but Hermione’s eyes locked on his hand. He flexed his fingers, each movement tight, as though shaking off something unwelcome. Eventually, they curled into a tight fist, and he shoved it into his coat pocket.

The noise of the room swelled back, pressing against her skin like too-tight fabric. Stares pulled at her confidence, unraveling it thread by thread. Drawing in a shallow breath, she hugged herself, the motion instinctive. The crowd around her seemed to close in. She needed space, a moment of solitude away from the prying glances and whispers that clung to her. The punch bowl in the corner promised a reprieve, and she turned, seeking that small sanctuary.

“Hermione!” Harry’s voice, familiar and steady, cut through the noise, stopping her in her tracks. His hand was warm as it enveloped Hermione’s, a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed until that moment. His eyes, filled with concern, searched hers as they stepped into the rhythm of the dance. “You all right?” The question was simple, almost casual, but the furrow in his brow betrayed the depth behind it.

The brief exchange with Snape still coiled tight within her chest, and she nodded, forcing a smile. “Yes, Harry. Just...the evening is more than I anticipated,” she said, her voice light but lacking conviction.

Harry’s hand squeezed hers gently. “You’re here. That’s what matters,” he said, guiding her with a confidence that allowed her to exhale some of the tension. They moved through the steps with ease, his presence a reminder of steadier, simpler times. He spoke of trivial things — Quidditch, the latest antics of George’s shop — but kept his gaze on her, watchful.

As the song ended, Harry leaned closer. “If you need anything...”

“I know,” Hermione said, a real smile finding its way to her lips. The space they shared held warmth, but as the dance concluded, she caught sight of another figure approaching. The tawny hair and quick step revealed Remus Lupin.

“May I?” Remus asked, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes that drew a chuckle from Harry. Hermione nodded, welcoming the change. The tension that had wrapped around her chest began to loosen. Their movements were measured, effortless, and for a brief moment, the noise of the hall faded into a soft hum.

The conversation turned to the practical — new research in magical theory, an upcoming symposium on ancient runes. They exchanged ideas, thoughts, the dialogue slipping into the familiar cadence of academic curiosity. Remus’ presence reminded her of library afternoons, dusty tomes, and warm cups of tea. A world apart from the dark robes and colder eyes that had consumed her attention only moments before. Before they ended their dance, he wished her an early happy birthday.

When Neville appeared next, Hermione offered him a reassuring smile. They assumed the closed position for their waltz and began to step in perfect unison. His hands were gentle but steady as he led her in the dance. Neville’s hold on her body spoke of the quiet confidence he’d sharpened over the last year or so. They discussed his latest Herbology project, his eyes lighting up when describing a particularly temperamental plant. Of course, he’d assumed an apprenticeship with Professor Sprout. Hermione listened, nodding in encouragement, the corners of her mouth lifting as he stumbled over his words.

By the time Ron shuffled forward, his ears glowing as red as his hair, Hermione felt a strange kind of calm settle over her. Their dance began with the usual awkwardness, a tangle of feet and muttered apologies. His presence, though fumbling, was a comfort of its own — a reminder that not everything had changed. Some things, indeed, remained blissfully the same.

In another life, this boy would have been her past, present, and future in the way she’d, in the last year she’d shared with them, speculated with her parents. They knew him well enough. They liked him, though not always. They’d met and gotten on famously with his family. Just then, a flash of the same need and heat and urgency drowned his gaze while they awkwardly avoided colliding into another couple.

When Ronald Weasley held her, it was like a part of her parents were here with her. It would be so easy to fall back into a life with this wizard. But that was not to be. She’d never love him in the way he’d deserve. Hell, Hermione hadn’t ever been in love with

any

wizard.

No,

she thought. The distance he’d gifted her had been a cooling balm to any feelings for the boy she may have felt. She loved him, but she also loved Harry. The Boy Who Lived was her best friend. Now, the truth slapped her in the face. They needed more distance. Rather,

he

needed more distance. The heaviness of his heart weighed his features, and he had never looked so serious.

Never.

Just like with her parents, Hermione Granger had to say goodbye to this unwritten chapter of her life. No matter how much it killed her. She would not lead this wizard on. She would never hurt him.

“H-How’s Auror training?” she asked, desperate to relieve the intense stare fixed on her breaking features. “Harry mentioned you needed to search my room before you leave tonight?”

Ron cleared her throat. “Y-Yeah. Neither of us like it, but Shacklebolt asked us to personally.”

“I understand.”

“I found something at the Burrow the other week that we want you to have — as a birthday present.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Ron studied her, swallowing and sighing. “I won’t be there when Harry gives it to you. I…I’m just not ready yet. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” she said, her voice sounding so small. “I understand, Ron.”

A silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft scrape of shoes against the polished floor. Just as she prepared to offer another platitude, a voice cut through.

“Mind if I take over, Weaselby?” The cool, precise tones left no room for protest. Draco Malfoy stood there, dressed in sleek robes of the deepest, sharpest black.

Ron tensed, glaring at Malfoy. “As if she would stand for it.”

Hermione cupped Ron’s shoulder. “It’s fine. We’re Potions partners. He’s not quite so foul these days.”

Draco quirked his brow and shoved his fists in his pockets. “I think the word you’ve forgotten, Granger, is brilliant…”

“Shove off, Malfoy.”

“Seriously, Ronald. It’s okay.”

Ron stared at her for a moment longer. Eventually, he sighed. “All right,” he said. With one last glare at Draco, her friend stalked off the dancefloor back to Harry, Ginny, Neville, Dean, and Seamus.

Suddenly, Draco’s hand gripped hers, much firmer than expected. His other settled on her waist, guiding her into motion. The atmosphere shifted, the air between them taut. His gaze, sharp and assessing, held hers as they moved. The silence threatened to stretch too thin before she broke it.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice pitched low, intimate.

Hermione arched an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. “Well, I’m not sure what there is to say…” she murmured, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of confusion.

A small, almost sardonic smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He twirled her with practiced ease, the fabric of her dress sweeping around her knees before she found her footing again. “I need a favor.”

The bluntness of his words halted her thoughts. “A favor,” she repeated, tasting the unfamiliarity of it. Draco Malfoy, asking for help. The absurdity tightened her jaw, but she kept moving, step after step matching his.

“Yes.” The smirk faded, replaced by something more genuine, and somehow more vulnerable. “My mother must be at Hogwarts — at least until this bloody year ends.”

The request, unexpected and jarring, made her miss a beat in their movement. His arm adjusted, steadying her before it became noticeable. Hermione blinked, her mind racing to piece together why he would ask such a thing, why it mattered enough to breach the invisible wall between them.

“Why would I help you with that?” The question emerged without the bite she intended, curiosity softening its edges.

His gaze shifted, the gray deepening as it locked with hers. Whatever shield he usually wore cracked, and for a moment, she saw beneath it. “I haven’t seen her since the battle,” he admitted. “My house elves wrote to me about a certain deranged Lestrange sniffing about the manor grounds two weeks ago.” The carefully measured syllables wavered, hinting at the depth beneath.

“Mother’s been in Azkaban this whole summer. The Wizengamot finally ruled to release her and transfer the remainder of her three-year sentence to house arrest. Too many other far more deserving Death Eaters to imprison, it would seem. She’ll be released next week, and I need to know she’s...safe. You know I can’t protect her from here. Not unlike our Potions professor, I am not permitted to leave until our N.E.W.T.s wrap up next summer…”

The weight in his voice pressed against her, unexpected and raw. Hermione’s steps faltered again, but she quickly resumed, the fabric of her dress whispering against the thick fabric of his dress robes. “Draco...” she began, only to find she had nothing to follow it with.

He exhaled, a long, controlled breath that seemed to drain some of the tension from his frame. “Help me,” he said, quieter this time, the edges of his pride dulled. “Please, Hermione. She’s all I’ve got left.”

Hermione’s eyes searched his face, finding traces of the boy who had once been a taunting shadow in the halls, now replaced by a man carrying the echoes of war. “And what do I get in return?” she asked, more to test his resolve than out of real need.

His expression hardened, but only for a heartbeat. A hint of a bitter smile curved his lips. “A most grateful ally,” he replied. “In time…a friend, perhaps?” The simplicity of the offer, the vulnerability in the delivery, anchored itself in the air between them. “I’m done with blood purity, Granger.”

It was just too hard to believe. How could he turn the lights off on everything he’d been raised to believe so quickly? It made zero sense. Severus had had Lily when he’d asked Dumbledore for help. But what could this wizard possibly have in terms of a strong and compelling enough reason? She tilted her head slightly, considering.

“And why should I trust that?”

Draco’s jaw clenched, the flicker of impatience barely hidden. “Because I began helping you from the moment you did not let Snape take you to Madam Pomfrey last week,” he muttered, leveraging the song’s strengthening and flourishing arrangement to cover the words from unwelcome ears. “I haven’t said a word — to anyone.”

Hermione missed a step, and she tripped over her own feet before recovering. “W-What?”

Draco leaned in closer to her, lifting his brows as if to suggest something scandalous. “You’re not the only one who sneaks out of bed, Granger. I believe we had the same idea that night. You were just the stupid one between us to have woken the old man up like that.”

Hermione gasped, her eyes narrowing at the boy leading her across the dancefloor with a precision and arrogance only his upbringing afforded. “So why not turn him in, then? Professor Snape is the reason your father—”

“My

father

can rot in Azkaban, Granger,” he spat. Tears unshed glossed over the boy’s pale blue gaze. “You helped the man responsible for murdering a most beloved headmaster. What, then, would you do to help protect the woman who lied to her dark master about Harry Potter being dead? What, then, would you do to help the peer who chose to fail to identify Potter in his own home?”

“You think Bellatrix will coerce your mother back to Death Eater ranks while you’re here…But when that happens—”

“I’ll join my father in Azkaban. If I am gone, no one would be here to protect her. That cannot happen, Granger.”

“You’ll have to trust

me

of all people.”

Draco shrugged, retorting, “What is it muggles say? Oh, yes. The enemy of my enemy — Bellatrix, by the way — is my friend.”

“I thought we would possibly be friends in time.”

“Help transfer my mother’s house arrest to this castle, and I’m prepared to ensure the world bends to your infuriating agenda.”

“Muggles are

not

infuriating, Malfoy—”

The Slytherin wizard grumbled an audible curse before he said, “I meant the business with house elves and other magical creatures, Granger. If this is to work out in a mutual fashion, I suggest you learn to stop spewing the worst in me as the first thought to vomit aloud.”

“Wait, so you’re saying—”

“Get my mum to Hogwarts castle permanently, spare her from Bellatrix’s capture, and help me stay out of the Death Eater control

and

Azkaban. Do all of that, and I will spend the rest of my life lending you what little influence my name still carries in my circles and helping you build the world you’ve always wanted with what resources the Ministry did not confiscate. I can also help get Snape out of your arse. He’s taken, what? Forty-five points from you this week alone?”

“Since Wednesday afternoon,” Hermione corrected, continuing, “but that’s actually not an issue.”

“How is that not an issue?”

“We have…an arrangement, if you must know.”

Draco grimaced, tensing under her touch. “It’s not one of

those

arrangements, is it? I can’t imagine him treating you all that gently, if I’m honest. Fuck, I can’t imagine him with

any

witch for that matter.”

“I won’t agree to any of this if you’re going to continue being cruel.” Hermione glared at the Slytherin. “And why must you twist everything into being foul?”

“To be fair, you said it in such a way that it sounded

foul

to begin with.”

“Malfoy, I’m on a mission to bugger up Professor Weasley’s plan to win House Cup unfairly this year. Professor Snape is just helping me, that’s all…”

Draco lifted his brow, not bothering to hide his approval. “Right, then. I can’t argue with that,” he said.

“That’s a first…”

Checking over his shoulder, the wizard glanced back at her. “Don’t expect your housemates to appreciate your efforts. They’ll eventually turn on you because, let’s be honest, Slytherin is on track to win this year. Now, you’re helping ensure that’s true, and you’re presently dancing with a Slytherin. People will get terrible ideas about us.”

She narrowed her eyes and sighed. “What sort of ideas, do you think?”

“Well, that we’re…friendly,” Draco said. He looked about as comfortable as he’d been hugging Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts.

“I’ve endured worse, Malfoy.” Hermione sighed, narrowing her eyes at him. “Don’t you think Professor Snape deserves to find happiness?”

“We’re

really

going to talk about that? Him!”

“Enlighten me, Malfoy. I’d argue that

you,

perhaps, deserve to find some yourself…”

“For starters, Snape was born to be a miserable sod. He would sooner find a way to revive the Dark Lord than find happiness, I think.”

“Well, that’s not fair—”

Draco sighed as he rolled his eyes. “Granger, between us, who was it that saw his life behind enemy lines? You don’t know what it was like. I had no idea he was a triple agent. The things he did, the things we all saw…knowing we could do nothing to stop it.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “I have so much to say to that, but given you won’t care about ninety-nine percent of it, I’ll just say this instead: On the matter of me now knowing what life was like so close the Vol—You Know Who, you have a point.”

“So you concede?”

“To you?” the witch chuckled. “Never. But that doesn’t mean I can’t lend you

some

credit, Malfoy.”

“You’re certainly not at all annoying, you know that?”

Glaring up at the Slytherin, she shook her head. “Look, all I’m saying is that, after everything he’s given and done in the service of the Order

and

all of Magical Britain, I believe he’s owed something: happiness, thanks, recognition…”

“I’ll say this, and we’re going to drop this subject: I doubt Old Snape would give a rat’s arse about any of that. I think he’s just looking to stay in the dungeons for the next fifteen years and holed up at his dilapidated place at Spinner’s End for the rest of his life.”

Hermione searched Draco’s features, shaking her head. “That’s sounds horrible, Draco.”

“But if that’s what he wants?”

“Well, it’s not,” she said, boldly employing some of her stores of petulance for added emphasis. “It can’t be…”

“Why, in Merlin’s name, do you even

care

about him?”

Hermione drew her head back and pinched her brows together. “Because someone ought to. The only person who seems to have been on close terms with him was a man he was forced to kill. I think we owe it to Professor Dumbledore to at least look after Snape.”

Draco grimaced, regarding her like she wore dragon dung all over her body. “Remind yourself never to care about or after me, Granger.”

The witch smirked. “I doubt

that

would ever happen, Malfoy.”

“The dance is almost over,” he announced to the shock of neither of them. “Tell me we have a deal.”

“Why does this all feel like a trick?”

“No tricks.” Draco shook his head. The boy searched her features for a second more. “Why aren’t you telling me that what I ask is impossible?”

“Because it’s not.”

“Barely an inconvenience for the Great Hermione Granger, is it?”

“I did

not

say that.”

“What, then?”

“Why do you need to know? So long as I deliver you your terms, that’s what matters. Isn’t it?”

Draco shrugged, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Call me curious, Granger.”

“Fine…” she said, conceding to the very boy who’d made Hogwarts a nightmare at times.

“The Ministry is eager to make amends with us three: the Golden Trio,” she muttered, scrunching her face. “Public perception is, rightfully so, still rather poor. Confidence in the Ministry has never been thinner. The public looks to us, unfortunately, to ease in the new age of peace — or whatever it was Minister Shacklebolt said this summer. Beyond that, I know for a fact that the Wizengamot has been lenient on other Death Eaters with slightly more severe crimes. I’ll speak to them and argue that Azkaban was too harsh for your mum. When they counter with sufficiently reasonable arguments about why it was necessary, I’ll…I’ll think of something. I’ll involve Harry if I must.”

Malfoy sighed, nodding. Eventually, he glanced over her shoulder and frowned. “You know, the one silver lining about being forced back into this castle was that I

wouldn’t

have to see him.”

“Harry’s here only for tonight.”

“The once is one too many, Granger…”

Hermione pinched her brows together. In their shared silence, she studied his features for a little while as the music continued to play on the gramophone. “Your mother isn’t the only reason you’re doing this, is it?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and sighed. “You don’t need to know all of that, you

frustratingly

perceptive witch.”

The charmed gramophone let out a final, haunting note before the music faded. Draco, rather quickly, tore himself from her and rushed back to Theodore Nott, who stood beside Daphne Greengrass. Before Hermione return to Harry by the tables, he, Ron, Ginny, and Neville joined her in the outer periphery of the designated dancefloor.

A hush rippled through the hall as heads turned toward the center, where Professor McGonagall stood, her expression resolute. The green of her robes seemed deeper in the dim light, catching the shimmer of enchantment from the surrounding candles.

“Attention, please,” she called, her voice sharp, commanding immediate silence. The murmur of voices fell away, replaced by a tension that hummed through the room, settling over them like a weighted shroud.

Hermione felt the energy shift, a subtle but tangible tightening in the space. Her fingers, clasped before her, brushed against the velvet of her dress, drawing some comfort from its softness.

“We have one Potions apprenticeship slot still unclaimed,” McGonagall continued, her gaze sweeping across the assembly. The pause that followed, deliberate and measured, held the weight of anticipation. “If no volunteers step forward, then I would like to offer it to Mr. Corner.”

A rustle swept through the hall, and eyes flicked toward Michael Corner, who stood near the edge of a cluster of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students. His posture stiffened, and the pale glow of the candles highlighted the uncertainty in his expression. His mouth opened, but no sound came at first. He shifted, glancing sidelong at his friends before drawing a deep, steadying breath.

“No, thank you, Professor McGonagall,” he said, the words clipped, resignation buried within them. “My…coursework remains my top priority this year.”

A current of whispers sparked to life, crackling with disbelief and speculative energy. Hermione caught fragments of conversations, bits of incredulous muttering, and pointed glances directed at Snape. The Potions Master remained a sentinel, his face impassive as stone and eyes as fathomless as ever.

Though the speaker remained unclear, a crude insult resonated from a group of students closer to the large doors of the Great Hall. “Wonder if he’s ever met a shampoo that survived...” Pockets of snickers and bitter cackles — some Slytherin students and more than a few from every other house — erupted.

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed, fierce and uncompromising. “Whoever spoke out of turn,” she said, voice edged with command, “step forward.”

“Ten points from Ravenclaw, Miss Fairbloom,” Professor Snape hissed. Hermione regarded him, seeing no indication of true offense on his features. “You’ve just bought yourself two weeks of detention. I’ve need of a

clever

student with the stomach for gathering a particularly remote ingredient in the Dark Forest.”

Morgaine Fairbloom. The girl was a sixth-year Ravenclaw who was particularly close with the Slytherins — led by Pansy Parkinson — apparently determined to undermine their Head of House. She’d accompanied one of them tonight.

“What?!”

“Speak another word, and I shall make it a month’s detention,” Snape warned. A beat of silence, deep and unforgiving, stretched through the hall. No one dared move, the challenge hanging in the air like the blade of a guillotine.

Minerva sighed, quickly clapping her hands to return the focus of the room back to her. “Are there truly no volunteers?”

Draco chuckled across the room. “I suppose Gryffindor courage died at the battle…What’s wrong, Weaselette? The dungeons not good enough for Golden Boy’s girl?” A handful of students joined him in his unsettlingly idyllic amusement.

Harry stepped forward. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

“Or what, Potter?”

This was ridiculous!

At this rate, the entire student body present would exchange unclever insults before anyone would assume the final Potions apprenticeship.

“Finally,” Ginny muttered.

Ron shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring oddly at his sister. “What?”

The younger Weasley sibling leaned into her brother. “Hermione’s going to swoop in and save us all from this most uncomfortable moment.”

“She’s what?”

Hermione’s pulse drummed in her ears, the thrum quickening as a certainty bloomed in her chest. She did not hesitate; her hand rose, breaking the stillness like a shard of light through fog. “I’ll switch to Potions, Professor McGonagall,” she said, the words ringing clear and unwavering. “If it’s not too late, of course?”

“...I should have expected that,” Ron said under his breath.

McGonagall’s gaze softened momentarily, a flicker of gratitude barely visible before the mask of authority slipped back into place. “Thank you, Miss Granger,” she said, turning to look at Snape with a question in her eyes.

Professor Snape’s expression revealed nothing as usual, but there was a subtle movement — a tightening at the corner of his mouth, a shift of his gaze. His dark eyes found Hermione’s, unreadable yet heavy with something that made the air feel charged. The pause felt like an eternity, suspended and taut. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he broke the moment.

“No objections, headmistress,” he said, his voice low and velvety, cutting through the tension like a blade.

McGonagall’s touch, warm and firm, pressed briefly against her shoulder before withdrawing, the thanks silent in that gesture.

The shift in the room’s atmosphere was palpable, the taut energy unraveling into threads of quiet conversation and cautious smiles. Michael Corner, standing a few paces away, took a step forward, hope rekindled in the set of his jaw. “I’ll take the open Charms spot,” he said, the eagerness in his tone betraying the mask of calm he tried to maintain.

McGonagall’s hand lifted, halting him mid-step. “No, Mr. Corner,” she said, the finality in her voice a clear line drawn. His brow creased, confusion etching the line deeper as he faltered.

“But us eighth years have priority.”

McGonagall joined her hands together before her and sighed. “And I gave you priority. You’re

so clearly

concerned about your schoolwork, so I fear you’d not be able to balance an apprenticeship. No, I’ve another Ravenclaw in mind to support Professor Flitwick…Miss Lovegood.”

The headmistress’ attention shifted, finding Luna Lovegood at the fringes of the crowd. Luna stood in her usual posture, a hint of whimsy in her eyes as they drifted over the scene. At the mention of her name, the focus sharpened like moonlight settling over a single leaf.

“Miss Lovegood, would you like to fill the position?” McGonagall’s voice carried the weight of certainty. But the question, gentle in its delivery, reached Luna like a breeze.

Luna’s eyes widened briefly, a soft smile touching her lips as though she’d been waiting for this moment all along. “I’d be honored,” she said, the dreamlike quality of her voice a balm against the residual tension.

A ripple of soft chuckles and relaxed chatter followed, the air lightening with a newfound ease.

“That is all,” Minerva announced. She looked positively exhausted.

The charmed gramophone struck up a lilting tune, and couples once more drifted onto the dance floor. The delicate rustle of fabric and the low murmur of conversation blended with the music, creating an almost seamless return to the celebration’s rhythm.

Hermione stepped back, finding refuge against one of the stone pillars. The cool press of the stone steadied her, though the night’s events replayed in her mind with relentless clarity. Out of it all, the one development that clung to her mind the most was simply two words:

thank you.

Snape hadn’t ever genuinely thanked her. Not once in all her time at school. The witch joined her hands at her front and did little to fight off the wide smile that stretched her unremarkable, thin lips.

Across the hall, Snape remained a solitary figure. The dance of candlelight shadowed his face, teetering between accentuating the deep creases in his stoic face and blurring them entirely. Yet, as their eyes met across the room, a flicker of acknowledgment passed between them, brief yet somehow punctuating. Their private exchange left her with more questions than answers.

“Miss Granger.”

The voice cut through the music, stiff and formal. Percy Weasley’s face loomed before her, pale and set with indignation. The rigid line of his mouth and the fire in his eyes spoke of barely concealed anger. “Very good of you to suffer Severus on behalf of all students present.”

The bright smile visibly dulled in a matter of one second. The air in her lungs quickly deflated as the insufferable wizard determined to steal any fleeting joy from her invaded her personal space. Clearing her throat, Hermione offered him a sociably acceptable smile, small and rather uncomfortable.

“I’m quite eager to see what I may learn under Professor Snape’s instruction.”

“I’m sure he’ll have you brewing poisons for muggles before too long…”

Hermione gasped and whirled her body so she faced Percy. “Professor Snape is—”

“A villain, Hermione.”

“You’re wrong, Percy!” she seethed, her voice low so she did not attract anyone’s attention.

“It’s

Professor

Weasley to you.”

“Professor Snape saved all of us.”

Percy smirked, stepping a bit too close to her. Leaning into her, the man shook his head. “Harry Potter saved us all, Miss Granger.”

“I know that!”

“Do you want to hear of what horrors Severus allowed during his time as headmaster?”

“You’ll tell me nothing I don’t already know.”

Percy shrugged. “Perhaps it bears repeating. You’re overly protective of the very professor who tormented you for years, Hermione. Oddly so.”

“You’re overly interested in whom I choose to care about. Oddly so, Percy.”

“Professor Weasley,” he corrected, repeating himself. “So you admit it?”

Hermione glared at the tosser. He was

far

too close for her liking, so she took a single step back, but he repositioned his body so that his back blocked her from view of most in the Great Hall. Rather suddenly, he grabbed her left forearm, squeezing so roughly that the letters carved into her flesh there burned.

“W-What do you want?”

“Do you deny that you

care

about Severus Snape enough to undermine me?”

Hermione’s eyes welled with glossy tears she fought to contain. “Professor Weasley,” she whispered. Her voice sounded so small, fragile, and weak.

“I’ll remind you that to do so is to also defy the Ministry, Hermione.”

“Please let go of me.”

“You thought I wouldn’t notice your scheme? You will

not

cost me my House Cup. Not to the likes of

him.

Do you understand?”

The witch whimpered, attempting to pull away from his cruel hold without success. Doing so only provoked a firmer squeeze. He didn’t stop tightening his grip. Hidden in one of the gown’s skirt pleats was her wand. Hermione flexed the fingers of her right hand, which loosely hung at her hip. Swallowing, she quietly fumbled with the thick velvet fabric. The hilt of her wand slipped into her palm.

“Hexing me will only make things worse: for you and for Snape,” Percy muttered.

Grimacing, the witch bit the inside of her cheek as tears finally fell down her face. “Why do you hate him?”

Percy chuckled. Softly. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Professor Dumbledore—”

“Was an old man, Hermione. Nothing more. He, like the rest of us, was

very

capable of being wrong.”

“I don’t care that you hate him, Percy. I respect Professor Snape—”

Any further words died as Percy intensified the amount of strength he employed to grip her forearm. It would bruise. She knew it would. Hermione gritted her teeth and whined, the pain far too much to bear.

“You respect a

monster,

Hermione…”

Eventually, blood oozed from the letters with a thick texture like a pulp gone bad. The smell of rotten eggs and sour milk permeated the air between them. In an instant, Percy yanked his hand from her and scowled, withdrawing a handkerchief from his robes and wiping away the foul blood from his fingers. What he did not know was, not unlike the dress she wore, the blood would never wash from the fabric. Nor would the smell fully fade. Percy Weasley’s hold on her arm had forever ruined her mother’s dress.

“Disgusting!” he hissed quietly.

Something inside her snapped, retreating so far within herself she was sure she’d gone moderately catatonic. Bellatrix’s cackle bounced across the Great Hall, and Hermione winced, crouching slightly as she fell against the stone wall. This is what she was: a mudblood, a pretender, a nobody.

The witch anchored her eyes on one stone tile. Perhaps if she made herself as small as possible, this man would leave her alone. Every sound deafened. Every smell diminished underneath the foul odor of her blood lingering around her. Every inch of reality twisted, bending and shaping so that it perfectly reflected Malfoy Manor.

Hermione slid down the wall, her left forearm laying limp in her lap. Her legs folded in under the plush skirt of her gown. Hyperventilating. That’s what she was doing. And crying.

Oh, Merlin.

There was no way she could stop any of it. The dark, foreboding ambience of the manor flooded all around her. But it was only when the cruelest grip settled on her shoulder did she truly crack.

In a rush, the pain of a thousand Crutiatus curses poured like lava over her, inside her, and through her. The cursed dagger plunged into her pierced skin all over again, and she convulsed, her throat shredding as if she gargled glass as a piercing scream broke from her chest.

“Hermione!” Ron bellowed — the sound originating from somewhere rather far away.

Heavy footsteps, several pairs, rushed toward her. Each step sounded like bullets firing. She knew every barrel would be aimed at her. The witch tried to steel herself for their impact, but all she could do was recoil, tremble, and scream against the acute agony of a long-past memory.

Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood.

The vicious articulation of Bellatrix’s voice mocked her strength.

Mudlood, mudblood, mudblood.

Why was her blood of any consequence to anyone?

Mudlood, mudblood, mudblood.

Why couldn’t she be nothing but a girl with a special gift and parents who still remembered her?

Mudlood, mudblood, mudblood.

The hand ripped from her body. Voices, distant but familiar, slowly drowned out Bellatrix. A safe, tender touch clasped Hermione’s clenched, shaking hands. Reality blotted the nightmare away, and she was back. People shouted. Somewhere close. When she opened her eyes, she saw Severus Snape crouched before her. His eyes were wild with unbidden concern. Carefully, he eased his hand to cup the side of her face, his palm insatiably warm and entirely uncertain. The edge of his thumb wiped at the tears falling.

Ever so slightly, his arm relaxed. His hand slipped lower on her face so that he cradled her jaw in his large, firm, and safe palm. Hermione shivered, her breath stuttering before she gasped. The pad of his thumb traced the shape of the outer portion of her bottom lip. The unexpected contact made her twitch, her body naturally leaning into his touch.

“Can you stand?” he murmured, his voice never softer, more tender.

Swallowing, Hermione nodded.

Dropping his hand from her face, Professor Snape cleared his throat and stood, never letting go of her hand. Gently, he pulled her up. She could look nowhere else but his lovely, lonely obsidian eyes. Everything before this moment fell away. Until…

“What happened?” Harry asked.

Hermione froze, her fingers clasping tighter on Snape’s hand. With her free hand, she covered her mouth and shifted her gaze to her best friends. Shaking her head, the witch cleared her throat. Harry stared at Hermione and Snape’s joined hands. Professor Snape ripped his hand from hers. Hermione pinched her brows together and swallowed. Ron gripped Percy’s collar and had him pinned against the wall. His wand pointed at his brother’s face.

Minerva, Ginny, Luna, Neville, Remus, Tonks, and a few others crowded around them, wands drawn. Snape stepped away from her. The further he fled from her, the harder it was for her to breathe.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, closing in on her and reaching a hand out as if to cup her shoulder.

“It’s nothing, Harry…” Hermione replied, her voice so quiet.

“But Hermi—”

The witch evaded Harry’s touch and maneuvered around Professor Snape so that she could walk to the tall archway.

“Talk to me!” Harry shouted as he easily caught up to her. He whipped around her, stumbling before her and catching her by the shoulders. “Please, Hermione…”

“I’m going to go to bed, Harry,” she said, clutching her left forearm. “Have Ron come up in thirty minutes. No sooner, okay?”

“Hermione?”

“We’ll speak later. Right now, dozens of people stare at me like I’m an exhibit. Please let me go.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day 19:

Saturday, September 19, 1998

. . .
Hermione
. . .
Hermione stepped into the dimly lit den, barely giving herself a moment to shake off the disorienting remnants of Floo powder from the long rose pink sleeve of her cotton shirt before she caught sight of him. Severus — Professor — Snape sat on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped together and shoulders tense, as if frozen mid-thought.
The older wizard’s left leg bent and settled atop his right leg’s knee. Never had she seen this man look more casual, though he hardly looked relaxed. His black, expansive gaze snapped to her the moment she entered, a mixture of irritation and something that looked like — she couldn’t quite place it…relief? Concern?
Had he doubted she’d come by tonight? Doubted her?
Hermione bit her lip and twisted her index finger in a loose curl hanging below her chest. Neither spoke. Suddenly, the party flashed back into mind. Foul words echoed from the corners of her mind until they plunged into her heart. Mudblood. Disgusting. This wizard, feared by many within Magical Britain, had spared her from a nightmare. There was much she could do to help him, yet all she could still do was linger far too much on something she’d rather forget entirely.
Perhaps Professor Snape would be amenable to showing her Occlumency at some point?
The silence was as dense as the shadows in the room, pressing down and making her overly aware of how her steps broke the stillness. Unconsciously, the witch walked over to the small chair opposite the couch. Before she claimed the seat, she looked at him, searching his features for consent. He glanced to a ticking clock on his wall before regarding her once more. Slowly, he nodded, those black depths following her hesitant descent into the chair.Hermione offered him a small smile, feeling the full weight of his sharp gaze on her. She opened her mouth to apologize. However, his words were quicker, his voice low and edged with restrained displeasure.“Miss Granger,” he said, eyes narrowing, “do you make a habit of arriving hours late to previously agreed upon appointments?”The edge in his tone sent a flicker of embarrassment across her face. She could feel her cheeks warming. Quickly brushing off a faint layer of ash that clung to her striped sage and mauve pajamas, Hermione found her voice. “I’m sorry, sir. I-I fell asleep…though, accidentally.” She hesitated, watching his gaze shift slightly, unreadable. “Then…well, I had to retrieve your memories from the library. Filch heard me there and followed me about the castle for at least twenty minutes,” she added, hoping that this would serve as enough explanation.“How is it you get about the castle — with attention drawn upon you — so efficiently?”Hermione drew her head back and glanced down at her beaded bag. Clearing her throat, she narrowed her eyes. “Are you asking as a professor?”“Granger,” he muttered. Immediately, Hermione felt the deliberate absence of the word Miss. “If I was concerned with assuming the role of your professor tonight, you would not be here.” Snape, for it felt awkward to refer to him as ‘professor’ or ‘sir’ when he’d dropped some of the propriety when referring to her, paused, rolling his eyes after a beat. “Again.” Lifting his brow, he leaned back a little on the couch, attention dropping to her beaded bag. “What sort of tricks do you hide in that bag of yours?”“It’s not mine, but I’ve a map of Hogwarts.”Snape tilted his head, absently scratching at his chin before asking, “A map? I doubt it’s just any map.”“Well, of course, you’re right…”“What’s it do?”“It shows me where everyone is within the castle and on the surrounding grounds.”“Will you show me?”Hermione cleared her throat. “Perhaps another time, sir.”The words felt clumsy in her mouth, and she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious under his scrutiny. The potions master watched her with a look that might have passed as amusement — had it not been for the slight tightening of his mouth. His eyes remained fixed on her, weighing each word as though he could pry hidden meanings out of them.“The library, Miss Granger?” he asked, an incredulous note slipping into his voice. There was an almost imperceptible lift to his brow, an expression she had come to recognize from years of Potions class. He was waiting, giving her a chance to clarify. Yet, still, he asked, “You kept my most private memories…in the library?”Hermione nodded, fumbling a little as she went on, her voice a touch defensive. “Y-Yes,” she replied, her tone firmer. “I thought it was safest to leave them there. I hid them in an old Potions book — Draught Flasks: Chronology of Shape Uniformity. ” She shrugged as if to downplay the effort. “No one’s checked it out since 1974. Before then, not a single soul checked it out for fifty years.”Silence settled between them again. Snape’s posture relaxed just enough for her to notice, though his eyes remained locked on hers. He tilted his head slightly, an unexpected glimmer of approval lurking somewhere behind his otherwise guarded expression.“1974…” He crossed his arms, almost as if to mask his reaction. “That was me, then.”A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She met his gaze, relieved that he seemed to understand her reasoning. “I thought it was appropriate,” she said, a hint of humor slipping through. “Besides, it worked — no one found them. I could hardly walk about with them.”“Potter would have found them if you had.”“Precisely…”“Tell me…” The dark wizard paused, letting those two words confound the witch.“What shall I tell you?”The corner of his mouth ticked up. Only just. “How is it you fit a vial into a book? Defacing school property? Shall I wake the Gryffindor house points and evict some of their hourglass?”“Perhaps, in this particular case, we ought to give them a rest?”“Perhaps, indeed.”Digging into her beaded bag, Hermione pulled out a small glass vial containing the swirling silver of his memories. She held it out to him, the weight of the gesture hanging between them. As he reached out to take it, his fingers brushed against hers — a small, almost inconsequential contact, but it held her still for a breath.Their hands lingered, neither pulling away. Hermione felt a strange warmth rise within her. The act itself wasn’t entirely unfamiliar — she was used to expressing warmth through physical touch. The witch did this all the time with Harry and Ron. No. It was certainly not the act. Rather, it was the who in question. With Snape, it felt...wholly different. Her chest tightened slightly. It had to be the novelty of seeing her professor — a solitary, private, and powerful man — in such a personal space that left her feeling unsteady.Finally, he took the vial from her, breaking the contact. When she withdrew her hand, the witch clasped her hands together in her lap. She looked away, grounding herself by staring at the orange glow of the warm fire in his hearth.As he raised his wand, transferring the memories back into his mind with a flicker of silver light, Hermione watched him carefully. The ease with which his command imposed over magic itself mesmerized her. The dull silvery dust of light seeped into his temple, disappearing from view — perhaps forever.Professor Snape grimaced, his brows drawing together as the memories settled within him. His face clouded briefly, as if something in those memories brought him actual pain. The witch held her breath, instinctively leaning forward. However, she didn’t speak, not wanting to interrupt whatever was unfolding within him.Lowering his wand, he turned his attention back to her. His gaze was steady, the hard edge sharpening ever so slightly. “What shall you ask of me?”Hermione leaned back, pinching her brows and frowning. “What?”“In exchange for returning these memories…What do you want from me?”“I don’t want anything, Sev—sir.”Snape’s harsh eyes fouled, his most violent thoughts (recollections, perhaps?) flooding his glare in an instant. “I do not believe you,” he said. Plainly. Before she could speak, he added, “Everyone wants something.”Hermione’s throat clenched so suddenly she rubbed at her chest. The implication poorly hidden within his words snapped something in her heart. “Professor—”“You brewed Polyjuice, sequestered an appropriate Ministry worker, assumed their identity under the pressure of dwindling time and sentence of Azkaban should you have failed, and somehow located the memories successfully — all alone.”“Yes,” she confirmed. “And?”“What. Do. You. Want?”Hermione rolled her eyes and stood, crossing the short distance between them. Folding her arms over her chest, she glared down her nose at him and towered over where he sat.“Clearly, you are not hearing me, so instead, you will listen to me, Severus Snape. I do not want a single thing in return. I will not ask a thing of you. I expect nothing from you that you do not freely choose to give.”A collection of curls dipped in front of her face, clearly rejecting her idea of appearing imposing to this infuriating man. The witch blew up in an attempt to move the bloody strands out from her eyes. However, they just slithered back and forth back into place. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and tucked the hair behind her ears. “Perhaps you could help me recover some measure of my pride? Pretend, despite my unruly hair and small form, that I was rather menacing and that I made any sort of impact on the all-powerful Snape, dark wizard extraordinaire.”The razor-sharp edge lodged in his black glare eased until he simply stared up at her. The corner of his mouth twitched. Snape stood, imposing upon her puny attempt at intimidating him. “Pretending is for children, Granger.”Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, hating she had to resume the strain in her neck to do so. Not only was he so much taller than her, but they stood so closely together. Unable to stand still for any length of time, she rolled her ankle and snapped it back in place. Repeating the fidgety movement three more times, she swallowed.
“Is that not what spying is?” she asked. “Pretending?”Snape opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words left him for a time. Narrowing his eyes, he shook his head. “Do not liken my work at the Dark Lord’s side to trifling, meaningless schoolyard ideation,” he warned, though the smallest smirk marred the sharpness of his grim features.“You know, nobody’s ever given me whiplash for my birthday before…”Snape shrugged — the act barely perceptible. “You’ll find I spare no particular thought for birthdays…or gift-giving in general.”“That’s hardly surprising…”“Do you truly expect nothing from me?”Hermione pinched her brows and searched the wizard’s expression, which brimmed with raw hesitation. “I know whatever we are is not, precisely, friendly.”“Most friendships do not typically begin with a curse as crude as Sectumsempra.”“Most friendships?” Hermione asked, hope filling her chest.“Most, indeed,” he confirmed. Snape tilted his head to the side. He studied her for a bit. Immediately, she tried to fix her features to be void of that faint hope. He narrowed his eyes. “Do not misunderstand me. We are not friends, Granger.”“Perhaps we should be,” she said before she could stop herself.Snape rolled his eyes, staring down at her for a moment before stepping closer to the fire while he cleared his throat. “I’ve not had a friend since my own days at Hogwarts.”“Well, that’s not true.”“Isn’t it?”“What about Professor Dumbledore?”The potions master regarded her, his expression unreadable. Impossibly vulnerable. For a second, she thought he might say something more. But he only shifted his gaze to the fire, turning his back to her. Moving closer to the hearth, the older wizard joined his hands behind him, drawing both shoulders back so his spine bowed straight. Stiff. The glow of the firelight outlined his silhouette, which was hauntingly lovely in its darkness and sharp edges.Hermione felt a pang of uncertainty as she watched him. She took a tentative step forward, catching herself before she reached out to place a comforting hand on his arm. The witch questioned if he’d welcome such comfort. It felt strange, this carefulness. This hesitation. Opting to clutch both hands together to keep from touching him, she sighed and joined him before the fire’s heat, which kissed her cool cheeks.The outside of her shoulder brushed at the middle of his bicep, which felt remarkably ordinary — even through the thick fabric of his robe. The muscle there felt more developed and surprisingly more toned than she’d thought. The man was narrow, lean, and gangly. His cheekbones rose sharper than normal, and his jawbone jutted out slightly. Hermione would have guessed he would feel…bonier.
Stop it. Stop thinking about this man’s body. It’s…rude. And entirely inappropriate.
Was he actually eating properly these days? She certainly was not. The healers all said it would take some time for her body to accommodate her normal food intake. Clearly, those healers hadn’t seen Harry and Ron cram what seemed like pounds of food down their throats in one sitting without feeling ill afterward.In the quiet that stretched between them, Hermione forced her mind to fixate on the small matter that this man had said he’d not had a friend since his own school days. Sighing, she crossed her arms over her chest and bit her thin bottom lip. “Sir?” she asked softly, hesitating when he stiffened slightly at the sound of her voice. “Your loyalty to Dumbledore was unrivaled. Surely, you considered him a friend?”The question hung in the air, and Hermione wasn’t entirely sure why she had chosen to ask it. Clearly, he wished not to speak of it. Yet here she pushed anyway. She regretted it almost immediately, noticing the tension that rippled through his shoulders. Unable to contain her nerves, she untangled her arms over her chest and dangled both hands loosely at her sides. As they settled, the knuckles on her right hand bumped into his long fingers, which twitched at the unexpected contact.
“Sorry,” she whispered.The witch made to step away, but the dark wizard looming beside her caught her cool hand in the overwhelming warmth of his. Gasping quietly, the Gryffindor student stilled, swallowing as the older man folded his fingers around her hand. Before she could stop herself, Hermione cupped the back of his hand with her free hand. The unfamiliar, rough, and masculine hand eclipsed hers. Tears glossed her eyes, and she could do nothing else save squeeze where she held him.Eventually, Hermione looked up at him. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Honestly, the witch thought he might ignore her altogether. But then his chin angled down, and he settled his gaze on her with a weight that made her heart beat faster.“Albus,” he corrected, his voice controlled, though a shadow passed across his features. “Please call him Albus.”She nodded, feeling the need to tread carefully. “Surely, you considered Albus a friend?” She asked it gently, wanting him to know she would understand whatever answer he chose to give.His face hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “For the better part of two decades, I fixed my unwavering loyalty upon him. Despite what happened with…Potter’s mother, I…deeply respected him,” he said, his voice low and reflective. “But mistake me not. I also resented him. Well, I resented what he represented.”A tear slipped from her eye, and she began easing the pressure from his hand to catch it. However, Snape reached his free hand between them and wiped the high path of her cheekbone with his thumb.“Why?” she whispered.“A master, Hermione, can never quite be a friend.”The rawness in his tone struck her, and she felt the weight of his words settle over her. There was a sadness there, something she hadn’t expected, and it made her feel a swell of sympathy for him. “Do you…want to talk about Albus right now?” she asked gently.He shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “No.”The simplicity of his answer spoke volumes, and Hermione found herself understanding the silence that followed. As they stood there, side by side, the boundaries between them blurred slightly — if only by an inch. He’d said they were not friends.But if not friends, what was this…shift?It perfectly mirrored what she’d always shared with Harry: a deep emotional intimacy and unfailing understanding that others always misunderstood. Their connection between them felt so bloody real. Tangible and solid. Though she still wasn’t sure what it meant, she knew it was there. The witch felt it, undeniable and impossibly comforting.Severus released her hand with deliberate slowness, his touch retreating as though reluctant to let go. His fingers brushed against hers one last time before they withdrew entirely. He straightened, folding his arms against his chest, his expression an impenetrable mask once more. The withdrawal felt like the snapping of a thread, leaving Hermione with an acute awareness of the sudden absence of warmth between them. The renewed silence bristled with unspoken tension.The weight of his presence pressed down on the witch, making her acutely aware of every breath and each sound in the room. He didn’t look at her anymore. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the fire, his profile shadowed and sharp against the flickering light.
Hermione’s hands fidgeted in front of her, her fingers knotting together nervously. The quiet felt unbearable. She inhaled slowly, her voice soft as she broke the silence.“You know, Snape,” she began, cringing through her whisper. Referring to this man by just his surname felt…wholly impersonal. Yet close like she was with Harry and Ron they were not. This dark, foreboding wizard was very much her professor — now her mentor. “I’m here if ever you wish for someone to listen,” she said, playing with the ends of her hair. There were several split ends. For a good moment, the Gryffindor witch busied her thoughts trying to remember the last time she’d cut it.“Are you?” he muttered.When Hermione glanced at him, she found he already watched her. Swallowing, she nodded, the edge of her mouth quirking up. “Of course, sir. Always.”The air, though not at all easy or relaxed, went taut and spiraled all around them, binding her like chains until they nearly suffocated her. A darkness she did not recognize in the usual safety of those deep, penetrating eyes flooded his every feature. The entire length of his body froze. It’s as if his body alone would relinquish a world-crippling Fiendfyre if he moved.“You mock me, Miss Granger?”“Sir?”“Why did you use that word, witch?”Hermione stepped back. He did not follow her. Instinctively, she flexed her fingers out and hung her hand down at her side, conveniently close to the long, narrow pocket she kept her wand. Swallowing, she exhaled, hating how fragile she felt as her whole body trembled. The look in his eyes said nothing but one single word: kill. Bellatrix had looked at her the same way. As it stood, any attempt she made to save herself from a fight with this man would prove futile. If he meant to hurt her, he would do so.
Pathetically easily.She lifted her hand, palm-side facing him, as if the gesture alone would calm him down. “I don’t know what word—”“Do not lie to me!” The stone walls of his private quarters creaked, accommodating the devastating volume he’d employed to amplify the clear rage set in his lethal expression.Despite the fear assembled in her gut, Hermione stood her ground, narrowing her eyes even as tears poured down her face. “Legilimency and Veritaserum are both effective measures you may take to ensure that I am not lying to you, Severus.”Still, he’d moved not one muscle save those around his mouth to speak. That he had yet to withdraw his wand only prodded the frenzied fear buried in her belly. Hermione was aware, acutely so, that he needed no wand to harm her — if that was what he wished.“I would never mock you. I will never hurt you. Please believe me, sir!”The longer his eyes mapped every nuance of her features, the steadier his breathing became. All too suddenly, he broke their tangled gazes to study the stone floor. Closing his eyes, he wiped a hand from his forehead to his mouth, where his shaky palm covered for a long moment before he spared her any further attention.He regarded her sharply, his black eyes blazing with something unreadable. “I do not need you,” he said coldly, his voice cutting through her tentative offer like a blade. “I need no one.”Hermione flinched but held her ground, her voice steady despite the sting of his dismissal. “With all due respect, sir, I didn’t mean—”“I know exactly how you meant it,” he snapped, his tone venomous. “Save your hollow offers of comfort for someone who might actually find them useful.”
Snape winced at his sharp words, as if they’d inflicted him as equally as they’d lacerated her. His mouth remained open for a few seconds — as if he wanted to say something more. Desperately so. In an instant, he erased any trace of doubt in his expression. If this stranger before her refused to yield to the surprising man she’d come to grow quite curious about over the past week or so, she would not surrender.“Everyone needs someone,” she said, her voice firmer this time. “Even you.”“I need no one,” he repeated.“You’re human, are you not? We are all made to need someone. That you cannot deny!” Hermione pinched her brows and wiped at her face, stopping the tears from disappearing into the fabric of her shirt. “I am not suggesting that you need me, Professor—”The world-weary wizard closed the distance between them. She thought he would reach out and take her arms into his unforgiving grasp. It’s what everyone did when they meant her harm these days. The burn of Percy’s unyielding fist on her arm ignited. However, Snape simply imposed his presence upon her. Although threatening, he seemed to reject any instinct to hold her in such a way — if it existed within him at all.“I. Need. Not. A. Single. Soul.”“You are the only Death Eater I know of who can produce a Patronus charm. No matter how much you bury it, there is love in you, Severus. There is nothing wrong or weak about that.”Snape glared down his nose at her and leaned further into her personal space. The witch held her ground, though a shiver shook across her body and stuttered her loud breath. “Stop talking,” he commanded. “Now.” Hermione shook her head. “I won’t.”Snape rolled his eyes and turned his back to her, immediately stalking toward the door leading to his room. Hermione chased his heels, her bare feet quiet against the cold stone.“Stop running, Severus!”Perhaps it was the implication of his cowardice that made him whirl around to face her…or that he simply wished to have the last word. Either way, he gave her exactly what she wanted.His laugh was sharp and humorless. “You’re the one prying where you do not belong. You’re the one who cannot leave well enough alone!”“I just thought—”“That much is clear,” he interrupted, his voice rising. “You think you’ll fix me. Is that it? You thought your endless, meddling kindness would somehow untangle the mess of my existence — as if it’s that simple! As though I’m some pitiable project you can take on in your spare time?”“Pity?” Hermione scoffed, a dark chuckle tickling her throat as she scrunched her features. “You are the greatest wizard who still breathes. I pity those who’d pity you, sir. I just wanted to—”“To what?” he demanded, his voice sharp enough to make her flinch. “To absolve me of my sins with your precious, vomit-inducing Gryffindor superiority and revered morality? Miss Granger, I neither want nor need your salvation.”“After everything you’ve endured—”“Don’t!”“You shouldn’t have to carry it all alone,” Hermione said, her voice trembling but resolute.His expression darkened, his lips curling into a sneer. “I owe you nothing,” he snarled. “And you owe me even less. Do not stand there and pretend otherwise.”“I’ve already said you owe me nothing. I want nothing in exchange for retrieving and protecting your memories,” she argued, her voice rising in frustration. “But you deserve—”“I deserve nothing!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “Nothing save the hatred and contempt of those who have the misfortune of knowing me. And you—” His voice dropped, low and venomous. “You, Hermione bloody Granger, are no exception.”Hermione recoiled as though he had struck her, her eyes widening in shock and voice effectively silenced. She’d said she’d listen, and he gave her no room to speak now.“You think you understand me?” he continued, his voice growing louder, harsher. “You think you can comprehend even a fucking fraction of what I’ve endured? Miss Granger, your kindness is meaningless. It’s just a tactic you employ to manipulate people into tolerating you. But when they finally do, they see only that which you so desperately wish to hide: you’re insufferable and unworthy of their time. It’s no wonder both Potter and Weasley sent you away to Hogwarts. They’ve no further need of you.”Perhaps if he’d said such vile lies to her in sixth year, the impact would have been catastrophic. Still, she couldn’t stop the fresh tears from shining in her dull eyes. “Like you would know a thing about tolerable company…”Snape smirked, approving of the blunt sting — nowhere nearly as sharp as his. “You’re not here to help me. You’re here to make yourself feel better. Don’t insult me by pretending otherwise.”“You’re wrong, sir.”“Am I?”“Helping is all I am capable of,” she muttered. “I lost my parents—”“I don’t care about your petty griefs, Granger!”Hermione pointed at herself, tears wobbling free and seeping down her face. “My petty griefs?” Scoffing, the witch leaned away from him. “You’re the only one in the entire world who has suffered. Is that it?”“Do you think it noble to have Obliviated them? Do you think that was pain? At least they are alive! And unlike me, they are blissfully oblivious to your existence.”The air seemed to evaporate from the room the moment his words landed, cruel and unforgiving. Hermione’s entire world pitched beneath her feet as if the very ground had rejected her presence. Her hand shot out, grasping the back of the sofa for balance. The coarse fabric bit into her palm, grounding her in a reality from which she wished she could escape.Her mind scrambled to catch up, to process the shards of his words, sharp and cutting. Unlike me, they are blissfully oblivious to your existence. The venom in his voice lingered like an echo on repeat, curling around her like smoke, suffocating and choking the breath from her lungs.Her other hand pressed against her stomach, trying to contain the hollowness expanding within her. The ache spread outward like wildfire, consuming every inch of her being. She didn’t realize her breathing had turned shallow and erratic until she tried to speak.“What’s that supposed to mean?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as fragile as glass on the verge of shattering.The muscles in Severus’ jaw flexed, his teeth grinding as though the effort of holding back the torrent within him was becoming unbearable. Uncontainable. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. There was something wild in his eyes — a desperate, frenzied anger that seemed to have spiraled beyond his control. His voice, when it came, was sharp and bitter. It was laced with an emotion that teetered on the edge of fury and despair.“Perhaps if Bellatrix focused less on torturing you and more on finishing the job, life would have spared me back in May!”The words exploded into the room like a curse, final and irretrievable. For a moment, the silence that followed was deafening. Hermione stared at him, her body frozen in place, the words reverberating through her mind. The witch’s lips parted as though to speak, but no sound came. The question formed slowly, each word like a heavy stone she had to lift.
“You wish I were dead…by the hands of…Bellatrix Lestrange?”The question wasn’t sharp or accusing. It was broken, a mere whisper carrying the full imposing weight of her devastation. Her vacant stare never left his, searching for something — anything — that might undo those unbearable words. But Severus said nothing. He simply stood there, rigid and unmoving, his face a storm of conflicting emotions. His eyes, dark and piercing, betrayed his horror. They featured his regret — pure and unyielding. It was all there, poorly contained and raw.But still, he didn’t speak.Hermione’s chest tightened as she waited, hoping — praying — for him to say something that would shatter the silence. But it stretched on, ever oppressive and suffocating. She began to unravel under his uncommonly desperate gaze. The ache inside her grew heavier, sharper. It felt as though it might tear her apart from the inside out. Her tears fell freely now, but she made no move to wipe them away.The dark wizard’s words had done more than wound her. They had dismantled her. With a single sentence, he had stripped away the fragile sense of unexpected safety she’d found in his presence. He’d so effortlessly exposed the raw, vulnerable parts of her that she had tried so desperately to protect. And now she stood before him, shattered and unsure.Those black eyes devoured the sight of her like it was a sentence, her quiet devastation laid bare before him. He stood like a man caught in a storm of his own making, powerless to stop the destruction he had unleashed. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to reach for her and fix what he had broken.But he didn’t move, nor did he speak. Nothing. He gave her nothing.Hermione’s gaze didn’t waver, either. It was like she waited for time to explain to her how this man could have said anything so vicious to her. It didn’t make sense.
The witch’s hand fluttered from the sofa, trembling as she stupidly nodded. Swallowing, she cleared her throat and turned toward the hearth. Her steps were slow, unsure. Each one stole every ounce of strength she had left.The pot of Floo powder sat on the mantle, and she reached for it with shaking hands. Her fingers closed around the powder, its cool texture grounding her in the present. It seeped between the spaces of her fingers as she stood there, frozen. She stared into the flickering flames of the hearth, her vision blurred by tears. The weight of his silence pressed down on her, suffocating and relentless.
All that was left to do was activate the Floo.
Behind her, the sound of his footsteps broke through the stillness. Each step was heavy and deliberate — as though he was carrying the weight of the world with him. A soft warmth radiated behind her until her skin tightened, squeezing and tingling until gooseflesh textured the smooth surface.
Gently, hesitantly, his fingers brushed against the edge of her rosy long sleeve. The touch was barely there, but it was enough to ground her. Fingers trembling, she weaved her pinky between his own shaky touch. His were rough and calloused, and they clung to the fabric of her sleeve. It wasn’t a grip — it was a plea. A quiet, desperate attempt to keep her there, to stop her from leaving.Hermione decided, right then, she wouldn’t.They stood like that for a moment — her back to his chest. Neither moved. Neither spoke. The Floo powder trembled in her hand, and his fingers held onto her sleeve as though it was the only thing tethering him to the Earth. Mere inches separated them. Hermione had not the strength to bridge it. However, the sole of Severus’ plain boot slippers scuffed against the stone. It was only a half step, but he loomed ever closer. The stiff fabric of his robe scratched at her back.The warmth of his body cracked her defenses. The final bit of powder slipped from her fingers, falling back into the pot with a soft, grainy sound. She turned slowly, her gaze lifting to meet his. His expression was raw and unguarded — so filled with an anguish that mirrored her own. She didn’t think — she couldn’t think.
Hermione closed the fresh distance, stepping toward him and collapsing into his chest.Severus’ arms moved hesitantly at first. Eventually, one wrapped securely around her back. The other rested lightly on her waist. His hold was awkward. Tentative. But it was more than enough.Her sobs came quietly at first: soft, trembling sounds muffled by the coarse fabric of his robe. But soon, they deepened. The pain in her chest spilled out in jagged, unrestrained waves. She clung to him as though he were the only thing keeping her from unraveling entirely, her fists curling into the folds of his robe.Severus remained still, his body tense. Yet…he did not pull away. Slowly, with a clumsiness surely born of uncertainty, his hand moved in tentative shapes over her back, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of her shirt. The touch, though awkward, felt like the barest whisper of comfort — fragile and fleeting.The room seemed smaller, as though the air itself had thickened with something she could not quite name. Severus’ grip on her waist tightened slightly, almost imperceptibly. The smallest tilt of his head brought his cheek to linger near the top of her head. It was a gesture devoid of calculation, a simple acknowledgment of her pain.“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he whispered, the words barely a breath against her ear, rough-edged and strained.Severus’ voice, usually so measured and precise, faltered now — as if dragged out against his will. The fragile witch felt the apology more than she heard it. It carried in the trembling tightness of his arms around her and the subtle hitch in his breath. Though his grip remained cautious, almost reluctant, she could feel the faint tremor in his fingertips where they brushed the fabric of her shirt, an unspoken admission of the turmoil he kept buried so deeply.
Beneath her cheek, his chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. The erratic beat of his heart made her clutch the fabric of his stiff robe tighter. It was like the prison of his ribcage held something so fragile inside — something he seemed unwilling to break free. The hand at her back shifted, hesitating and hovering for a moment before settling with a weight that spoke more than his words ever could. This wizard holding her tried, desperately so, to contain himself: to wrestle down the sharp edges and fury of his regret and anguish. But the slight shudder in his hold and the way his head dipped just slightly toward her told her the truth: he wasn’t succeeding.
Safe.
The cruel stranger was no longer among them. Only she and Severus Snape lingered in his den. When her sobs subsided into quiet sniffles, she pushed away from him slightly, wiping her nose with the edge of her sleeve. Her gaze remained on his robed chest, her voice thick with emotion as she asked, “Did you mean it?”Severus shook his head, the movement slow and deliberate. “No,” he said, his tone steady but heavy. “I meant not a single word.” After a beat, he swallowed, pinching her chin and easing her gaze to meet his. “Why did you stay? You ought to have Flooed back to your room. You should resolve to never again speak to me, Granger…”Tucking some hair over the shape of her ear, the corner of Hermione lips ticked up. It wasn’t quite a smile, though. The act weighed too heavily of a vulnerability she’d always struggled to dominate. Slowly, he dropped his hand from her chin. Shaking her head, she said, “I…Leaving felt too final…like an acknowledgment that what you said was true. In my bones, I know they were not. I don’t know why. Instinct, I suppose? Wishful thinking, perhaps. I hardly know you…”Severus clutched onto the edge of her sleeve at her left forearm, his long, practiced fingers brushing the letters of her scar. She watched him swallow as his black stare slowly mapped her features. “I am unworthy of your…” he said, leaving the thought unfinished. “Nonetheless,” he muttered, pausing and pressing his thumb against the scarred, foul word etched into her skin. “Thank you.”Wiping at her eyes, she cleared her throat. “I’m not as strong as you are. I try, but I’m so easily reduced to a blubbering mess. These days, at least…”The witch’s breath caught when he traced the shape of the first few letters on her forearm, his touch impossibly gentle. “Strength, Granger, is rather fluid. It takes the form of many things. As you…get to know me, you will find your opinion of me to be far too generous.”Hermione’s fingers twisted the hem of her sleeve. Every bit of marrow in her bones itched to touch his hand, which still busied with trailing the letters hidden by her long sleeve. But a new wall was now lodged between them. She took a deep, shaky breath, her mind racing to find the words she needed. “Perhaps…” She hesitated, her voice faltering. Sighing, she finally glanced back up at him. “Perhaps we ought to avoid topics that veer too personal, professor.”He inclined his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “Agreed,” he said simply, his voice devoid of its usual sharpness. “For now.”“Besides, it’ll take more than a single night to show you that I meant what I told you….”“Indeed…”More silence ensued. This time, Hermione couldn’t bear its weight. “Perhaps, I should go. It is almost three in the morning…”“Are you all right?” he asked instantly, his tone softer than she had ever heard it.She managed a small, wavering smile. “Believe me, last year’s birthday was worse,” she said, her voice tinged with a faint, self-deprecating humor. “Starving, tending to Ronald’s wounds and mood swings due to the locket’s influence,” she said, allowing her mind to fill with the events. Clearing her throat, she added, “Not knowing if we’d make it past that day or if my wards would work as they should…”Hermione deliberately excluded any mention of the absence of her parents. A small voice in her mind told her to keep some distance from this man. He probably didn’t actually care about her family, anyway. Especially not after everything he’d survived.A faint twitch of his lips was the only response he gave, but it was enough.Hermione hesitated, her gaze searching his. “Apologies if what I’m about to say comes out as incoherent verbal drivel, but I want to tell you something. It’ll make me sound positively pathetic, but I think it’s better to air out…”Severus narrowed his eyes at her, searching her features once over before replying. “Has the verbal drivel already begun, or shall I endeavor to brace myself?”Hermione smirked, the act guarded but present. “Shut up, will you?”His only reply was a stern eye roll.“I can’t explain it. I know it sounds barmy—”He motioned his hand in the air. “Do go on, Granger. It’s almost three in the morning.”Swallowing, Hermione searched his stare before clearing her throat. “Excluding what just happened, I feel safe with you. Like you…Oh, I don’t know. Like I can be myself with you. I don’t have to hide things — not like I do with Harry and Ron. I don’t really know what to do with this information.”His reaction was almost imperceptible — a fleeting tightening of his jaw and the faintest flicker in his dark eyes. The witch braced herself for the sharp retort she expected…but none came. Instead, only a quiet pause settled between them, heavy and fraught with unknowable meaning. His lips parted, as though to speak. However, no words emerged. The dark wizard appeared as though grappled with her admission in real-time. His gaze softened for the briefest moment, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. A guarded, almost pained expression replaced it.
"You should not feel safe with me, Granger," he finally murmured, his voice low and uneven, a tremor of something unspoken beneath the words.“I know you believe that.”“Because it is true…”“Anyway,” she said, flippantly ignoring his warning. Sighing, she continued. “You say you’re not my friend, yet you so easily pulled me out of my panic at the party last night. I think a proximity…of some kind could be mutually helpful, don’t you?”“Proximity, Miss Granger, is inevitable — especially since you are now my apprentice.”“Don’t forget Malfoy…”Professor Snape rolled his eyes and sighed. “Who could?”“Look, all I’m saying is that we could help each other,” Hermione said. Leaning in closer to the older man, she whispered, “I happen to be a great friend, by the way.”“We are not friends, Granger.”“You asked me what tricks I hide in this bag.”Severus quirked his brow. “And?”“Well, I’ve decided that only my friends get to see them.”The potions master glared at her. “Are you attempting to bribe me of my friendship?”“That depends…”“On?”“Is it working?”The look on his face told her he considered her quiet offer, though fleetingly. His eyes sharpened and his glare heated with purpose. “No,” he retorted.The witch rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “It was worth a shot.”“Truly, it was not.”The room had settled into another stretch of quiet. Hermione, rooted in place, tried to focus on the flickering shadows cast by the fire. However, the image of the Ministry evidence archives popped into the back of her mind, clawing at the edges and refusing to stay buried. It would not do to accidentally tip this man off should he decide to employ any measure of Legilimency on her.
The witch’s fingers fidgeted with the strap of her beaded bag, twisting it absently as her chest tightened with the effort to suppress the gnawing truth that refused to be silenced. Severus tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes narrowing as he observed her every movement. She could almost feel his scrutiny, sharp and surgical, cutting through her facade with unnerving ease.Severus Snape had endured enough dark magic for ten lifetimes. She would not be the one to drag him back into it. But her resolve faltered when she shifted on her feet, her hands unsteady as she fumbled with the bag’s strap again.
Perhaps he wouldn’t notice. Maybe, just this once, Merlin could grant her some luck and—
“Something troubles you,” he stated, not a question but a conclusion drawn from years of reading people’s weaknesses and noticing every invisible nuance in the room like an open book. His voice was low, probing, and impossibly steady.
Bugger it all!
Hermione froze, willing her features to remain neutral. “It’s…it’s nothing,” she replied, too quickly, her tone betraying her. She winced at her own transparency and shook her head, trying again. “Well, nothing important, I mean…” She tightened her grip on the bag’s string, her knuckles turning white as she avoided his gaze.“Granger,” he said, his tone carrying an edge of warning now. “Do not insult my intelligence.”She shook her head, her loose curls bouncing with the movement. “It doesn’t concern you, sir.”“It does concern me,” Severus pressed, his voice dipping lower, colder.
“Please! Please, just…let it go.” Her words were firm, but the wobble in her voice betrayed her resolve. She glanced toward the fireplace, as though contemplating escape, but remained rooted in place. He’d not run from her earlier, and she would not abandon him. No. The witch could…improvise something — wiggle her way out of this conversation.“Whatever it is, you carry it with all the subtlety of a Howler.”Hermione’s jaw tightened, her frustration boiling over. “I will not drag you into this!”“I will not ask you again, Hermione,” the older wizard seethed, his patience thinned beyond repair.“Haven’t you suffered enough? You given enough to the war, to the Order, to everyone!” Her voice cracked, her anger laced with something dangerously close to desperation. When she breathed, she choked on the air caught in her throat. Tears blotted the room around her. Before she could stop herself, she blinked. They slid fast down her cheeks. “Please don’t make me tell you…”He leaned forward slightly, his presence an immovable force. “I do not need your protection,” he said, his words cutting through her like the snap of a whip. Her lips parted as if to argue, but before she could muster a reply, he continued. “Whatever this is, you cannot shoulder it alone, no matter how much you convince yourself otherwise,” he murmured, his voice softer yet unyielding. “I can help, so let me.”Hermione faltered, her defenses crumbling as the truth she’d been trying so hard to bury surged to the surface. Swallowing hard, she drew a deep breath, her fingers trembling against the strap of her bag. “The vial of your memories isn’t the only thing I stole from the Ministry, Professor Snape,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as her gaze dropped to the floor.“The thing is…Harry can’t know I have it. He’d…understand, but Ronald? Well, he’d throw a fit. Harry is overly protective of me these days. He’d find a way to overlook the foulness of it all, and it would impose upon their friendship. I won’t be the reason they fight."Snape leaned into her, eyeing her bag. “What is it?” he asked, evading the subject of her friends entirely.Pinching her brows together, the witch bit her lip and cupped the scar on her left forearm. “It’s a…a book.”“A book?”“Yep,” she confirmed, popping the word as if she were a precocious child.“Do you really expect me to drag more information out of you with a host of pointless questions?”“If I tell you, I’ll drag you in this with me.”Snape rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and sighing. He sounded so exhausted — as if he’d wrestled a dragon. “So you have said already, Granger—”“I didn’t get a choice, but I want to extend one to you.”“How can I choose if I do not know what it is?”“It involves dark magic, Severus. Really dark magic.”The wizard straightened, looking at her as if she wore trousers on her head. “Is there anything into which you have not stuck your nose?”Hermione narrowed one eye. “Probably not…”“Probably not?”Sighing, the witch fidgeted with her hair, saying, “Draco has asked me to move his mother’s house arrest to Hogwarts castle for the remainder of the school year.”“He what?”“The Wizengamot is lessening her sentence from Azkaban to house arrest. They release her next week. I have until then to convince them to transfer her here.”“Minerva will never allow it.”“I don’t think she has a choice. Draco cannot protect his mum from Hogwarts. Bellatrix is his aunt. Harry confirmed something will happen. Soon. Narcissa is vulnerable. Malfoy is, too. I trust neither of them, but they both made a significant difference in us winning the war.”“I see the Order still thrives…”“Actually, sir, I’m acting alone.”“Alone?”Hermione grimaced. “Uh, yeah. The Order is mostly led by Minister Shacklebolt, but the Ministry is still compromised. I…I’d rather not involve the Order as of yet. And those in Dumbledore’s Army…well, they’re making it plain that I am…unwelcome.”“Granger, you belong to the infamous Golden Trio. How is it you are unwelcome?”“I can only speculate, really. Neville, Luna, and Ginny seem to be the only ones interested in speaking to me. A few of the others have noticed my…cooperation with Draco. Perhaps they believe I should treat him with the same…vigor as they do.”Snape folded his arms and rolled his eyes, muttering a quiet, “Teenagers…” Narrowing his gaze at her, the potions master glazed down at her beaded bag, though only for a second. “Advocating for Narcissa’s transfer to Hogwarts will not help such hostility.”Hermione shrugged. “No, it won’t, but it’s the right thing to do.”“You make it sound so…simple.”The witch searched the mesmerizing obsidian hue of his stare for a moment before answering. “A lot of things will never be simple, so I’ve adopted the philosophy of attempting to simplify where I can. Doing so certainly helps in making room for all of the complicated stuff...”“Does Potter have anything more instructive than his Chosen One gift of just knowing something is going to happen?”“Actually, no.” Hermione offered the dark wizard looming near her a sad smile. “But I know Bellatrix will try something. Sooner rather than later. Things have remained rather quiet. Personally, I believe the remaining Death Eater sympathizers in the Wizengamot sort out sentences according to Bellatrix.”“That would be a given, Granger.”“Yes, well,” she said, clearing her throat. “It strikes me as odd that the likes of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, Antonin Dolohov, and Walden Macnair all dwell in the same sector of Azkaban. Their cells are stacked in a rather peculiar conglomerate.”With an exasperated sigh, Snape shook his head. “That configuration would make it most convenient should someone wish to break them of their cells…”“Precisely!”“And you know this how?”“Minister Shacklebolt personally invited me to the Ministry at the beginning of August. He wished for me to intern for him rather than return to Hogwarts. There was an emergency in some department that needed his immediate attention.”“So you snooped,” he said. The wizard sank his gaze from hers to her chest, quickly flicking them back up to her face as he briefly assessed her. “Now, how is it that a Hogwarts student notices this pattern and not the Minister of Magic — and his many Aurors?”Hermione crossed her arms. “Well, like Minerva, he’s spread thin. Most of the Aurors outside of Azkaban focus their attention mostly on capturing Death Eaters.”“So, naturally, that means you must shoulder the burden of their blind spots…”The Gryffindor drew her head back and grimaced. “I prefer calling it helping, Snape.”“You’re meant to focus your attention on your studies, Granger. Minerva boasts that you’re after straight ‘O’s’ in seven subjects.”“Well, I have to do something!”“And that is why you’ve a book on dark magic?”Hermione turned her back to him, walking to the chair she’d occupied earlier and sitting down, her body bouncing slightly on the firm cushion. Biting her bottom lip, she smoothed a hand over her loose hair with a soft sigh. “No, sir. I’ve a book on the darkest of magic because I stole your memories. They were kept together.”Snape stiffened, glaring at her before reclaiming his spot on the sofa. “You mean the book was of my possession?”Shrugging, Hermione’s fingers moved over the beads of her small bag with nervous precision, each movement betraying the storm raging in her mind. She couldn’t look at him for too long — those sharp, probing eyes would unravel her resolve. The less he knew, the safer he would be. If she let him sink his claws into this, she feared he wouldn’t stop until it consumed him.“I-I can only assume so,” she said, voice tight, forcing herself to sound casual. “The book appeared rather ordinary upon my initial inspection. The memories were stored behind it when I searched all the evidence the Ministry took from your home.” The words spilled out too quickly, like she was racing to keep control of them. “I’d touched it for only a moment to move it away, but I knew instantly it was…” Her voice faltered, and she dared a glance at him.
Snape adjusted his body on the cushion, leaning forward with a sharpness that made her heart pound. His elbows rested on his knees, his pale, thin hands clasped together, fingers twitching in restrained impatience. His eyes narrowed with an intensity that pinned her in place. “It was what, Granger?”Hermione swallowed. Hard. She couldn’t let him take this on. Yet the truth pressed against her ribs, desperate to break free. She pinched her brows together, shaking her head as if she could dislodge the words. Finally, she met his gaze — a mistake. His black eyes were unrelenting, their sharpness slicing through her meager defenses. But they also offered the promise of support. Understanding.“A horcrux, professor,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.Snape didn’t so much as flinch, but his posture grew taut, every line of his body coiled with restrained energy. “You three destroyed—”“No, it’s not his,” Hermione cut him off, her tone firm despite the panic swelling in her chest. She could feel the weight of his skepticism, like a boulder pressing her into the ground.“Who else’s would it be?” he asked, his voice low, the words dripping with disbelief.Hermione hesitated, her lips parting as she searched for an answer she didn’t fully have. “Honestly? I’m still working that out.” Her fingers tightened around her bag as if it could anchor her. “It’s unlike any of Vol—You Know Who’s horcruxes. It’s…well, it’s rather foul.”Snape’s lips curled into a sneer, the disdain in his expression almost comforting in its familiarity. “Aren’t they all?” he said with a dry bite, though his eyes remained fixed on her, dissecting every word. “I am no longer headmaster, Granger, but I’m sure the Sword of Gryffindor—”“This one is…it’s different,” Hermione pressed, her voice sharper now, desperation creeping into her tone. “Basilisk venom doesn’t destroy it.”His head snapped toward her, his disbelief palpable. “What?”“I tried to destroy it,” she said quickly, the memory of her failure still fresh enough to send a shiver down her spine. “I went down to the Chamber of Secrets to grab another fang the first night of term. It was mostly familiar — when I lifted the fang, it offered me a way to restore my…well, memories of those who have been Obliviated.”A flicker of emotion disrupted the familiar scowl on Snape’s features. He’d noted her deliberate exclusion of mentioning her parents. Of course, he would. When he parted his lips to speak, the witch continued.“But when I struck the book, some sort of magical force threw me back. I watched the book mend itself of the fang’s indentation. This book has its own rules, Snape.”Severus’ mind worked, and his features twitched. It was like many questions and replies swirled about his mind, and he couldn’t decide which he should voice first. “You opened the Chamber?” His voice was low, almost dangerous, and she couldn’t tell if it was anger or shock that laced his tone. “How?”Hermione nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she clasped them in front of her. “Ronald…He opened it back in May when we went down to destroy Helga’s cup. I extracted the memory and watched it several times in the Pensieve in the headmistress’ office until I could get the dialect right.”“When,” he said slowly, his voice a blade cutting through the air, “would you have had the opportunity to access it regularly enough to do that?”Her throat tightened under the weight of his scrutiny. He wasn’t just asking; he was unraveling her, picking apart her resolve thread by thread. “I helped with the rebuilding efforts over the summer,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Though she wasn’t officially the headmistress, Professor McGonagall allowed me access to the office in my downtime.”“Did she know why you needed to access it?” he asked, his tone growing colder with each syllable.“No,” Hermione admitted, her voice barely audible. She hated how small she sounded, but she couldn’t lie to him—not about this. “Unlike you, she didn’t ask questions. McGonagall didn’t sleep a wink this summer. She was constantly being pulled in no less than twelve directions.”“Perhaps she ought to have,” Snape said, his voice sharp and clipped. “Gryffindors, in my extensive experience, have an unusual penchant for trouble.”Hermione rolled her eyes, her irritation flaring despite the tension in the room. “Sometimes that trouble benefits certain Potions professors…” she muttered, unable to stop herself.A heavy pause settled between them, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Snape’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his eyes flickered, a shadow passing over his features. After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice low and cutting. “...and curses certain Gryffindors.”Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line, her pulse quickening as his words settled over her like a heavy cloak. The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with unspoken tension. She wanted to retreat, to pull back before the fragile balance between them shattered. But his gaze held her in place, and she knew there was no escaping this.Not anymore.“Please don’t help me if all you feel is a sense of responsibility. The book may have been in your possession, but I chose to infiltrate the Ministry. I ought to have been more careful.”Severus paused, regarding her like she was a brand new herb with which he could experiment to discover its properties for potionmaking. She alone held his undivided attention…and interest. “Of course, I feel responsible. It is my duty as your professor to ensure you remain out of harm’s way — not guide you to it,” he said.“Professor—”“However,” he interrupted, his voice softer than before. The older wizard scooted all the way to the edge of his seat, physically eliminating some of the distance between them. “I’ll help you — not as your professor, Granger. Rather, I’ll support you as…an acquaintance.”Hermione rolled her eyes. “You know, the more time you spend avoiding admitting we’re becoming friends — however slowly, the more determined I am to get you to admit that’s true.”Sighing, the dark wizard scrubbed at the side of his face, his eyes lingering on the clock hanging on the wall for just a second. “You will meet with me each Sunday. Unfortunately, I’ve a detention to administer tomorrow. For this week, we shall have to fit in time where possible — away from Draco.”Hermione straightened in her chair. “All right.”“Assuming we cannot manage sufficient time without an audience this week, let’s plan on acclimating ourselves with the curse Bellatrix imbued on your scar. I’d like to better understand it.”Hermione instinctively covered it with her palm, the soft fabric of her sleeve providing little comfort. “You think it’s reversible?”Snape shrugged. “I contained the curse on Albus’ hand for nearly a year. I’d like to think I can come up with something to mitigate the scar’s more grotesque side effects for you.” Suddenly, he shifted his gaze to the fire. “If that is amenable to you, of course.”“I’d appreciate that, sir.” Hermione cleared her throat. “Very much.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day 21:

Monday, September 21, 1998

. . .

Severus

. . .

The air in the headmistress’ office felt weighted, stifling, as if the walls themselves conspired to close in and crush him. Severus stood near the window, his posture rigid, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The light filtering through the panes cast angular shadows across his figure, but the muted warmth of the sun did little to temper the storm churning within him. He forced his gaze to remain steady, fixed on a point above Minerva McGonagall’s head, though every muscle in his body begged for release.

The room was deceptively quiet. Minerva sat at her desk, her quill poised over a piece of parchment, though she wasn’t writing. Her gaze, sharp as ever, flicked intermittently between Percy Weasley and the others in the room, as though weighing each of them in her mind. Percy sat across from her, his shoulders squared but tense, his fingers drumming nervously against the armrest of his chair. He looked every bit the contrite schoolboy he once was, though his carefully composed demeanor couldn’t conceal the faint sheen of sweat at his temple.

Remus Lupin stood to the left, leaning against the wall with an air of casual detachment that only deepened Severus’ irritation. His arms folded across his chest, his expression unreadable but far too calm for the tension thrumming through the space. Beside him, Tonks shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her usual exuberance dampened into a disquiet that made her almost unrecognizable.

Severus remained standing, as he always did in such meetings, his presence a deliberate counterweight to the others’ attempts at nonchalance. His black robes hung heavily on his frame, an armor of sorts — though the stillness of his posture betrayed the volatility beneath. His jaw clenched, the faintest flicker of a tic betraying the simmering anger rooted deep in his chest.

There was very little reason for his attendance; yet, nothing would have stopped him from being precisely here. Not even Minerva herself. Thankfully, the headmistress had invited him late yesterday evening. Whether it was because he was Deputy Headmaster — an appointment the Ministry had fought against until just days before the start of term — or because Granger was his apprentice, mattered not.

Severus would not allow Minerva to allow Percy to leave this room: not until, at a minimum, she relieved him of his teaching duties. The cad deserved more…so much fucking more. But, most unfortunately, Professor Snape would earn himself a quick trip to Azkaban’s deepest cell should he harm a single hair on the vainglorious, obsequious, and noxious bureaucratic leech. Azkaban, as Draco had correctly surmised, was no place for him should he wish to continue to protect Hermione.
It was the

very

least he could do for her.

The longer Severus anchored his vicious sneer on the Weasel still sinking in his seat before their headmistress, the tighter his skin became. A chill that was not present in this office scratched through the many layers of his black teaching robes until it all but burned him. Once again, time itself froze around him, and all he could do was swallow as the scene around him shifted, so clearly, back into Friday’s festivities in the Great Hall.

The sound still clawed at him. Hermione’s scream…

But it had been so much more than that. It was a visceral rupture, a cry that tore through Severus’ mind as though it sought to unmake him from the inside out. Piercing and broken, it had ripped the air itself apart, vibrating through his chest until it felt as though his ribcage might shatter under the force. Even now, in the heavy silence of McGonagall’s office, it resonated like a ghostly echo, dragging him back into the maelstrom of that moment.

He hadn’t seen Hermione at first — only the panic in the eyes of the students near the epicenter of the noise, their faces pale and drawn as they stumbled backward, parting like water to reveal the visibly vacant figure on the floor. His body had moved before thought could catch up, the reprimand for the seventh year’s contraband firewhisky dissolving into irrelevance as he surged forward. His heart hammered in a rhythm too fast and too sharp to feel real.

The memory of the Great Hall blurred. Once again, all he could see was her.

Hermione lay crumpled on the polished stone floor, her chest rising and falling in stuttering jerks, her hands clawing weakly at her cursed arm. That scar — it bled now, a sluggish, vile ooze of blood that reeked of decay and rot. Percy’s hand had left it gaping, his grip so merciless that it had drawn poison from a wound that ought not to bleed any longer. And Percy still stood above her, his hand flexing as though the violence hadn’t been enough to satisfy his cruelty.

Severus had stopped just long enough to tear into Percy’s mind with Legilimency, an intrusion as sharp and brutal as his fury demanded. The images had slammed into him: Percy’s sneering disdain as he clamped his hand around her arm, the way Hermione had flinched, tried to pull away, only to have his fingers tighten with cold purpose. The shock in her eyes had been replaced too quickly by agony, her scream ripping from her throat in a desperate plea that had gone unheeded.

The scream. Merlin, the scream.

It was a primal force, a thing that crawled under Severus’ skin and nested there, writhing. It was the sound of her being undone, of a strength so steadfast and defiant finally fracturing under the weight of cruelty too familiar. This agony had crippled him.

Not a single thing had been so powerful as to destroy him since the thirty-first of October in 1981. Not accidentally slicing off George Weasley’s ear. Not murdering a great, beloved headmaster. Not staring into Potter’s familiar green eyes as the boy scolded him for standing in the same spot where Albus once had. Not watching Charity Burbage’s life leave her eyes. Not the snapping of bones within Nagini’s venomous maw whilst she fed on the Muggle Studies professor’s body.

None of what occurred during the better part of the last two decades — not even the Dark Lord himself — had been enough to break the potions master. But this, Hermione’s torment, was entirely different.

Severus spent the vast majority of the weekend trying to dissect each encounter he’d ever had with the witch to discern why. Not one logical reason presented itself as a suitable answer.

Hermione’s scream had thrust him back to Godric’s Hollow in a heartbeat, to the moment he had fallen to his knees beside the still, lifeless form of the only person who had ever truly mattered. That same helplessness had opened up inside him like a gaping wound, raw and unrelenting, as though time itself conspired to remind him of every failure. Lily’s body, Hermione’s scream — they blurred in his mind, overlapping until he couldn’t separate one from the other.

His boots had scuffed against the stone as he reached Hermione, though it had felt as though his body were moving through water, sluggish and uncoordinated. The air around her was thick. Her hands trembled violently, her nails scraping uselessly at the floor as though she could claw her way out of the pain.

But her eyes, usually so rich and vibrant in their brilliance, had been the worst blow. Absent were the glimmering flecks of gold he’d never known he’d noticed before. Wide and unfocused, they stared straight ahead, not seeing him or anyone else. The light in them — the spark that even war hadn’t extinguished — was gone. They looked like the eyes of a victim of a Dementor’s Kiss, empty and lost.

Severus’ chest had tightened in a way that was wholly unfamiliar, unwelcome. For one terrifying moment, he had thought she wouldn’t come back: that whatever strength had carried her through so much had finally shattered beyond repair.

He hated how vulnerable it made him feel. This nightmare was much like the crude, unrelenting scar that bled months after it ought to have been fully healed. It was unending.

Just then, Severus clamped his chaotic, wayward mind in the vice that had sustained his sanity at the Dark Lord’s side. The Great Hall faded away, and the sterile quiet of McGonagall’s office reassembled around him. Despite every instinct in his body and his many gifts in Occlumency, the potions professor could not shake the tumultuous hell that had been Friday night. He could feel the memory twisting inside him, gnawing at the walls he’d spent decades constructing.

He shouldn’t care.

He did not care.

But his body betrayed him, the tension in his jaw, the fists at his sides, all screaming the truth until every bone, joint, muscle, and inch of flesh of his body ached and burned and recoiled.

Percy sat there, stiff and composed, as though he hadn’t nearly destroyed her. Oh, the many things Severus could do to this wizard. The older potions master exhaled quietly, involuntarily welcoming in the splendor of that blackish crimson gown she’d worn. Everything about her Friday night had endeared her to him. From the first moment he’d set his sights upon her in the hallway by the stairs, the wizard could do nothing save watch her — his attention properly undivided and unyielding.

Swallowing, Severus fixed his glare at the parchment sitting atop Minerva’s desk. Every trace of that witch in his thoughts ceased in an instant.

Finally,

his mental wards were precisely intact. The anger was cold now. His hands twitched at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as he tried to anchor himself in the present. But the memory tempered underneath his heavy control.

Hermione Granger was not his concern.

Simply, she was Potter’s insufferable friend — an irritatingly brilliant student who sometimes possessed enough sense to, contrary to her knack of quoting others’ philosophies and findings, include personal thought in her essays. Now, she was an apprentice who had earned her place through sheer tenacity. She shouldn’t be anything to him.
She

was nothing

to him. But that scream, that blackish crimson gown, that look in her eyes — it had changed something. Meant something…

Severus cared, and he hated her for that.

The potions master’s hands tightened behind his back, the sharp press of his nails against his palm a grounding sensation. Through every barrier he erected within his mind, he could still see her: crumpled against the wall, the life within her severed, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps as blood oozed from the cursed scar Bellatrix had left on her arm.

Everything. He. Still. Felt. Every. Fucking. Thing. And it had to stop.

Sucking in an erratic breath, he held the air within his chest while he parsed through the events once more. He needed to understand. Understanding was the real solution in finding a way out of all this.

The blood — nor its putrid stench had phased him. Severus had seen more than enough of that in his lifetime. The eyes…yes, it was always the eyes. Wasn’t it?

With Lily, the enchanting emerald of her eyes permitted him into the warmest, most secluded forest — one where only they were welcome. One where Potters, Wormtail, Sirius Black, a wretched werewolf, the Dark Lord, Albus, Death Eaters, and uttering the foulest of words did

not

exist.

The ghost of that crippling stare promised the most lovely of secrets to which he must be privy and the utmost safety to a nine-year-old boy from a broken home. Now, their familiarity offered fleeting comfort of mostly better days and the nightmares that followed. They’d always only ever offered an illusion. Severus had not been so foolish to believe otherwise since his early years at Hogwarts. But that illusion — even the gaze of James’ spawn — was what kept him sane throughout all the madness.

Hermione’s gaze, however, grounded him: firm and steadfast. Earthy and magnetized. Superficially, her stare was rather ordinary. Nothing about them had ever warranted a second thought. But they remarkably remained the only thing holding him frozen where he stood. They tempered the insatiable, vengeful rage within the potions master. They alone shielded Percy Weasley from Severus’ tempered violence. The potions professor had explored the depths…and now acutely knew what they looked like without a trace of life within them.

The past ten or so days had revealed to him a landscape rich and soft — yet solid…like dark soil after a most enduring and brutal storm. The witch’s gaze held a quiet strength that wrapped around him without his permission, rooting him in a strange way entirely foreign to him. His impact within her stare was not so crushing. In her eyes, he found something safe, something real — a place where all discord faded, leaving room to simply breathe.

Voluntary, overwhelming loyalty and understanding where he deserved none.

Those eyes didn’t demand anything of him. They didn’t judge or seek to uncover the secrets he buried so deeply within him. Instead, they offered something for which he had long since starved: a quiet acknowledgment of his existence…fractured and complicated as it was.

Severus hated how much he wanted that solace to be real, how deeply it unsettled the careful, chaotic imbalance he’d maintained for decades. He hated how much he yearned to know what it would be like to be her friend. Hermione had promised him she was a good one. That he so easily believed her…In all his life, he’d had only one. And he alone had ruined everything.

The old wizard could not protect her from himself. He’d proven as much when he’d shocked her into silence early Saturday morning.

Perhaps if Bellatrix focused less on torturing you and more on finishing the job, life would have spared me back in May!

The words echoed from his mind down to his chest with the force of a thousand battering rams impaling him at once. Each one echoed in his mind like the toll of a bell, their edges serrated and cruel, cutting through his carefully constructed walls even more. Physically, he could not endure such a recollection without swallowing. The gesture garnered Lupin’s attention. Thankfully, the observant, bloody werewolf said nothing.

In the continuation of the suffocating quiet, a flash of tangled thoughts unraveled into a single memory at the forefront of his mind: Hermione in his quarters in the middle of the night early Saturday morning, the clump of floo powder falling between the spaces of her hand, and the way her breath trembled, stuttering sharply as though caught in an unbearable indecision.

Severus Snape had no right to hate or blame Percy — not when it was he himself who’d planted the seeds of this torment, nurturing them with every cutting word and calculated cruelty until they had taken root in her pain. Weasley had chased her until she could only run inward. He, however, hadn’t left a single path of escape. He’d held her hostage in shackles that squeezed her body like a strained noose.

Control and mastery of his emotions had always been his greatest asset when it mattered most; however, it seemed Hermione easily frayed the taut discipline upon which he’d come to depend. It had sustained him as essentially as water or food. So when it disappeared, the wizard grew rather ravenous to restore it — at any cost.

In no world was he any better or different than Bellatrix.

He was no friend.

The old wizard still couldn’t erase the image of her face, the way her composure cracked, her eyes glistening with betrayal she hadn’t dared voice. Her breath caught — just a slight hitch — but it had reverberated through him like a thunderstrike. It wasn’t a clean wound. Rather, it festered, leaving him restless and aching…unable to silence the relentless churn of regret that felt too sharp. Too late.

But despite everything, Hermione Granger had stayed. Despite herself, she’d stayed. Severus did not know what to do with the weight of that knowledge, which felt as intolerable as someone stripping him of his skin. The existence of such information felt like a gross betrayal.

Not to himself. But Lily.

Severus’ throat tightened. Lily had severed their friendship — dated and married the man responsible for the wizard’s greatest humiliations. Left behind a child to whom he’d devoted his entire being to protecting from the greatest, darkest forces this world had ever seen. Lily had not stayed — had not given him a chance to explain or apologize in the way she deserved. She’d given him precisely what he’d deserved: nothing.

The potions master turned his back to the room, slamming his eyes shut as the morning’s light trickled in over him from the window, warming his cool, rough skin in an instant. Swallowing, Severus drowned underneath self-induced agony. It was the last of his defenses, but it had always been the most reliable. Never would he allow himself to think ill of her. Never would he allow anyone — including Granger’s imposing presence — to desecrate her memory. A faint hatred barraged his heart, which pounded with renewed vigor.

For two decades, he’d carried the weight of Lily’s absence, the hollow ache of her loss a constant companion. His heart was a hollow tomb for her ghost, a sanctuary he had constructed to preserve her memory and shield it from the corruption of the world. For nearly twenty years, he had walked beside the fragments of the friendship he had destroyed and the woman he had loved, carrying her with him in every thought. Every decision.

Every single fucking sacrifice — including the very death the witch had stolen from him.

Hermione —

Granger

— was an unwelcome disruption, an intrusion into the dark, drafty haven he had built around himself. But the thought of her retreating, of her losing herself because of his cruelty, twisted something deep within him. He straightened, his gaze hardening as he forced the thought aside. He could not afford this…whatever it was. So, the witch would simply remain a fleeting presence in his life.

But she stayed…

The weight of it lingered, an unspoken truth that refused to be ignored. A growing, pathetic part of the old wizard was desperate to accept the gift of Granger’s friendship. But he would subdue it. He would.

Severus exhaled, slow and deliberate. The sound was almost imperceptible in the oppressive silence of the room. He opened his eyes, settling on the window even though he saw nothing beyond the glass. Only Lily’s memory remained, a permanent ghost at his side. Her copper hair and emerald eyes were as vivid as if she stood before him. Within him, she remained alive.

This was enough. It had to be. And yet…Hermione had stayed.

No. Severus would never be Hermione’s friend. Not only was he her professor and she his apprentice, he was quite nearly twice her age. She was a

teenager,

for Merlin’s sake! The mere thought of such a word made him shift his weight from one foot to the other.

All friendships demanded dangerous things like expectations — things he would never again be capable of accommodating. Severus had served two masters already. Now, the wizard was free. He owed no one a single fucking thing. There was not one thing to which he was bound. No…he was rather altogether done with expectations and allegiances born from duty. But even as he resisted, the thought of the witch’s eyes refused to leave him in the only semblance of peace he’d know. They were a fragile sanctuary from which he could not fully abandon.

The mere thought of them stirred something volatile within him. The potions professor’s jaw worked as he forced the memory back. When he was sure he was fully in control again, Severus slowly turned to face the room, his vicious sneer instantly finding Weasley.

Percy would be dealt with, he assured himself. Though no reprimand nor his dismissal would erase what he had done.

What such had cost Hermione.

The anger lingered, a steady burn beneath his ribs. But Severus forced his expression to remain one of impassive calm.

Except the involuntary twitch of his eye — a tic that did not escape Minerva’s notice. Clasping the ends of his overlarge, black teaching robes, Severus buried himself within them.

The door creaked, its familiar groan cutting through the silence like a blade. The professor turned his head: the motion sharp and expectant. For the moment, he allowed his gaze to follow the sound. Granger entered, her stride deliberate though faintly hesitant. The black robes of her school uniform swayed slightly around her legs as she walked like a pendulum. The threads of the Gryffindor crest caught the light with each step.

Draco Malfoy followed in a few paces behind her. The boy drowned beneath his Slytherin robes. His expression was carefully neutral, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed the full weight of the unease he shouldered.

Beyond the initial inspection, Severus barely spared the boy a glance, his attention drawn to Hermione despite himself. The witch’s presence commanded his gaze, though he would have denied such an inconvenient truth if asked. The energy of the room altered upon her entrance, her resolve a quiet but steady current that only punctuated the office’s tension. She paused near Minerva’s desk, her hands clasped in front of her and fingers fidgeting with the impeccably pressed edges of her robe.

It was impossible not to notice the dark, bluish shadows beneath her eyes, the way they seemed to dull the fire that usually burned there.

Was she out of her supply of Potion for Dreamless Sleep?

Thick curls, loose and untamed, framed her face, softening the angles of her sharp jaw and subtly high cheekbones. She was pale, more so than usual, though the flush of exertion lingered faintly at her neck.

This was the image of a young witch who carried a rather dangerous horcrux? This woman helped a foul man lost to the past reclaim his memories? This student was who had suggested they be friends?

Severus’ black gaze lingered, tracing the curve of her shoulders as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. He could see the faint tension in her posture, the way she held herself as though every muscle was taut. Ready to snap. It was almost imperceptible, but he saw it. He even heard the slight catch of her breath when her gaze met his.

The moment McGonagall’s eyes flicked toward Draco, Severus caught the faint crease of her brow, a telltale sign of her displeasure — or confusion, at the very least. Her head tilted slightly, a subtle movement that betrayed the question forming in her mind. It was rare to see the headmistress visibly thrown off balance, and Severus noted the shift with quiet amusement. He had long since trained himself to read such signs, the minuscule cracks in carefully maintained facades. Minerva’s was no exception.

Draco stood awkwardly near Hermione, his stance stiff, as though every muscle in his body braced for an attack. The tension rolled off him like a tangible force, pooling in the air. Severus allowed his gaze to settle on the boy for a brief moment, tracing the rigidity in his shoulders and the nervous twitch of his hands at his sides. It was clear Draco felt out of place, and Severus surmised this discomfort had less to do with being summoned to the meeting and more to do with the company.

Hermione’s calm voice cut through the silence, steady and controlled. “I invited him here.” Her words were simple, but the unwavering determination in her tone left no room for argument. She did not look at Draco as she spoke, her focus fixed entirely on McGonagall, meeting her questioning gaze head-on. There was a quiet strength in her posture, a confidence that had been absent in the years before the war but had grown in the crucible of battle and sacrifice.

Severus leaned back slightly, allowing the cool stone wall to press against his shoulder blades. His arms crossed over his chest, and the folds of his robes shifted around him like a shadowy cascade. His expression remained unreadable, but he observed the interplay with an analytical eye. Minerva’s reluctant nod, slow and deliberate, was all the confirmation Hermione needed to press forward to the reason they gathered in this office.

The headmistress straightened in her chair, her hands folding neatly atop the parchment before her. “Assuming Miss Granger filled Mr. Malfoy in, we all know why we’re here. I see no reason to delay the matter at hand, so we will proceed. Percy Weasley’s behavior on Friday was unacceptable,” she began, her voice crisp and measured. The words carried the weight of authority, each one dropping like a stone into the tense silence of the room. “Henceforth, he is relieved of his teaching duties here at Hogwarts. However, we’ve gathered today to discuss whether charges shall be pressed or not.”

Percy’s discomfort was evident in the way his fingers fidgeted against the armrests of his chair, the sharp movements betraying the nervous energy he fought to suppress. His carefully constructed composure, meant to present him as dignified and contrite, was failing under the weight of scrutiny. Sweat beaded at his temple, and though he sat rigidly upright, there was no hiding the subtle tremor in his jaw.

McGonagall’s attention turned to Hermione, her gaze softening slightly. “Miss Granger, how do you wish to proceed?” she asked, her tone shifting to one of measured inquiry.

Hermione squared her shoulders, the faintest hint of a breath steadying her before she spoke. “Headmistress McGonagall,” she began, her voice even and deliberate. “Originally, all I wanted was to know that Percy would face the appropriate consequences — for him to be removed from his teaching position immediately. However, I’ve taken the weekend to construct an additional request. Well, two.”

The silence that followed her words was broken only by the faint shuffle of fabric as Draco leaned toward her, his movements quick and agitated. “What are you doing?” he hissed, his voice barely audible but laced with incredulity.

Hermione tilted her head toward him, her tone quiet but firm. “Just go with it,” she muttered under her breath, her lips barely moving.

“Go with what?” Draco snapped back, his frustration evident in the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Don’t misunderstand me. It’s always a pleasure to see a Weaselby getting their comeuppance. But I don’t know why I’m even here.”

Her reply was measured but sharp. “Well, you said not to involve Harry.”

Draco’s glare deepened, his voice rising slightly despite his effort to keep it controlled. “You dragged me here for that? You said you had a plan!”

“No, I told you I had an idea yesterday,” she shot back, her words clipped and precise.

“An idea isn’t a plan,” he retorted, his tone tinged with anger as he leaned away from her, his jaw tightening.

The tension between the two was palpable, their whispered exchange like the crackle of fire in a quiet room. Severus allowed the faintest sigh to escape his lips, a subtle signal of his growing impatience. He pushed away from the wall, the heavy folds of his robes sweeping around him as he straightened.

“If the two of you are quite finished,” he said, his voice low and edged with disdain, “some of us have responsibilities beyond indulging your theatrics. I have a first-year Potions class to prepare for, and I’d prefer not to waste my time.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them like a heavy cloak. Draco’s jaw worked as though he wanted to respond, but he held his tongue. Hermione’s gaze flicked to Severus briefly, a flicker of acknowledgment in her expression before she turned her attention back to McGonagall.

The headmistress’s sigh broke the quiet, a soft but pointed exhalation as she clapped her hands lightly to reclaim the room’s focus. Her gaze settled on Percy, her expression sharp and unyielding. “Let us return to the matter at hand,” she said firmly.

Percy bristled at her words, his fists tightening against the armrests of his chair. “This is absurd,” he muttered, his voice low but laced with defiance. “I made a mistake, but you’re blowing this out of proportion, Granger.”

The corners of Severus’s mouth twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk threatening to surface. Hermione did not flinch at Percy’s words. She stood her ground, her posture unwavering. Her expression overflowed with a quiet darkness, which he speculated was a symptom of the war.

“That will be quite enough, Percy,” McGonagall cut in sharply, her tone brooking no argument. “Your conduct has left us with no choice but to relieve you of your duties, effective immediately.”

The finality of her statement hung in the air, silencing Percy despite the flush of anger that colored his face. He looked as though he wanted to argue, but no words came.

Hermione stepped forward slightly, her movements deliberate as she prepared to speak again. There was a quiet determination in her demeanor, a sense of purpose that drew Severus’s attention despite himself. He watched her closely, his analytical mind noting every nuance of her expression, every subtle shift in her posture. Whatever she intended to say next, it was clear she was prepared to fight for it.

“First, I’d like Mrs. Malfoy’s house arrest transferred from Malfoy Manor to Hogwarts for the duration of the school year,” Hermione said. She stood tall, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, though her grip betrayed the tension she tried to mask. “It would allow Draco to focus on his studies and provide a secure environment for her rehabilitation.”

Minerva’s brows pinched together, a flicker of doubt flashing in her eyes. “Miss Granger,” she began slowly, her tone cautious, “that is...an impossible request. I cannot see the Ministry approving such an arrangement. Beyond that, I’m not sure Hogwarts is equipped to enforce house arrest conditions.”

“If the Wizengamot refuses, I’ll request a formal hearing.” Hermione spoke with resolute calm, but the faint quaver at the end of her sentence hinted at the weight she carried. “Given their current backlog of trials, I believe they’d prefer to avoid unnecessary delays for more important cases. I will personally ensure Mrs. Malfoy abides to the terms of her sentence.”

Severus studied the room as she spoke, noting the reactions around him like pieces on a chessboard. Percy sat rigid, his lips pressing into a thin line as his knuckles tightened over the arms of his chair. Draco’s pale eyes darted between Hermione and the headmistress with a mixture of disbelief and reluctant hope. Severus allowed the faintest smirk to ghost across his lips. Trust Hermione Granger to endeavor to champion that which should not concern her.

“Miss Granger, while I admire your conviction,” McGonagall said, folding her hands atop her desk, “I am quite certain that neither the Wizengamot nor the Minister would approve such a request. This matter involves far more than just the security of this school.”

“Mrs. Malfoy saved Harry’s life,” Hermione countered, her voice sharpening. “If that isn’t reason enough to give her a chance, then what is?”

The mention of Potter’s name sent a flicker of irritation through Severus, but it was Percy’s sudden movement that drew his full attention. Weasley shot to his feet, the chair legs scraping loudly against the stone floor. His face flushed crimson, and his voice shook with indignation. “You can’t be serious, Hermione!”

The witch fixed a cruel glare upon Weasley. “But I am.”

Instantly, Percy found strength as he met Minerva’s eyes. “You’re not going to entertain this absurd demand — from a child, no less?”

Hermione pointed at herself and chuckled. As Minerva parted her lips to speak, the witch narrowed her eyes and stepped closer to Weasley. “A child? Me? Percy, you’re one to talk of—”

The headmistress sighed. “Perhaps we ought to—”

“A child, Hermione! Anyone who’d consider letting

more

Death Eaters live at Hogwarts is nothing but.” The words seemed to echo in the room, bouncing off the stone walls like cannon fire.

Hermione didn’t flinch. Rather, she stepped once more toward him, forcing the back of his thighs to impact the front of Minerva’s desk. Her gaze fixed on Percy with an unwavering intensity, and her tone remained cool, almost detached. “Narcissa Malfoy is no longer a Death Eater. She deserves a chance to prove that.”

“Deserves?” Percy’s laugh came sharp and hollow, laced with contempt. He stepped closer to Hermione, his movements erratic, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Deserves,” she confirmed. The witch searched his eyes, the difference in their statures not impeding on the threat underscored in her tense posture. “Yes.”

“You think you can dictate terms to the Ministry just because you’re Harry Potter’s friend? This isn’t about what you think is fair, Granger! Justice is not yours to impose.”

Hermione laughed. “Fair?

Fair,

Percy?” she seethed. Each of her fingers twitched as if she fought against the urge to withdraw her wand. “You’ve thrown out exclusively Slytherin students from your classroom for preposterous, vulgar reasons.”

Percy smiled, seemingly believing himself to have the advantage in their aside. “What a story. And when, pray tell, have I to cast out my students?”

Hermione glared up at Weasley, crossing her arms and swallowing. “Ellis Greaves,” the witch said.

Percy stiffened, his mouth hanging open. Eventually, he retorted, “What of him?”

“Last week, you dismissed him for failing to transfigure a match into a needle.”

Percy swallowed, saying, “What your

beloved

Slytherin friends tell you are lies!”

“Tell me? Percy, either you’ve just complimented me for producing a perfectly indiscernible Disillusionment charm, or you’re woefully dreadful at detecting them altogether.”

“I’ve been watching him for the last few days.”

Granger had said that in his class just last week. Irritation had clouded him then, so he had not thought to ask how she’d known about Mr. Greaves. Now, it all made sense.

“What?!”

“I was there! In your class. I saw it all for myself. I’ll extract the memory to corroborate my claim if I have to!”

Minerva grabbed Weasley’s arm. “This is true?” The oaf opened and shut his mouth like a codfish for a full minute as he attempted to gather his wits. The headmistress regarded Hermione, though the fury was not meant for her prized pupil. “You didn’t think to immediately inform me of this? Why?”

The confidence strengthening Hermione’s eyes quelled a bit. Pinching her brows together, she played with the ends of her hair, an act that anchored Severus’ black gaze to her index finger as she twisted it within the tight kink.

Had she always done that, or was it entirely new? Granger had done it several times, but never had it ever distracted him as it did now.

Why did such an innocent action hold hostage his undivided attention?

Shaking his head, Severus glanced around the room, pleased to account for everyone’s attention presently glued to Minerva, Percy, and the witch in question. A quiet, delicate chuckle tickled the sharp silence. Fuck.

Draco.

The boy stared right at the potions professor. Minerva switched her focus to Malfoy. “Mr. Malfoy, I should hope you are not laughing at the prospect of your own housemates not properly learning an essential subject?”

“Of course not, professor.” The reply came quickly. Smooth. For a moment, the old Draco Malfoy was in the room with them. “It’s only the matter of the back of Hermione’s head. I’ve never seen so much frizz. It’s like a Fwooper’s feathers after a screaming match!”

Whether she did so because she knew Severus would not, Minerva said, “Five points from Slytherin! There’s hardly a need to be cruel, my boy.”

The eighth-year Slytherin slid his pale eyes back to the professor. Severus narrowed his glare — a warning he knew the boy would never heed. A knowing smirk lifted the corner of Draco’s mouth. Instantly, the wizard knew what it was he would say would not be pleasant.

“Never mind that, headmistress!” Hermione declared. “I didn’t say anything because—”

“You know, Granger’s hair is a lot like Professor Snape’s: most unfortunate. The two of you have quite a bit in common, don’t you?”

This declaration caught the interest of both Lupin and Tonks, who each fixed their focus on the potions master. Severus rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Mr. Malfoy—”

“Detention, I know,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “But it was well worth it…”

Hermione looked over her shoulder at the boy, her glare so intense that the professor thought it could melt ice. “Do you

want

my help or not?”

Malfoy shook his head, instantly sobering. He returned her glare, grimacing. “Far be it from you to back out of a promise, Granger.”

“You make it so tempting, Malfoy.”

Minerva sighed, returning her attention to Percy. “Mr. Weasley, so long as I am headmistress at this school, you shall never again teach at Hogwarts,” she declared. She shook her head, her disapproval and disappointment obvious. A punctuated wrath fueled the noticeable hatred Weasley anchored on Hermione. “More than that, I will inform the Minister that, until further notice, Hogwarts is to remain independent from the Ministry’s influence. Minister Shacklebolt

will

know of your serious infractions here.”

It was like her words were the final round of nails piercing into the proverbial coffin. Seemingly feeling he had nothing left to lose, the redheaded wizard glared at Hermione. When Weasley took another step closer to the witch, Lupin and Tonks both made to move toward her. However, Severus was faster, more intent and dangerous. The old wizard moved before thought could intervene, the hilt of his wand slipping into his hand with practiced ease. The cold weight of it steadied him, and his voice sliced through Percy’s tirade with lethal precision.

“Step back, Weasley,” he warned. Pausing only for a single breath, he added, “Now.”

The room froze. Percy’s head whipped toward Severus, the anger in his eyes briefly dimmed by fear. Severus didn’t lower his wand, his dark eyes locking onto Percy’s with a predatory stillness. Everyone — Hermione included — stared at the old wizard, but the need to ensure Hermione’s safety overwhelmed the weight of such unwanted attention. “If you value your remaining shred of dignity, I suggest you find your place and keep it.”

McGonagall rose to her feet, her sharp intake of breath the only sound in the room. “Enough!” she barked, her voice ringing with authority. “Percy, your presence is no longer needed. Please leave the school at once.”

For a moment, Percy looked as though he might argue. His lips parted, but the words died on his tongue as he met Minerva’s unyielding glare. With a final, venomous glance at Hermione, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room, the heavy oak door slamming shut behind him.

A tense silence followed in his wake.

Hermione stood rooted in place, her expression unreadable save for the faintest flicker of relief in her eyes. Severus lowered his wand with a slow, deliberate movement, sliding it back into his robes as he returned to his place by the window.

Minerva placed a hand at her temple, rubbing her fingers in tight circles as she sighed. Again. “There

is

such a thing as too much for a single morning…”

“Headmistress?”

“Yes, my dear?”

Hermione rubbed the fabric concealing her foul scar at her arm. “Was it not you who implored upon us students to embrace inter-house cooperation at the start of term?”

Minerva narrowed her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “Narcissa Malfoy has not matriculated at Hogwarts for decades, Miss Granger.”

“Still, she

was

a Slytherin,” the witch replied, though her voice sounded smaller than it ought to have. She lifted her chin and cleared her throat like the act of defiance would sway the headmistress in any meaningful way.

“Miss Granger,” Minerva started. She paused only long enough to expunge the breath from her chest. Honestly, she sounded rather exhausted. Severus could relate. “Mrs. Malfoy has already been granted a rather relaxed sentence in exchange for her crucial intervention in the war.”

Hermione closed the distance between her and Minerva’s desk, leaning down and planting both palms on the hard surface. “Narcissa is the most vulnerable when Bellatrix chooses to intervene.”

“Bellatrix is not—”

Straightening her spine, the witch groaned and fluffed her loose hair with both hands. “We’re going to skip the part where you say Bellatrix isn’t a threat I should concern myself with.”

Minerva drew her head back. “We are?”

“I survived

seven

bloody years beside Harry and Ron with You Know Who as a threat. I spent no less than twenty-three days petrified in my second year for the terrible crime of being born — until Professor Snape brewed the Mandrake Restorative Draught. I believe it was only my third year where I was spared much of the doom looming over us all — and even then, we had a mass murderer at large about the castle in the form of a rat!”

“If you have a point, Hermione, I suggest you make it clearer for us,” Tonks suggested delicately.

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. “My

point

is that I’m now an adult. I appreciate that I am still a student, but I will not pretend my studies are the

most

important thing in the world. Not when I can

help

her and help Draco, headmistress. Not when Bellatrix Lestrange still draws breath and organizes while we force ourselves to ease back into a world without You Know Who.”

Minerva stopped only when she was beside Hermione. Cupping the witch’s shoulder, the headmistress extended to her a most saddened smile. “Hermione, you

are

a student. Bellatrix Lestrange, while presently at large, remains at the forefront of the Auror’s attention. The Ministry has not forgotten about her. Besides,

you

helped restore Hogwarts. You know just how safe this school remains. While I can certainly understand your…reluctance to have faith in the Ministry, Miss Granger, I must remind you that one single person cannot possibly right every injustice the war leaves behind.”

“Respectfully, Minerva,” Hermione countered, narrowing her eyes at the headmistress. McGonagall so quickly cataloged the witch as a child. Simply a student to protect. The use of her name was no mere slip of the tongue. Quickly, the witch swallowed and sighed. “There is much I can do whilst maintaining my marks here at Hogwarts. Perhaps, earning straight ‘O’s’ in my seven chosen subjects is no longer feasible. But that’s quite an easy price to pay to ensure Narcissa’s safety.”

That Hermione would sacrifice her marks to aid Draco’s mother hardly surprised Severus. However, the headmistress regarded the witch like she’d sprouted four different heads.

“Consider something?” Hermione said, obviously wishing to break their shared, extended silence.

Minerva lowered her hand from Hermione’s shoulder and nodded. “Go on…”

“Tom Riddle discovered the exact secrets and method of creating the seven intentional horcruxes. That means that such information exists in a book in a location no one knows about. Perhaps he destroyed it, and we’ve nothing to worry about. But what other dark magic shares a similar fate, headmistress? Hiding in plain sight — awaiting its next mistress. I have no connection with her, but she isn’t the sort of witch to simply give up You Know Who’s legacy — not without first exhausting every option before dying for it.”

Severus stepped forward. “You believe she searches for something.” Not a question. A statement.

When the witch fixed her earthy gaze upon him, the skin at the back of his neck tightened. He swallowed in response. The professor crossed his arms, quickly shifting his stare over to Lupin and Tonks before settling his undivided attention back on Hermione. She did not know of what lengths Severus would take in order to protect her. He was a part of this endless madness. She was not alone. It was the least he would do — for she’d freely given him his memories. And he’d, unknowingly, cursed her with a foul book. A horcrux, no less. When he’d gathered such a book in his personal collection he could not recall. Surely, he’d have noticed its grotesque, lustful signature.

Dark magic always had a frequency to which he had seemed naturally attuned.

A transactional exchange was better than friendship ever could be between them. It made it far easier for him to stomach this…connection. Such an arrangement had been the foundation of his association with and loyalty to Albus — because of Lily. This would help him to keep her far enough away from impacting him further. The potions master could not cross any proverbial door’s threshold when it came to Hermione Granger. However, he

would

peer through a window.

The witch needed help, and the professor had help to offer. It would be a most seamless commutation, indeed.

Hermione frowned at him. “I don’t simply believe, sir. I know!”

The word ‘sir’ only encouraged Severus’ natural scowl to darken as he watched her. “Do you?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” The witch held his gaze in silence — a silence that extended for far too long. Hermione expressed so much without speaking; however, he found he could not fully interpret what she meant to convey.

It was Lupin who cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should pick this back up when we’re in the proper company.”

Draco rolled his eyes and shifted the weight from one foot to the other, inspecting his nails as if everyone in this room was beneath him. Typical. “Just ask me to leave, werewolf.”

Hermione whirled around to the boy, shoving at his shoulder and saying, “Will you shut up!” Grumbling something unintelligible under her breath, she continued, “Don’t be so foul, Malfoy. He’s still your professor…”

Tonks rubbed her husband’s arm. “Remus is right, Hermione. Draco shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, he is! And he’s going to stay.”

“Do you know how bossy you are, Granger?”

“Malfoy, I will hex you if you do not keep quiet!”

Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose after removing her glasses. Eventually, she shook her head and focused on Hermione again. “Miss Granger, whether he should stay is not up to you. He is not an Order member.”

“But this isn’t an Order meeting! Merlin, have we strayed far from our original topic?”

Lupin moved close to the witch, pinching his brows together as he stared down at her, searching her eyes with intent focus. “Are you saying you implicitly trust Draco, Hermione?”

“Of course not, Remus. But we’re speaking of his mother. I will not keep him in the dark about this. I would rather wish to entirely avoid a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding, Miss Granger?” Minerva asked. “What misunderstanding would that be?”

“We formed Dumbledore’s Army because the headmaster cut himself off from Harry. The Ministry defiantly renounced all possibility that You Know Who was really back. Umbridge was an awful D.A.D.A. professor. The Order was so far removed from us that year, so we took action into our own hands when Harry believed Sirius to be in danger. He didn’t have to die, but he did!”

Minerva narrowed her eyes, studying her favorite student for a bit before asking, “Hermione, is there something you know about that requires such…action now?”

“No,” Hermione lied. Nothing on her face betrayed it. “All I’m saying is that we should work together — include Draco in

this

matter.”

“If I may, Minerva?” Severus said, his black stare shifting to the headmistress.

McGonagall rolled her eyes, leaning until she sat at the edge of her desk. Gesturing to the room, she said, “Please.”

The professor slipped his imperceptible gaze back to Hermione. “Normally, I would be the first to denounce the foolish ideas of a Gryffindor,” he began, holding his palm to Granger when a protest formed on her tongue. “However, I am inclined to agree with Miss Granger’s reasoning on this particular matter.”

McGonagall exhaled sharply, her hands bracing against the edge of her desk. “Miss Granger,” she said, her tone softening but retaining its edge of authority, “I will relay your proposal to Minister Shacklebolt. He’ll speak with the Wizengamot on your behalf. I cannot allow you to ignore your duties here as a student and as Professor Snape’s apprentice. However, I must stress that this is far from guaranteed.”

Hermione nodded, her hands unclasping as she placed them flat against the desk. “I understand, professor. Thank you.” Before the headmistress could respond, Hermione continued, her voice steady but quieter. “As I mentioned earlier, I have a second request,” she said, hesitating while she set her gaze upon Lupin.

The headmistress glanced at him, too. Rubbing the back of her neck, she shook her head. “Which is?”

“To instate Professor Lupin as Head of Gryffindor House.”

Lupin, who had been silent in the corner, straightened abruptly. “Hermione,” he began, shaking his head, “there’s no need—”

McGonagall held up a hand, silencing him with a pointed look. “Consider it done,” she said briskly. “Professor Lupin will assume the role immediately.” Lupin opened his mouth to protest, but McGonagall cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “I will hear nothing of it, Remus. You are more than capable, and, frankly, I trust no one else to fill the role…the Ministry be damned.” After a beat, Minerva regarded Granger again. “Is that everything, dear?”

“Yes, headmistress.”

Severus watched the exchange with mild amusement, noting the faint flush of embarrassment that crept up Lupin’s neck. An easy smile tugged at Tonks’ lips as she perched on the armrest of his chair, nudging him playfully with her elbow. When Hermione glanced over at the oddly-suited couple, Tonks winked, silently mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ to the witch.

McGonagall turned her attention back to the room, her voice resuming its businesslike cadence. “With Percy’s dismissal, Tonks has agreed to take over teaching Transfiguration for the younger years. Arthur Weasley will replace her as the Muggle Studies professor. From what I hear, he is most happy to assume the post. Molly will join him to help watch over baby Teddy while Professor Tonks adjusts to her new responsibilities.”

Hermione stepped forward, looking between Tonks and Minerva. “What?” she asked, her voice more shrill than Severus preferred.

Tonks crossed her arms and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “What what?”

“Do you know how hard it is already to steal Teddy from you?” Hermione grimaced, adjusting her posture and shoving her hair behind her shoulder. “I’ll have to scheme against Molly, too?”

“He’s my son, Hermione,” Tonks fought. The young professor extended her hand and rested it atop Granger’s head before shaking it a bit. Hermione ducked, but it was too late. Her hair was a proper mess of tangles.

“If that is quite all, please remove yourselves from my office — lest we wrangle to death another divisive subject.”

“Aren’t you excited to see Molly, Hermione?” Lupin asked quietly.

The witch scoffed. “Have you

met

Molly Weasley? I’ll never again hold baby Teddy thanks to her!”

“You can still admire him from afar,” the Metamorphmagus teased, clutching her husband’s wrist and dragging him closer to the office’s door. “Come on, Mr. Head of Gryffindor House.”

“Dora…” Professor Lupin started, though his words died as they descended the staircase.

Severus sighed, rolling his eyes as he regarded both Hermione and Draco. “Off to class, the both of you.”

Neither of his potions apprentices moved at first. Granger glanced up at him like she had something to say, but the opportunity was quickly lost. Draco approached Hermione, his steps hesitant but purposeful. He stopped just short of her, his voice low and uncertain. He motioned toward the door, waiting for her to make the first move. When she did so, Malfoy waited until they were closer to the stairs before he spoke again.

“Thank you, by the way,” he murmured.

Hermione offered him a small, reassuring smile. Severus’ chest tightened until he had to physically exhale the tension away. “I won’t give up, Draco. I’m prepared to be as persistent about this as possible. She’ll be here — one way or another.”

“Annoying more like…” Draco retorted, shoving both hands in his trouser pockets.

“Well, it’s certainly to your benefit!”

“For once.”

Severus felt a flicker of something unfamiliar as he watched the exchange — something he was content with leaving unnamed. Draco’s gratitude was clumsy but sincere, and Hermione’s response carried a quiet strength that reminded him of why she had so often defied his expectations these days.

As the door closed behind the last of the group, Severus allowed himself a rare moment of solitude. “Gryffindors and their insufferable idealism,” he muttered, the words laced with disdain. Yet, a ghost of admiration lingered in his tone.

“Severus?” the headmistress called, now sitting back in her seat.

“Yes, Minerva?”

Her eyes flashed to his in an instant. Swallowing, she narrowed one eye and sighed. “Do you know something I should?”

“Regarding?”

“Miss Granger, of course.”

“I do not.” The lie came easy, and he knew she would not discern truth from deceit in his features.

“Whether that is true remains to be seen,” she replied. Reaching for her quill, Minerva sighed. “Before your first class of the day, please pay Albus a visit. I’d very much like to know whether he is as Harry left him back in May.”

“The wand?”

Rolling her eyes, the headmistress shook her head and tightened her hand into a fist atop her desk. “It would be rather comforting to know whether we can lay to rest if Miss Granger’s theory is correct or not. Do you not agree?”

“And when I find it is there?”

Minerva glanced at him, surveying him quickly before returning her attention to whatever business rested on her desk. “Reseal the grave,” she answered, eventually adding, “And bring me both pieces. The Elder Wand is infinitely safer here in my office — inside Hogwarts — than it is where it

should

presently reside.”

Severus lifted both hands in question and shrugged. “And what of my first years? Am I to cancel class because of one Gryffindor girl’s…hunch?”

“Apparate, Severus. That you can is strictly off the record. I’d so like it if you would make use of what little freedoms you still have.” Minerva chuckled — not at all softly. “And Hermione Granger is less as much a girl than I am. You know that, too.”

The potions master straightened where he stood. “Minerva, what, precisely, is

that

supposed to mean?”

The headmistress leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving his. After a few more blinks, she said, “It means, Severus, that you must be careful where it concerns Miss Granger.”

Severus furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes. “Well, I won’t hurt her.”

“It is not Hermione for whom I worry.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Monday, September 21, 1998

. . .
Hermione
. . .
The clatter of utensils and the hum of voices created a low, restless buzz in the Great Hall. Even still, Hermione Granger’s section of the Gryffindor table felt impossibly quiet. Fractured. Clusters of younger students leaned in toward one another, talking in muted tones punctuated by quick, suspicious glances in the witch’s direction. The weight of those stares — and even a small collection of rather intense glares — settled between her shoulder blades, prickling like an itch she couldn’t quite reach.Neville sat across from her, focused on his lunch. His knife and fork moved with deliberate precision as he scanned the pages of their Herbology textbook. Beside the witch, Ginny pushed a piece of bread around her plate with her index finger, her sharp eyes darting to the groups whispering nearby. The copper-haired girl sighed for what had to have been the fiftieth time in under five minutes.Hermione’s eye twitched as she flattened her mouth and rolled them inward between her teeth. Every reply presently swirling around in her head was rather rude. Though they no longer remembered her, her parents had always insisted that it was better to say nothing — especially when what she wanted to say was entirely unhelpful or unproductive. Heeding their wisdom, albeit cliche, inflicted a most welcome sense of ease upon her soul: one she hadn’t quite felt in years. This connection with them, although infinitesimal, warmed her heart and body in a way no fire in winter ever could.“She got Professor Weasley fired!” a younger Gryffindor student whispered. “And just when he gave our house extra time in the Quidditch pitch!”“Snape’s been at our throats for years! It was only right that Slytherins got a taste of their own medicine…” someone to Hermione’s right muttered.It was finally the witch’s turn to sigh.
Ginny drummed her fingers on the hard wood of the table, snatching Hermione’s attention. The girl shook her head and offered her an apologetic smile. “Don’t pay them any mind, Hermione.”“It’s bad enough that Dean and Seamus say I shouldn’t be allowed in Dumbledore’s Army!” Hermione fought, trying with every effort to keep her voice low. The witch glanced down at the table and fidgeted with the ends of her abysmally wild curls. “I thought it was mostly Lavender and Parvati…”Neville glanced up at the two of them. He closed his textbook and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ll always have a place in D.A., Hermione.”“I’d prefer it if that place was amongst friends,” the witch countered, her frown pulling her tired eyes down.Ginny smoothed her hair with her hand and shoved her mouth to one side. “Well, if that’s the case, then you know what must be done.”Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m Professor Snape’s apprentice and Malfoy’s Potions partner. Even if I wished to, I can’t put much space between me and them now.”Neville bit his lip before replying. “While that’s true, you didn’t exactly have to advocate for Mrs. Malfoy’s transfer to Hogwarts.”“No, I didn’t.”Ginny narrowed her eyes. “So why did you?”Hermione folded her arms atop the table before her and shook her head. After taking a few seconds to put together a lengthier reply, the witch simply opted for the truth, which she could summarize in two words. “Bellatrix Lestrange,” she whispered.“Harry said—”“I know what Harry says, but I’m worried about what the Ministry does not say, Ginny.”“I won’t pretend I trust the Ministry any more than the next bloke,” Neville said, sighing and peeking over his shoulder before continuing, “but you’ve got to put this to rest. Shacklebolt leads the Ministry now. He’s one of the Order’s heads. That counts for something, right?”Hermione leaned in closer to her friends. “Of course, it does! I’m only saying—”“Hermione,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes when the witch glared at her. “Neville’s right.”“Perhaps, but—”“I have absolute faith in Harry. He tells me nothing that should warrant even half the amount of concern you carry.”Of course, Hermione knew of what did warrant the level of her justified concern. However, only Professor Snape knew of the book — the mysterious horcrux that basilisk venom could not destroy. Something was happening. And it all revolved around those bloody memories. That the book was there with them couldn’t have been mere circumstance. Someone else was made to possess his memories right now — hold the very book she could not decode or destroy.Swallowing, Hermione parted her lips, readying her reply. However, Ginny pointed her finger at the witch, saying, “It’s borderline paranoia, Hermione.”Hermione scoffed, drawing her head back as a dark chuckle tickled the back of her throat. “Do you realize how much you sometimes sound like Ronald?”Ginny grimaced. “You take that back! Right this second.”Hermione tilted her head and shook it for good measure. “I don’t think I will.”Neville sighed, scratching the side of his head as he glanced between his two friends. “Let’s talk of something else, yeah?”The witch narrowed her eyes and fixed her full attention on the boy sitting opposite of her. Folding her arms on the tabletop before her petite chest, Hermione smirked. “Well, I’d love to know more about what exactly happened between you and Luna this summer, Neville.”Ginny’s eyes widened, the playful hostility fully evaporated. A knowing grin spread her full lips. “Oh, I like this topic!”Neville stiffened, his eyes immediately dropping to the mostly empty goblet of pumpkin juice. Clearing his throat, the boy glanced all around them — obviously avoiding their incessant attention. The eighth-year boy cleared his throat and reached for the edge of his sleeve, absently turning and fumbling the fabric between his fingertips. The more time passed, the more clearly the witch saw him shrink into himself.In an instant, Hermione regretted bringing up the subject at all. The mischief in her features went taut until the muscles stung from the deepening frown anchoring both sides of her mouth.“Forget I said—”“No!” Ginny squealed. Reaching her hand across the table, the ginger-haired girl clasped the sleeve of Neville’s dark robe. “Please indulge us — just this once! You have no idea how nice it feels to not be at the receiving end of such questions…”Hermione sighed, frowning as she caught Neville’s sad, slightly unsettled gaze. Despite the obvious discomfort there, the pale green hue of his rather vacant stare held nothing but the familiar notes of gentleness the witch had come to expect over the years. Something troubled him, and she’d been the one who’d forced him to relive it. He so obviously preferred not sparing any thought upon whatever had happened.“I’m sorry, Neville. I—”Ginny froze, the laughter in her throat dying at once. The younger witch observed their mutual friend for a moment longer. Straightening where she sat, the girl shook her head. “Forgive me, Neville. We won’t speak of it anymore.”Swallowing, Neville glanced between the two of them, leaning in so that no one else nearby would hear him speak. “I-It’s fine. I, uh…Well, the short of it is that…I…did something that hurt Luna. Of course, she wanted to work it out, but she deserves more than a prat who would hurt her like I did. And don’t let her tell you otherwise. It’s my fault we’re not together. Let’s just leave it at that, all right?”Ginny pinched her brows together and took his hand in hers. “You’re not a prat, Neville…”“You know we’re here if you ever wish to speak more about it,” Hermione declared.“T-Thanks,” he muttered, hooking a finger at his tie and tugging it loose. “Can we speak of something else?”Ginny’s smile was slow. Nonetheless, it was rather infectious. The girl stared squarely at Hermione, saying, “Harry tells me you plan on moving in with us at Grimmauld Place once school lets out next summer!”Hermione nodded, her own smile widening the longer Ginny spoke. “That’s the plan — though I’m not sure it’s best given that you and Harry don’t know the meaning of the word ‘quiet’ and that Ron will also likely stay there…”Ginny shoved her pointed finger in the witch’s face. “You try having a famous boyfriend on the run for nine months only to have to return to school for another year…”Hermione glanced at Neville, grimacing as she said, “You should have heard them this summer! It was positively awful.”“At least I’m not a pervert!”“Hermione?” Neville asked, scrunching his face even as his soft eyes danced with obvious curiosity. “A pervert? Now this is a story I want to hear!”The witch rolled her eyes and sighed. “There’s not much to tell other than that both Harry and Ginny know nothing of the concept of locking a door. Muffliato? Of course! But Colloportus? Their Charms textbooks suspiciously missed that spell.”Ginny quietly giggled, covering her mouth with her palm. “Oh, her face when she walked in and saw me and Harry starkers. Thank Merlin Ron wasn’t home!”“I could have lived my whole life not seeing Harry naked.”With a quick head shake, the younger witch nudged Hermione’s side. “Oh, come off it! You have to admit that Quidditch looks good on him.”Hermione scoffed, tucking some hair over the curve of her ear. “Ginny, would you say that about Ronald?”Ginny scrunched her face and glared at the witch. “Thank you for that…”“Harry is…well, he’s my brother.”“Point taken. Shut up already.”Neville’s mouth ticked up, though only slightly. “I’ll be glad I was not there, then.”Ginny rolled her eyes and smoothed out her hair. Once again, she regarded Neville. “I know Harry asked you to stay with us next summer, too.”Hermione chuckled, the sound delicate and ticklish in her throat. “At this rate, we’ll have to fashion the den to match the likes of the Gryffindor common room…”Ginny snapped her fingers and waved her hand between them. “There’s an idea! I’ll have to write to Harry later.”The witch rolled her eyes. “Ginny, please. I was only joking.”“But it’s a brilliant idea!”Hermione tilted her head, considering it for a moment before speaking further. “I suppose anything is better than the current furnishings…”Ginny shook her head, regarding Neville once more. “Apologies, I just get so excited about the prospect of never again living here at Hogwarts. You were about to answer me…”The boy placed his palm flat over the cover of his textbook, exchanging a rather tired look with Ginny. “I said I’d think about it. I’ve some other options, you know.”Ginny lifted her brow. “Is that so?”“Yes,” Neville confirmed. “Professor Sprout wants to extend my apprenticeship to next school year at least. If I accept, I’d more than likely stay here next summer.”Hermione smiled. “Neville, that’s great!”“I can think of worse ways to spend the summer…” Ginny replied.Neville glanced at Hermione, looking at her as though her latest assignment burst into flames. Pity filled his kind gaze. “I know of the worst way to spend the school year. It really is a shame you got stuck with Malfoy and Snape in the dungeons…”Shrugging, the witch smirked. “It’s really not so bad…though I could certainly do without Malfoy.”“It’s Snape I’d be dreading…”Ginny chuckled. “Not everyone’s greatest fear is the dungeon bat.”A group of younger Gryffindors cackled further down the table. All seven of them stared at Ginny — their amusement sending a sharp spike to Hermione’s gut. When the witch glared at them, their gleeful chatter quelled into whispered giggles. She rolled her dull, dark eyes, watching Ginny. “Ginny, don’t call him that! You out of everyone should be grateful for everything he’s done for Harry over the years.”“You know I am—”“Then don’t give others the impression that disrespecting a professor is acceptable. The younger students look at us — you most especially — and emulate what we do.”Ginny scoffed, drawing her head back. “What’s got you all bothered?”“Bothered?”“Yes,” Ginny answered. “You’ve defended him — rather annoyingly, mind you — since the beginning of summer. Ron said he thought you obsessed over his innocence and assistance.”“I am not obsessed with defending him!”The younger witch scoffed and shook her head. “Really? Ron seemed to think Old Snape somehow slipped an experimental charm on you — something akin to an undetectable Imperious curse? I don’t know. Ron hardly makes much sense on good days. He ranted all this to me the day you two broke up.”Hermione parted her lips, her jaw hanging open as she racked her mind for any reply. Rudely assessing Ginny, the witch crossed her arms on the table and glared at her. “I-I just wish more people understood everything he’s done for the Order — and the whole of Magical London! People seem to forget such details.”“It was a joke in poor form is all. There’s no need to act like I said I wished him dead.”Ginny glanced at Neville like he’d know what to say to shut up the studious, self-righteous witch. Widening her bright brown eyes, the younger Gryffindor narrowed her stare at the boy across from Hermione.“I-I haven’t feared Professor Snape for ages,” Neville countered, glaring at the youngest Weasley sibling. “And you know what I meant…”
“Oh, no! You’re not going to join her and gang up on me. Talk some sense into her!”Neville frowned, glancing at Hermione. “Last year was hell with Snape as headmaster. Even if he protected us as best he could, there are plenty of us who’d altogether prefer to never see him again. For a lot of us, him being here is as much a punishment as it supposedly is for him…”“I would never discredit that, Neville! But…if we’re to fully move past the war, then all of us must make an effort to extend some olive branches — to those deserving, of course.”Ginny scrunched her face. “You sound just like McGonagall…”Hermione chuckled, her frustration barely contained in her taut jaw and tightening fists. “Let us speak of something else, then…”The trio cycled through conversation topics rather quickly: each of them seemingly hitting brick walls that, if toppled, crippled some boundary or another. Though she’d known both of them for years, neither were Harry and Ron. Moments like this made the witch desperately wish that they’d both chosen to join her for a final year.
This distance between them felt unnatural. Hermione was rather altogether unused to their absence. Nine months spent together in close quarters, perhaps, skewed some of her pragmatism — shifting it into a rather unhealthy need for their nearness. Nobody here could understand that, though. She’d grown overly dependent upon her two best friends.In theory, their distance was good. She could learn to reenter the world with realistic expectations. Harry would marry Ginny — have children and a life of their own. Ron would find someone, too. They’d always be a part of each other’s lives, but gone were the days of spending each day together: here or otherwise.
Hermione’s throat squeezed as her heart ached. She had to find a new purpose — fill the holes in her life with things that made growing up more tolerable. If either of her friends noticed the witch’s sudden sadness, neither acknowledged it.Ginny smirked. “How about Corner, then?”Hermione stared at Ginny like she was, in fact, crazy. Shaking her head, the witch narrowed her eyes as she tried, in vain, to piece together any sense of meaning behind the four ambiguous words. “What about him?”“You’re the last of us, Hermione.”The implied, natural course of this particular conversation would surely be about how she —excluding Ron — wasn’t currently with anyone — nor was she seriously considering looking for anything for the moment. A witch could certainly know that she desired a large family without actively searching for the other half of such equation. Though…Hermione did suppose it was apropos she at least remain open to the possibility that the man she’d share her life with would inevitably show up.Her life partner.What would he be like? Now that she knew it would not be Ronald, the witch could scarcely envision him. She supposed it would be to her benefit that he, too, loved learning — exploring knowledge for the purpose of somehow, in a meaningful way, benefitting the world. Perhaps, she mused, he ought to be kind. Gentle. Insatiably loyal. Pragmatic, too. She couldn’t very well be with anyone who gave credit to subjects like Divination.
Hermione frowned. Was she only describing herself? If so, that was about the most pathetic musing she’d had yet. No. Her attraction to Ronald Weasley proved she at least desired an opposite to some degree. Her mirror would provide her no challenge. Such a man would not stimulate her enough to endure a long, happy marriage.But the ginger-haired wizard was quite her opposite. So much so that she’d always held back around him. The witch wouldn’t have ever fully been able to be herself with him. So as sad as not being with Ron still made her, it was, inevitably, for the best they remained friends. Hell, she hardly knew who she was without the endless war and looming danger.
All of this was rather nonsensical! Comparatively unimportant to things like cracking this damned book. Its pages remained ever blank. It imposed its unsettling presence in her bag…In any case, she should endeavor to familiarize herself with who she truly was: without parents who remembered her, without Harry and Ron here at Hogwarts with her, and without the safety she foolishly believed she’d find — even a small semblance — this year. But between N.E.W.T.s, the Malfoys, Bellatrix Lestrange, Professor Snape, and the book that was, indeed, a horcrux, the witch hardly knew how she’d accomplish everything without the bloody use of a Time-Turner…Ginny stared at her, expectant and impatient. Right, Hermione thought. This whole mental tangent had begun with the mention of Michael Corner’s name. “…the last one of us to…what, Ginny? Ronald isn’t with anyone, either…”“Excluding Ron, of course. He seems content with exploring the many witches who present themselves as options for the time being.”Hermione cleared her throat. “I hardly see how that’s relevant to this conversation.”“Michael Corner was kind enough to me when we dated — though we never…you know? I’ve heard he’s considering settling down before long, too.”The witch swallowed, folding her arms over the hard wood of the long table. Merlin, Ginny spoke of sex. Perhaps if she spoke some sense, the youngest Weasley would leave this conversation well enough alone. She surveyed a particularly fascinating crack in the table top’s texture. It split the material at least seven inches. Curling some hair behind her ear, she shook her head. “M-Michael likely agrees that I should not be part of D.A.”“Of course, Harry and I have,” Ginny continued, steamrolling over the witch’s weak reply as if ignoring it was, in fact, not rude at all. “I know Ron, though I loathe to think of it, shagged Lavender. But you? You’re the only one of us set on having a big family, last I heard, as soon as possible. You know you need a good shag if you’re to start on that, huh?”The air around Hermione solidified and squeezed her body until breathing proved impossible. Choking on her breath, the witch stiffened. Ginny, just like Ronald, was hardly as quiet as she thought she was. A network of whispers ignited all around them just as the echo of the younger witch’s voice faded into the stone walls of the Great Hall. One word, specifically, cluttered the once silent space: virgin.
Lovely.
Ginny, at the very least, had the decency to look about as mortified as Hermione felt. She clasped her palm over her mouth as Neville slid back in his seat, clearing his throat.Hermione grabbed Ginny’s arm and pulled her closer. Leaning in a bit too close, the witch glared at the copper-haired girl, whispering, “You’re not so different from Ron, you know!”“I’m so sorry, Hermione! I swear that wasn’t intentional. I—”Rolling her eyes, Hermione released Ginny’s arm and sighed. “It’s fine. Let’s just speak of anything else…” Perhaps war had fully stolen the witch’s ability to carry a casual, youthful conversation — among everything else it took from her.Ginny fidgeted where she sat, playing with the ends of her straight hair a bit. “Well, you haven’t mentioned anything about the birthday present Harry and Ron gave you…”“...Right. That,” Hermione said, lifting the bag that hung at her hip. She cleared her throat — careful to ignore those who still gossiped and stared at her — and pulled the top apart and stuck her arm in it, feeling for the gift. The witch gave up her effort rather quickly and summoned it silently to her. The simply wrapped present, drenched in Gryffindor House’s signature crimson, shot up. She grasped it and shut the bag back up before setting the gift upon the table. “I’d forgotten all about it…”Ginny cupped Hermione’s shoulder. “I don’t blame you after what happened. I’m thankful he’s the only foul brother I have…”“Let us not speak of him.”
Hermione tore at the paper, though she glanced between her two friends. Ginny clasped the witch’s wrist. “Not here, Hermione…”Freezing, Hermione cringed. “It’s not inappropriate is it?”“Quite the opposite. It’s something…well, you just shouldn’t open here,” Ginny replied.Flattening her brows, the witch drew her head back and studied the younger girl. A soft chuckle and a wide grin eventually warmed the witch’s features. “Harry and Ron never give me anything too sentimental, Ginny. I’m sure opening it here is perfectly acceptable.”All of a sudden, Ginny yanked the gift from Hermione’s hands, which still held half of the now ripped wrapping. The younger witch held it up high, even making to stand so Hermione could not claim it.“Hermione, I insist! Please open it in private.”“Give it back!”Hermione stood at her full height, but the studious girl stood little chance against Ginny’s honed Quidditch reflexes. The copper-haired girl tossed the gift over to Neville, who barely caught it. Ginny held the other half of the torn wrapping, which she crumpled and dropped atop the table. When each of the three friends stood still for long enough, the witch clearly made out the black backing of a photo frame with a note adhered to it. What the note said she could not yet discern.Every muscle in Hermione’s body clenched, her heartbeat frantic and thrashing against her ribcage. The dull chatter of the Great Hall quieted in the expanse of a second. Instead, a sharp, piercing ringing sounded in her ears. Shuddering, the witch only heard her erratic, stuttering breaths as she choked on the air trapped in her throat. Tears welled in her eyes. An acute, sharp pain as intolerable and agonizing as the Crutiatus curse pulverized her stomach. She clutched the fabric of her school robes at her stomach and covered her mouth with her other hand for a brief moment.“Who’s in that photo, Ginny?”The younger girl wiped at her eyes and shook her head. When she stepped closer toward the witch, Hermione took a step back to preserve their physical distance. When she glanced back at Neville, he already stared down at the frame, obviously confused.“Please give me the frame, Neville.”Ginny’s breath caught. “No, don’t!”Hermione ripped her hands from her body and shouted, “It’s mine, Ginny!” The Great Hall echoed the bellowed words — as if every vibration in the air was a blade plunging into her heart.“Not here!” the girl fought back. “Please just let us drop it in your room, Hermione…”“Everyone’s already staring, Ginny! Everyone knows about my mudblood scar. Everyone knows I’m still a bloody virgin now, too — thanks to you. Everyone knows I’m no longer with Ronald. Everyone knows that I advocated for leniency on Professor Snape’s sentence and Draco’s sentence AND Narcissa’s sentence — how I’m his apprentice now and Malfoy’s partner. They already supposedly know about my role in Percy’s dismissal and that I turned down a guaranteed Ministry apprenticeship to return to Hogwarts. Now, it seems, they think I mean to save every last Death Eater since I’ve also appealed to have the Wizengamot bring Narcissa Malfoy here. Everyone believes themselves to be owed my answer to their every last question lately — otherwise, they suspect me something foul or entirely unfounded.“So why shouldn’t they also know I permanently Obliviated my parents to protect them from Voldemort? That they are safer a whole world away from their magical daughter who only brings them danger at every turn? Why shouldn’t they know that I don’t know who I am anymore or what the hell I’ll do when I’m forced to move on from this school? Why shouldn’t they fear Snape when, without him, we’d all be dead or slaves or whatever else! Why shouldn’t they just see a black-cloaked monster who killed our beloved headmaster? Why shouldn’t they mistake my helping Slytherins who deserve it from someone — anyone — as some nefarious ploy to…I don’t know…”The entire hall was silent, of course. Every single peer and teacher occupying the vicinity wherever her voice carried stared at her like they had Harry back in second year — when they believed him to be the heir of Slytherin. The air around her squeezed her body just like the Devil’s Snare had. Her entire body trembled. Never had she felt so exposed. No doubt someone would fill in The Prophet of Hermione’s outburst — if not in tomorrow’s issue then certainly by week’s end.
Clearing her throat, Hermione extended her hand to Neville. “The frame?”The boy grimaced. “Hermione—”
“Now, Neville!”Neville offered her the photo frame. But when she ripped it from his hand, she did not muster enough strength to look at it. Not yet. If the photo captured the likeness of those whom she knew in her bones would be there, Ginny was, unfortunately, right. Hermione would wait to look upon the photo when she was alone. However, the witch refused to acknowledge the younger girl, who sniffled beside her.
Ginny muttered her name, but she ignored her. The girl should have known that Hermione’s silence on the matter of the gift would mean she hadn’t opened it yet. Yet she’d presented Harry and Ron’s gift like some ordinary topic — not as it would forever be the singular, most precious gift she’d ever again receive. Perhaps Hermione was wrongfully angry. Perhaps not. The witch only knew she had to leave before she did or said anything she’d regret. It’s what they’d have told her to do.“I’m skipping class for the rest of the day. Don’t follow me. I need to be alone for a few hours.”
. . .
Severus
. . .
The damp air of the Shrieking Shack hung heavy with the scent of mildew and old, rotted wood — a fitting atmosphere for the suffocating tension within the cursed space where he should have died only months ago. Severus stood, his body taut, near the narrow, shattered window, his shadow stretched unnaturally long against the uneven walls.Lunch was long over. Tonks, Filius, Hagrid, and the other faculty would have conveyed that classes — at the very least for the remainer of the day — were indeed canceled. They would have already corralled and inventoried each student into their respective houses. Meanwhile, the headmistress confined him in the dingy space of this shack with the likes of Potter, Lupin, herself, and Shacklebolt. The Minister’s presence within the castle would only incite panic amongst the students. Both Snape and Minerva rather preferred to avoid any unnecessary hysteria unless strictly unavoidable.In this, it was not.His fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the windowsill, the only outward sign of the storm of calculations spinning through his mind. Within himself, the Potions master Occluded. The horror made of Albus’ gravesite that he’d witnessed would not service him in such a moment that required his full faculties.
Behind him, Harry Potter’s voice rang out, sharp and demanding. “What do you mean the Elder Wand is gone?”Severus inhaled slowly through his overlong, large nose, fighting the impulse to whirl around and unleash the torrent of scorn that fortified in his chest. Instead, he turned — with glacial precision. His dark eyes narrowed as they locked onto the boy who was, predictably, bristling with righteous indignation. Some things, no matter how Severus willed for otherwise, never changed.“Are you truly so dim, Potter,” he drawled, each word laden with venom, “that the very concept of such a simple word as ‘gone’ eludes you? Skipping your seventh year, it seems, in favor of traipsing through the countryside playing Auror was a mistake.”Harry’s fists clenched at his sides, his face twisting into a glare. “I’m asking how it happened. You haven’t exactly volunteered any details.”“Details,” Severus repeated, his voice dropping into a silken snarl. He stepped forward, his robes trailing like shadows behind him. “Do you imagine I witnessed the desecration of Albus’ grave? That I made camp for the sole purpose of lingering long enough, undetected, to bask in the brilliance of someone else’s crude handiwork? I found the site, Potter, violated — both wand pieces missing. That is all there is to report.”“Then speculate,” Harry snapped back. “You must have some idea. Or is that too much to ask from the great Severus Snape?”The boy’s insolence sparked like a live wire. Severus’ hand gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles whitening as he leaned forward, his glare icy enough to chill the air. “Speculate?” he repeated, his tone so soft it was almost a whisper. “And risk poisoning your fragile little mind with concepts it cannot hope to grasp? I wouldn’t dream of it.”“Severus,” Minerva’s voice cut in, sharp but measured. She stepped forward, placing herself between them. Her expression was calm, but the lines of tension in her face betrayed her exasperation. “Enough. We need clarity, not antagonism.”Severus’ gaze flicked to her. For a fleeting moment, his posture softened, though his eyes remained hard. Menacing. “Clarity,” he echoed, straightening. His voice was steadier now, though no less cold. “Very well. Excluding Mr. Potter’s obvious lack of insight, the rest of you must know already that the at-large Bellatrix Lestrange is most likely the party responsible.”The name landed in the room like a lead weight. Lupin’s brow furrowed, and Minerva’s lips pressed into a thin line. Harry’s glare didn’t waver, though a flicker of unease crossed his face. Shacklebolt stood a bit straighter. Though unsettled, none of those in his presence appeared shocked to hear that name. Even, Severus thought bitterly, the Chosen One indeed had enough wits to lack any surprise.Minerva narrowed her eyes, the deep wrinkles mapping her storied face indicating her unease. “But why would she—”“Because chaos is her language, Minerva. It is her very nature — one I cannot pretend to understand,” Severus interrupted, his tone clipped. “But grave-robbing? Destruction of things she despises? Theft of an infamous magical artifact she does not fully understand? Her signature on such things is not so hard to discern. She would relish the act as much as the outcome.”“But the wand is broken — irreparable,” Lupin said, his voice calm but insistent. “What could she possibly gain from it in that state?”Severus’ fingers tightened on the chair, the wood creaking faintly in protest. He could feel their heavy stares on him, waiting and demanding answers to which he clung — as if they sustained him. And they did. Such answers were pieces he needed to ensure Hermione’s safety.
For reasons that, so far, escaped his understanding, the witch chose to walk alone in her path with this book. The witch trusted him alone with such information. But Harry Potter, regrettably, should know. Severus, while magically accomplished, mentally fortified, and battle-tested, was not so arrogant to believe he alone could protect the witch. Gone was his position within the Death Eater ranks. No one would again be privy to the inner workings of the seemingly disorganized, dark cult. That meant he would, most unfortunately, need to depend upon undesirable alternatives. He would need an ally who cared for her as equally as he was determined to repay her for returning his memories.After all, Severus Snape did not exactly have a reliable track record of making clean decisions in his scheming. In his mind existed only the least possible loss — unsavory outcomes no matter the circumstance. Albus had always known how to wield such weakness in him, but the old man was gone — by his hand, no less...The Potions master was rather alone in this, but he would spare no effort to ensure his victory. This victory, oddly, felt as though it would be the most important: as if its stakes reached much further than the geographic borders of the United Kingdom and the European continent. The boy met the professor’s glare, those haunting eyes reflecting things that would forever govern his soul.
Lily’s needless death punctuated such… Weakness. Cowardice. Insecurity. The Potions master knew of ways he could snuff out and destroy such pathetic traits. Become better. Remain powerful. In control. Not for the first time, Severus wondered what sort of book Hermione possessed. He’d not yet seen it, but he was sure Bellatrix was meant to have it. He knew the Gryffindor thwarted sinister plans the Dark Lord, perhaps, never entrusted to him. Never did the snake confide such a tome that doubled as a confounding, indestructible horcrux.
Whose?
With the Dark Lord dead, Severus now had the flexibility and freedom to maneuver however he wished. Bellatrix may yet have the broken Elder Wand, but what Hermione possessed held the most powerful, underestimated magic of all: possibility. It could only be a hunch at best, but the professor thought she held secrets of the ancient dark arts once lost to myth itself. He wondered, selfishly, if she’d share with him its secrets. And, if so, how much could he glean?Indeed, the dark arts still very much called to him. His own siren’s song.Until now, it had been the single thing to have consented to seduce a man as vile, loathsome, and odious as him. Ravish him in ways he’d never know physically. Lily would anchor him to the Order, of course. Such were the shackles of loving a ghost. However, the professor wondered how far back into the dark he would venture
— especially now that choice was once again in sight.
Yes.

Potter was necessary. The boy would ensure that every decision the professor chose to include him in was, indeed, made in Hermione’s best interest. Strategically speaking, having the Chosen One in his pocket would prove useful should the witch’s path take her away from the confines of the school. Potter could speak to the bloody Ministry on his behalf — if need be.With his spontaneous (yet still calculated) course of action solidified, Severus shifted his thoughts back to the present subject. The thought of Bellatrix wielding a mended wand of unparalleled power — it was a horror he could truly not afford to dwell on at the present time.
“I do not know,” he said finally, his voice low and taut. “Perhaps she seeks to hoard it so we do not have it. Or, more likely, she means to siphon any residual magic still lingering within it for some other nefarious purpose.”Harry let out a derisive snort. “You expect us to believe that you know or speculate nothing else?”Severus turned on him sharply, his black eyes glittering with a dangerous light. “You mistake me for someone who owes you explanations, Potter. Your insipid attempts at interrogation are as tedious as they are fruitless.”“You’re holding something back.” Harry shot back, stepping forward. “I know it!”“Harry,” Lupin interjected, raising a placating hand. “Let’s focus—”“I won’t be lectured by you,” Severus snarled, cutting across Lupin’s words like a blade. “And certainly not by the son of James Potter, who lacked the discipline to think his actions through even once in his miserable, self-aggrandizing life.”The mention of his father sent Harry’s expression into a furious mask. “That’s all you’ve got, isn’t it? Cheap insults and deflection.”“Deflections?” Severus hissed, his voice venomous. Fight back, you COWARD! Indeed, he would. With sufficient interest. “You dare accuse me of cowardice, you sanctimonious brat? If not for you, the wand — broken or otherwise — would not be in the enemy’s hands!”“Severus!” Minerva’s voice rang out, firm and commanding. “That is enough.”The room fell into tense silence, the crackling animosity between Severus and Harry nearly suffocating. Severus turned away sharply, his robes swirling behind him. He stared out the window, his mind racing. The grave, the wand, Hermione.
If Harry bloody Potter had only had the stomach to bear the weight of that wand, Hermione would not dwell down yet another dark path on his behalf. All he’d had to do was wield the wand for the remainder of his life — to fully accept some responsibility in those who were lost.
Before he could compose himself, a flash of silver light, which reflected in the window’s glass, burst into the room. The wolf patronus bounded forward, its glow illuminating the stale shadows. Tonks’ voice rang out, urgent and strained.“We’ve accounted for all students. They are contained to their Houses,” the message said. “Except Hermione. She’s missing. No one can find her here. Hagrid said he saw two figures fleeing into the Dark Forest. We await further orders. In the meantime, we stand ready to defend the school.”The patronus vanished, and the room plunged into silence. For a moment, Severus couldn’t move. He stood with his back toward the others. Each word of Tonks’ message echoed in his mind, reverberating with a weight that felt like a physical laceration. Hermione. Missing. Two figures. Dark Forest. The more those thoughts rang in his mind, the more breathing proved impossible. The pathetic blow to his composure was like a pebble thrown into still water — its ripples quickly causing rings of tidal waves that disturbed and destroyed everything in their path.Professor Snape’s hand clenched. His throat tightened and bobbed, his breath hitching as he forced himself to process the information. His mind flooded with images — Hermione, alone, vulnerable, in the clutches of some unseen danger.

Why was she missing to begin with?
Although rather capable in her own merit, her youth still left her unprepared for the likes of Death Eaters led by Bellatrix Lestrange. Although studious and curious, Severus doubted she altogether possessed the cruelty required to stomach horrific, split-second, and soul-shattering decisions to preserve her own life. She was wholly unlike him. He simply could not fathom certain incantations slipping from her lovely lips.“Severus,” Minerva began, her voice uncertain.“Potter and I will find her,” he said sharply, cutting her off. He straightened, his movements abrupt and jerky.“What?” Harry exclaimed, his voice incredulous. “Since when—”“You will do as I say,” Severus snapped, his voice rising. Any sharp hostility toward Potter dulled in an instant. “Your patronus will find her faster than any search party, and I will not waste another moment debating this while she — while time is squandered.”His voice cracked on the last word, though he masked it with a sharp exhale. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him, the unspoken questions, the judgment. None of it mattered. Not when he needed to do what must be done. His fingers twitched toward his wand, the familiar coolness of the wood grounding him against the chaos in his mind.“Severus, let us assist—” Minerva began again, but he silenced her with a sharp look.“No,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Your first duty as headmistress is to protect the school. No student — no matter who that student is — changes that, Minerva. I am your deputy, and you’ve burdened me with her as my apprentice for the year. Potter and I will retrieve her in your stead. Get to the school, protect the students, and await our return. I doubt we’ve much concern for a battle the scale of the second of May, but we should prepare for a scrimmage of some kind.”Severus turned abruptly, his robes billowing behind him as he strode toward the door. His movements were purposeful, but there was a stiffness to them — as though he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.“Potter,” he barked over his shoulder, not bothering to check if the boy was following. “Now.”Harry hesitated, his face a storm of emotions — perhaps a mix of frustration, confusion, and anger — but, nonetheless, he acquiesced without another word, his steps quickening to keep up.
Severus didn’t look back. His grip on his wand tightened, the sharp ridges pressing into his palm. Hermione. Alone. The forest. Two figures. The words looped endlessly, each repetition more torturous than the last. As the door slammed shut behind them, the professor allowed himself a single, shuddering breath. He had no time for fear. Fear always led to failure, and failure was simply out of the question.Only action mattered now.
. . .
Weak sunlight seeped through the thick layer of clouds, stretching long shadows across the uneven terrain. The crisp bite of September air nipped at Severus Snape’s skin through the many layers of his teaching robes as he strode away from the dilapidated shack, boots crunching against the damp earth. His cloak billowed with each purposeful step, snapping like a whip. The tension in his shoulders and the sharp, clipped movements of his hands betrayed the urgency he refused to voice.“Potter.” The single word, spoken low and taut, carried the weight of a command. “Move.”Harry jogged to keep up, his steps uneven. He glanced at Snape, his green eyes narrowing at the older man’s rigid posture and the unrelenting pace. “You don’t need to bark orders at me,” Harry muttered, irritation lacing his tone. “I’m not your student anymore.”Snape didn’t respond immediately. His gaze flicked to the tree line, his fingers tightening on the wand at his side. “Cast your Patronus,” he said, his voice edged with steel. “Now.”Harry slowed, confusion flickering across his face. “Why? Why can’t you just—”Snape spun around abruptly, the motion cutting Harry off mid-sentence. His cloak whipped sharply behind him as he closed the distance between them in two strides. “Because we don’t have time for your questions,” Snape snarled, his dark eyes blazing with an intensity that made Harry flinch. “Your connection to Granger is stronger. Your Patronus will find her faster.”Harry hesitated, his wand twitching in his grip. He looked as though he wanted to argue but thought better of it. “Fine,” he said stiffly. Lifting his wand, he closed his eyes briefly. “Expecto Patronum.”The silver stag burst forth, light rippling from its antlers and casting faint, shimmering shadows on the forest floor. It stood motionless for a moment, its proud form gleaming in the pale light, before turning to Harry, waiting for instruction.Snape’s gaze locked onto the ethereal figure, his features hard and unmoving. For a fleeting moment, a pang of unease flickered beneath his composed exterior — the spell’s strength a glaring reminder of Potter’s connection to Granger. He suppressed the thought swiftly, unwilling to let the boy glimpse even a shadow of doubt. The spell itself didn’t impress him — his own Patronus was just as strong, just as resolute — but the certainty of the connection behind it gnawed at him. The ease with which Potter’s Patronus bridged the unseen tether to Granger’s magic made Snape’s stomach clench.He doubted his own Patronus would reach her so quickly, if at all, in such circumstances. And that doubt — that insidious seed — infuriated him. For a moment, a sharp and bitter longing filled him, a craving for the kind of bond Potter seemed to wield effortlessly. In his youth, he'd have sworn his connection with Lily was just as strong. However, the misfortune of age cast a rather inescapable shadow of doubt in that belief.The professor's features darkened then. Yet another thing a Potter had that he would never possess. The thought lingered, heavy and unwelcome, before he forced it aside. What would it mean, he wondered darkly, to share that kind of connection with another? Would it be enough to quiet the doubts that lingered at the edges of his mind?His hands twitched at his sides, and he forced the thought away. It was irrelevant. Distracting. Such things were not for him.“Send it,” Snape barked, his voice sharper than intended. The stag’s light reflected in his eyes, making them gleam momentarily. “Picture her. Focus on where she’d go. Do not falter.”Harry gave him a wary look but did as instructed. Closing his eyes briefly, he murmured Hermione’s name. Under his breath, he added, “I'm here at Hogwarts. Where are you? I need to speak with you. It's rather urgent. Send a message with your location. Wait for me. I'll meet you there.” The stag turned its head, tilting slightly, before bounding forward, its silver form dissolving into streaks of light as it disappeared."If in five minutes we've not heard anything back, we'll begin our search in the Dark Forest."Snape’s jaw tightened as the Patronus vanished from view. Eventually, he nodded. His shoulders remained stiff, his fingers curling and uncurling around his wand as though grounding himself in the gesture. He exhaled through his nose, the sound harsh in the still air.“What aren’t you telling me?” Harry’s voice cut through the quiet, softer now but no less persistent. His green eyes searched Snape’s face, frustration simmering just below the surface. “This isn’t just about her being a student, is it? You know something I don't.”Snape’s wand flicked sharply, casting a Muffliato charm with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. He turned to Harry, his expression hardening. “Swear,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “What I tell you stays between us. Not Weasley. Not Shacklebolt. No one. Not even Hermione may know I spoke of it with you. Not yet.”Harry hesitated, his brow furrowing. “Fine,” he said finally, his voice edged with suspicion. “I swear.”Snape’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening further. He stepped closer, his presence looming, and spoke with a voice that brokered no argument. “Let me make this abundantly clear, Potter. I am in charge of this operation. Not you. Not the Ministry. Not anyone else. Until I say otherwise, you will do as I instruct without question.”Harry opened his mouth, but Snape’s raised hand silenced him. “This is not about you,” Snape continued, his tone sharp but weighted with something almost raw. “This is about Hermione’s safety. Every action, every decision, must be precise and calculated. Your stubbornness and sentimentality will not jeopardize that.”The younger man shifted uncomfortably, his brow furrowed. “And if I don’t agree?”“Then you will have already failed her,” Snape said coldly, his dark eyes boring into Harry’s. “Swear it now. Swear to me that you will follow my lead and keep this between us until the time is right.”Harry hesitated, his jaw tightening, but the faint tremor in his hands betrayed his uncertainty. After a long moment, he gave a sharp nod. “Fine. I swear.”Snape’s gaze bore into him, holding for a beat longer than necessary, before he nodded curtly. “Granger is in possession of a horcrux,” he said, the words deliberate and clipped. “A book. One impervious to basilisk venom.”Harry’s jaw slackened, his wand lowering slightly. “A…a horcrux?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “No! We destroyed all of Voldemort’s horcruxes. Why would she keep this from me?”Snape’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of the name, a faint twitch in his jaw betraying his distaste. He straightened, his voice cutting but steady. “It is not the Dark Lord’s horcrux, Potter.”Harry frowned, confusion and frustration warring in his expression. “Then whose is it?” he demanded.Snape’s lip curled faintly, though not in malice. “That is a question neither I nor Miss Granger can presently answer. The origin of the horcrux remains unclear.” He paused, his dark eyes narrowing.“Why would she keep this a secret?”“Perhaps she intended to protect you. You and Weasley. Keeping you both out of harm’s way is, regretably, a priority for her.”Harry’s grip on his wand tightened, his shoulders squaring. He stepped closer, his voice dropping but gaining a sharp edge. “And why does she trust you with this?” he demanded. “Why you and not me?”Snape’s face remained impassive, though a glint of something unreadable flickered in his dark eyes. When he spoke, his voice was measured, devoid of the earlier venom but no less firm. “We've an admittedly thin understanding, Potter, but an understanding all the same.""Your memories...""Indeed. Without hesitation, Granger infiltrated the Ministry, stole them from those who would seek to use them against me, safeguarded them...all while without help and knowing their significance and the risk involved.""But when I saw you at St. Mungos, you spoke of her as if you wished her dead. She saved you..." Harry tilted his head, assessing the older wizard for a moment before speaking further. "What changed? I still don't understand why you're helping her.""She insists I owe her nothing for it, but, of course, I disagree.” He paused, his gaze unwavering. Severus swallowed, once again sweeping his glare across the perimeter. Clear. There was no avoiding this. Best get on with it. "Hermione came into possession of the book while searching what evidence the Ministry collected from my home.""The book is yours?""No. I've not yet had the chance to personally see the book, but I do know
the dark arts: its signature and allure. Believe me. I would have noticed a horcrux in my vicinity...even if I did not understand what it was.""So someone planted it."The professor grimaced. "Indeed, Potter. You'll find a rather healthy portion of the Ministry still favors the Dark Lord's vision. I need you to discreetly look into something."Harry drew his head back, regarding the professor as if he'd committed a most grave offense. "What would you need me to look into?""Something Hermione noticed over the summer. Prisoner records on the Minister's desk. She believes she caught a pattern that, if true, would favor someone with less than ideal intentions.""Fine," Harry muttered, checking over his shoulder. "Give me names, and I'll check more into it.""Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, Antonin Dolohov, and Walden Macnair."Potter's brow quirked as his eyes narrowed, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. He tilted his head slightly, as if weighing Snape’s words against his own instincts, the tension in his jaw betraying a mix of skepticism and frustration. "And all of this is part of the stuff I'm not allowed to tell anyone else about?""For now," Severus said, once more checking the area around them. "Yes.""I'll go along with this for now," Potter retorted. The boy shoved his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "But you need to keep me apprised of anything you suspect Hermione isn't telling me. I want frequent enough reports that wouldn't raise suspicion."Severus' jaw tightened. "Fine."A faint glow appeared on the horizon, silencing him. Both wizards turned toward the light, watching as it grew brighter. A non-corporeal ball of silvery light flew toward Potter. Hermione’s voice resonated, if not a bit unsteady and tight.“What are you doing here? Nevermind that! The Three Broomsticks. I've skipped classes for the afternoon. Oh, Harry. I've made a mess of everything.”Harry’s shoulders sagged slightly, relief flickering across his face. He glanced at Snape, whose posture remained rigid, his gaze fixed on the Patronus with an intensity that bordered on fixation.For a moment, Snape’s mind wandered back to his earlier thought. How easily Potter had called her to him. How certain he’d been that the spell would reach her. And how unsure Snape himself would have been, had it been his Patronus instead. The thought gnawed at him, bitter and unwanted.“To the Three Broomsticks, then,” Harry said, his voice steadying with renewed urgency.“No,” Snape said, the word firm and final. His gaze bore into Harry, unyielding, as if the weight of his resolve could silence the argument before it began."No?""I will meet her. Alone.""Like hell you will. She's expecting me."“You will return to the castle, Potter. Inform Minerva. Say nothing more. I will handle this,” Snape snapped, his voice cold and precise, each word striking like a whip.Harry hesitated, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer. “Why?” he asked, quieter but no less insistent. His tone was edged with curiosity, but his posture betrayed his mistrust. He studied Snape’s face, searching for cracks in the older man’s carefully controlled mask.Snape’s fingers flexed around his wand, his expression hardening. When he spoke, his voice carried a weight that was almost reluctant. "My business is my own."Harry studied him, his green eyes sharp with curiosity and lingering doubt. After a long moment, he nodded. "All right. But don't be too long!" After another moment,
the younger wizard started toward the castle. Eventually, he disappeared within the wooded pathway leading toward the village.Snape stood alone, his gaze fixed on the village of Hogsmeade. His fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his wand, the motion deliberate and slow. Hermione Granger would not face this alone.Not while Severus Snape still drew breath. Eventually, the professor apparated outside of the Three Broomsticks.
. . .
Hermione
. . .
The quill scraped against the parchment with a stubborn insistence, each stroke etched with Hermione’s frustration. This draft was, indeed, salvageable! Her fingers gripped the quill so tightly her knuckles whitened, and the scratchy rhythm of her writing faltered as she paused to chew on her lower lip.The essay sprawled before her — four feet on the effect of ingredient substitutions in the Draught of Living Death — mocked her with its incompleteness. She muttered to herself under her breath, brow furrowed, the tip of her tongue pressing against her teeth in concentration. Beside her, a stack of reference books teetered precariously, one nudged askew from her impatient shuffling.Not for the first time this work session, a flickering, magical photograph caught her eye. Its subjects stood looped in a moment that would never again exist. The simple, worn frame showed the years of handling. A younger, second-year Hermione Granger grinned, an oversized book clasped to her chest as her parents flanked each side of her. Their smiles were bright: if not slightly awkward amidst the Wizarding world’s oddities.Beside them, the Weasleys and Harry waved, carefree and oblivious to the burdens the future held. The witch stared at the mischievous pair of twins. George would never again have the other half of himself alive again. Her fingers brushed the frame — a touch of longing disguised as adjustment — before she turned back to her essay with a huff. She'd cried too much already today, and this essay would not write itself.The quill danced across the parchment once more, her focus narrowing to the carefully structured sentence she was constructing. The scratch of the nib drowned out the faintest creak of the door hinges as it opened slowly. The room remained silent save for the quiet scrape of her writing, her muttered frustrations filling the air like white noise. Unnoticed, the door closed with a soft click.Hermione remained oblivious to the invisible presence, who occupied the far corner of the small room — wholly consumed by her work. The stack of books, the parchment with its densely packed script, and the furrow of her brow painted a picture of intense concentration.Deep in her bones, she knew she'd have to start the essay over from scratch. At this rate, she'd deliver to Snape a five-foot-long essay. And that would not do...The witch shifted in her seat, reaching in her bag for a muggle notebook and pen. She would not make the same mistake for her third draft. Better to develop her research and condense her points in this tablet rather than waste all of her parchment for a single assignment.The invisible intruder froze mid-step. Her focus snapped back to her essay as she scribbled furiously. The sound of the ballpoint scratching the lined paper anew masked the faint rustle of an unseen cloak. Casting aside the draft on the overlong parchment, the witch sighed and scrunched her brows together as she worked through the best possible introduction.The minutes stretched, the only sound the rhythmic scratching of her writing and the occasional sigh of frustration. A soft knock on the door finally broke her trance. The pen stilled for only a moment. She shouted for her friend to enter the room, and the heavy, old door opened slowly.An insatiable thought raced across Hermione's mind. Accordingly, the witch scratched her pen against the muggle paper, chasing the trail before it was forever lost.
“Hello, Harry! Give me a moment,” she called without turning to greet Harry with her signature, warm smile, her voice carrying a mix of distraction and assumption. She leaned forward, scanning the draft on the parchment. “You wouldn't believe the amount of trouble I'm having with this Potions essay. I don't suppose you'd lie to me and say that Professor Snape wouldn't mind an additional few inches to his already assigned four feet, would you?" Her laugh came out bitter and thin. “What I am saying? Of course, he will. He’ll probably just mark me down for already cramming my handwriting.”Her words tumbled out faster, frustration spilling over. If the skill of writing down important ideas whilst being capable of carrying on a full conversation would have made a difference in the war, Hermione alone would have won it for Harry.“Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I know you said you had something you wanted to discuss, but I could really use an ear about now. Today has been horrid!"Harry made no effort to speak, so Hermione took that as a sign he'd lend her said ear.The witch shook her head, recalling the events of that morning. "It started with such promise! Percy got sacked, which was rather satisfying to witness. Professor McGonagall also said she'd speak with Kingsley about Narcissa's sentence. A productive morning, right?” Hermione glanced at her scattered notes, a small frown tugging at her lips as she reached for another book. “But then came lunch, and that’s when everything spiraled...""It's all Ginny's fault! You should know I'm not speaking with her: perhaps for the rest of the week. First, she called Professor Snape ‘the bat of the dungeons.’ Loudly. Of course, the bulk of the younger years thought it was quite hilarious. They laughed so loudly. If they don't fear him, they mock him. Honestly, Harry...it's exhausting!"The bulbous ballpoint ripped a deep hole in the paper as she clenched her fingers around the plastic pen. Hermione rolled her eyes and drew her head back. Sighing, she shook her head and continued to develop her current thought on the paper."Speaking of your girlfriend, she’s not so different from Ron, you know? Just as loud, just as impulsive, and with the same infuriating tendency to speak without thinking!”Her free hand returned to her forehead, rubbing absently as her voice softened. “Naturally, I did what I do best. I leaped to his defense without a second thought. And I…I’ve only made things worse for him. When we shifted subjects, Ginny spoke of the possibility of perhaps being intimate with Michael Corner."The witch flipped the pages of one of her books to check the source referenced on her old draft. Scanning the pages with determination, she found to the quote in question, verifying the theory. Satisfied, Hermione shoved her lips to the side and narrowed her eyes as she finished the bullet point on the paper."As if that would ever happen. I couldn't possibly date any one of our ungrateful peers! Anyway, one thing led to another — as it always does. I started opening your and Ronald's gift. Only she swiped it from my hand. She made a scene of it! By the time I realized what your gift was, the whole hall stared at me."A resident of Hogsmeade walked in the frame of the window the desk faced. For a moment, Hermione observed him strolling along about his day with a bit more urgency than a quiet Monday afternoon called for. She dropped the pen on the paper and scrubbed her face in her palms, still not checking back at Harry."Merlin, I said so much more than I intended. Everyone at lunch today now knows I Obliviated my parents. And if that wasn’t enough humiliation for one meal, I’m quite sure I…” She broke off, groaning audibly. “I announced to the whole room that I’ve not had a sexual partner...”She slammed the book shut in front of her, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “I just know tomorrow’s issue of The Prophet will read something ridiculous about how I’m Magical Britain’s most eligible bachelorette. Dozens of Owls from every single wizard without sense or shame will flood my days for weeks!"Pausing, the witch speculated on an even worse article topic that beat a rhythm of dread in her stomach on repeat. Groaning, she leaned back in her uncomfortable desk chair."Or worse! Skeeter will probably write how you've scorned my love for not...What did you say Ronald said about that one witch he met at The Leaky Cauldron the other week? Oh, yes! 'Not putting out.' Perhaps I should just Obliviate myself and be done with it all...” Her trim fingernails tapped the grainy desk nervously before she exhaled.“Say what you will about Snape and Malfoy, Harry, but I think spending more time with them this year could be educational for me. I might finally learn to keep my mouth shut and my cards closer to my chest.” A wry smile flickered across her face, though her voice carried a note of weary resignation. “The cold, drafty dungeons might actually do me some good.”Hermione’s brow furrowed as the seconds ticked by. The lack of Harry's usual interjections — a scoff or even a laugh — began to grate on her nerves. Surely what she said wasn't so dull he'd checked out?"Have you nothing to say, Harry?" she said, glaring out the window.
Slowly, Hermione stood, pushing the chair back with a loud scrape, still facing away. The faintest creak of the floorboards under a shifting weight made her heart leap to her throat. Pivoting, she spun to see—
Severus Snape.
Hermione froze, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, but no coherent words managed to escape. A half-formed syllable stumbled off her tongue, only to dissolve into an awkward croak. The weight of his gaze bore down on her, sharp and unyielding, and the room seemed to shrink under the sheer intensity of her humiliation.A fiery heat climbed up her neck, spreading across her cheeks and threatening to engulf her entirely until she burned to ash. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out any rational thought as her mind raced through every mortifying detail he might have overheard. Her fingers twisted nervously in the hem of her blouse, the fabric crumpling under the tight grip of her panic.“Prof…Professor S-Snape” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her wide eyes darted to the floor. Her heart sank further with every second of his silence, the space between them thick with unspoken tension. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the movement as jittery as her scattered thoughts, unable to summon the courage to meet his eyes again."What are you doing here? Why...why didn't you say anything sooner?"Her face burned so fiercely that she wondered if he could feel the heat from where he stood. The witch covered her mouth with her palm. If the floor could have swallowed her whole, she would have gladly welcomed the escape. She lowered her hand and crossed her hands over her chest, quietly peering up at the older wizard.The longer Hermione stared at Snape, the more she noticed something she’d never seen before. His face, so often a mask of disdain or cold indifference, was now impossibly vulnerable. His brows were drawn together, not in anger but in something softer — a hesitance that looked alien on him. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper, more pronounced, and his lips, usually set in a thin, grim line, parted ever so slightly as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t summon the words.It was his eyes, though, that unsettled Hermione most. Dark and endless as always, they now glistened with an unfamiliar weight, as if some unseen burden had cracked through his formidable exterior. The intensity of his gaze drained the air from the room, locking her in place with a force she couldn’t quite understand.Her humiliation ebbed away, replaced by a gnawing worry. He looked lost, stranded in the small room as though he didn’t quite know why he was there or how to leave. For all his imposing height and the commanding presence that usually preceded him, there was a fragile edge to him now that made her chest constrict. He stood rooted by the closed door, his hands curled faintly at his sides, as though unsure whether to reach for something or let them hang uselessly.“Sir?” she ventured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The word hung between them, unanswered. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched her with that haunted expression, and the worry blooming in her heart spread like wildfire.Finally, something in Professor Snape snapped. He moved first. Not a word left his lips, only an intent that carried in the space between them. The sweeping black of his cloak billowed slightly as he crossed the room in long, rushed strides. Before her mind could fully catch up, his arms encircled her, firm and impossibly safe, pulling her against his lithe, yet bony chest.The Potions master dipped his body and sank his face into the curve of her neck, the wayward strands of her otherwise bound hair tickling his cheek. The exhale that escaped him was sharp and trembled against her collarbone, raising goosebumps that chased along her skin — until the tender tissue of the fresh scar there absorbed its full impact.Hermione stiffened, confusion and something unnameable swirling through her. The professor — no, this man — hunched his shoulders and bent his knees in a way that seemed almost self-effacing, as though apologizing for the need to accommodate her shorter frame. The embrace was firm but not suffocating, and yet it carried a weight she couldn’t quite name. His teaching robes anchored her against him, the thick fabric pooling around her back like a shield against the outside world. His long, slender fingers gripped the fitted fabric of her muted violet, scoop-neck knitted jumper, holding on with a quiet desperation that made her breath hitch.The excessive, obsidian cloak, which had so often seemed to billow menacingly around him in her memories, now curled protectively around her body. It felt strangely warm, its coarse polyester folds shifting as he hauled her up a little. She fully stood on her toes, which made her a bit wobbly against him. Clumsy. Before she could stumble, the dark wizard clinging to her pressed his body closer to hers, sharing with her his invisible roots that seemed to plant into very the creaky floorboards of the old inn room.For all the strength in his posture, there was something fragile in the way he clung to her, as if letting go might shatter him into pieces. Hermione’s heart ached against her better judgment, her embarrassment momentarily eclipsed by a swell of something far gentler.The harsh, strong, and large bone of his aquiline nose dug into her throat. Uncomfortable considering the angle in which he buried his face in her neck. Strangely, it was not unpleasant. If anything, the imperfection humanized him a bit. Ever since the war came to its tragic close, the witch had seemingly placed him upon an unreachable pedestal.Before this moment, he was a brilliant, powerful, and capable wizard. Untouchable. But now, he felt fully within her stunted reach. Approachable. Equally as vulnerable.Lips parting, the Hermione swallowed. With shaky hands, she hesitantly settled her gentle touch on his shoulders. The effort only made him tighten his grasp on her body.
What was this?
The unexplored expanse of the unknown. A clash of Dark and Light. A punctuated question. An unintelligible answer.Warmth. Peace. Safety. No — sanctuary. Singular.The witch's chest strangled the air in her lungs, making her suffocate on the very breath she expunged from her throat. A flurry of questions battered her chest like a ram at a medieval castle gate. But the witch did not dare give voice to a single one.The dampness sticking to her skin at her bare throat surprised her. Rather than address it, Hermione pinched her brows together, endeavoring to file through every possible way to comfort him. But she didn't know him.Rather than overthink while misery grappled him, the witch leaned her head against the side of his and eased into his awkward embrace. His thick tear dropped onto her skin. It slipped down the sharp slope of her prominent collarbone until it slowly disappeared under her jumper. She lost track of the heavy droplet when it slipped down the plane of her small left breast, disappearing over her heart.Somewhere in the world, something toppled, crumbling around them as they held each other. Steady. His scent overwhelmed her. Masculine. Patchouli and a hint of aged smoke. Grounding, earthy, inviting, and mysterious with a distinct touch of alchemical experimentation.Hermione's cheek slipped against the slightly greasy, glossy black hair bunching between them there. Experimentation. Yes! The young witch's hands trembled, but they drowned in a sea of shoulder-length, pin-straight hair. His hair, surprisingly softer than she'd ever imagined, slid through the spaces of her fingers as she adjusted her grip, nails grazing his scalp with unintended intimacy.A sound, low and deep, rumbled from deep within his chest — a vibration she felt more than heard. Severus' right hand lowered until fell to the small of her back. Once again, his breath stirred the air just above her collar, brushing over the fresh, deep scar he'd given her. Instinctively, her toes curled in her boots, grounding her as his closeness seemed to pull her into another world.A world without foul words, deep-seated prejudices, and shades of magic. In this world, there was no Dark or Light. Simply the existence of a lovely power: strong and relentless. Raw and vibrant. But before she could explore it further, he stiffened, slowly pulling away with a quiet gasp.As she fell back to her heels, their cheeks brushed briefly. It was a fleeting touch that left her skin wondrously tingling. His stormy, obsidian gaze searched hers, a searing intensity that made her swallow — the motion visible against the hollow of her throat.Her hands, still uncertain, slid downward from his shoulder until one rested lightly against the fabric of his left sleeve. Beneath her palm, where his Dark Mark would lie, she thought she felt the faintest tremor. Unconsciously, she squeezed her hand and brushed her thumb back and forth there. The silence stretched, charged with more than words could carry, his eyes still fixed on hers.Parting her lips, Hermione hesitated before asking, "What's happened?"“Granger,” he finally murmured, his voice low, deliberate, and laced with something dangerous yet fragile. But the words stopped there, leaving the rest unsaid, hanging in the space between them.The question seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he had fallen into. Finally, his voice came, low and rough. “The Elder Wand is gone.”Hermione’s stomach plummeted. She didn’t interrupt, though her fingers tightened on his sleeve. He continued, his words clipped but laden with meaning.“Albus’ grave has been desecrated. His body…m-mutilated.” His jaw tightened, and she saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth as if the memory threatened to overwhelm him. “His head was severed from his body. His right index finger, too. Blood…Hermione, it was everywhere.”Hermione watched his face contort under the unbearable weight of what he had witnessed. His eyes clouded with a haunting that seemed to stretch far beyond the moment. Shallow, small lines that framed the outside of both of his eyes deepened as his jaw tightened, the faintest tremble betraying the fragility beneath his stoic mask. She couldn’t begin to imagine the horror of it — the blood, the desecration, the sheer violation of everything. No, she didn’t want to imagine it, but the fragmented images her mind conjured made her stomach churn.Her hand tightened on his forearm instinctively, her touch firm yet gentle as if to keep him anchored to this moment. Their unexpected, haunting moment. The motion was as much for herself as it was for him, a desperate attempt to offer reassurance in the face of such unspeakable anguish. Her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came — what could she possibly say to make any of this less unbearable? Instead, she remained silent, letting the warmth of her hand speak where words would fail.“Classes have been canceled for the day,” he said, his voice gaining a fraction more steadiness. “Two figures were spotted on castle grounds. When I heard you were missing...I-I forced Potter to find you. Sent him away. To the castle. Given what you carry, I could not bear to think what would happen to you if...”Hermione’s lips again parted, but no sound came for a moment. A forced, small smile stretched her lips. "I-I'm fine, Severus."The professor's left hand gripped her elbow, slightly tugging her closer to him. Her mind whirled with the implications of his words, but she forced herself to focus on him — on the way his free hand flexed as though he were trying to purge the memory from his muscles.“Bellatrix,” he said finally, the name curling off his tongue like venom. “It is the most logical explanation. She has the Elder Wand.”Hermione’s breath came quicker, the pieces clicking into place in her mind. “I agree,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “Do you think she...means to try and mend it?”The older wizard brushed some of her shorter hair that had fallen loose of its elastic behind the curve of her ear. He searched her features for a moment as his thumb stroked the skin under her ear. The witch swallowed against the gentle shiver his touch elicited. After a moment, he stepped toward her, dipped his head, and hunched his shoulders. Despite the fact it was only them who occupied the room, his natural inclination was to preserve their secrets."I would not be surprised. Your speculation this morning proved rather true enough."Hermione's lips twitched, though tears glossed over her eyes. "I don't want to be right about this.""I am sure she was meant to possess the book, Granger. What she would want with my memories is rather unclear, but I am certain you foiled careful plans set forth by the Dark Lord himself.""A fail safe?"Severus paused, only nodding after careful contemplation. "Would you really be surprised?""You did not know about this." There was no room in her statement for a question. Hermione knew it to be true. She simply needed to voice aloud the dark thoughts. "I-I thought You Know Who trusted you until the end...""The Dark Lord always had options."Hermione's brows flattened. "It doesn't make sense. If he knew about the book, then why didn't he use it? How was it with your other things in evidence and not already with the Death Eaters?"Severus' eyes narrowed, and he studied her for a moment. "Perhaps he simply knew of the book's existence. Is it so impossible that a pureblood family possessed it unknowingly?"The witch's gaze dropped to his chest, the wheels in her head turning at a lightning's pace. Eventually, the torrent calmed when he squeezed her elbow. She glanced up at him again. "The Ministry obtained it...perhaps even by accident after the war, and someone within it found it and planted it with your things."The edge of Severus' mouth ticked up. "It's the most plausible theory we have given what little we've to work on at the present moment.""We have to destroy this horcrux, Severus. There must be a way!"Hermione’s gaze lingered on Severus, watching his expression darken and twist into something unreadable. A dangerous, potentially foul idea worked in his mind. Reluctance steeled his aged features. Lowering his hand from her elbow, he swallowed as he pried his arm from her hold to hang it at his side.The witch narrowed her eyes, swallowing. The pit in her stomach worked to translate the stormy glare he fixed on her into words. Time stood still, squeezing around her as a familiar dread enveloped her whole. After a beat, he dropped his gaze, anchoring it at her throat."You want to use it. Wield it?""A horcrux impervious to basilisk venom. We know little of such dark objects already." Severus' gaze again met hers. This time, it felt softer. "I see no point in eschewing the opportunity to strengthen our understanding of them and fortify what little advantage we currently have."There was no feeling stronger within her than dread. Every cell in her body fought the urge to step away from him. According to Sirius and Remus, the dark arts had consumed him in his youth. Lily was the sole reason he'd joined the Order: why he fought against Voldemort.Severus stepped closer to her, the contempt in his dark sneer apparently thin as it cracked. The witch stood her ground. His brows pinched together, the faintest tremble betraying the effort it took to maintain his composure. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that seemed to plead with her. The lines around his mouth tightened, and his lips parted slightly, as though forming the words physically pained him."If your book could be useful to us, Hermione, why not, then, seek to answer our questions? Better us to have them than Bellatrix Lestrange."Who was Severus Snape without Albus' oppressive orders and Voldemort's control? What happened when this man tasted true freedom for, perhaps, the first time? Was she a fool to trust him?The walls of her throat constricted, and breathing proved rather difficult. Hermione searched his eyes. All she could do was assess the man she knew now. A lock of Snape's long hair fell, obscuring part of his molten stare. Extending her arm up between them, the witch swallowed and gently eased the hair from his face with her index finger. When her trim fingernail skimmed his scalp, she felt him stiffen. The soft sound of his breath catching punctuated the resounding aura of safety his presence imposed upon her."What if no answers existed?" Was she really entertaining this conversation?The Potions master narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"Hesitantly, Hermione bit her lip and searched his unreadable stare. After a moment, the witch lifted her beaded bag and opened it, setting it on the desk so that she could plunge her arm up to her shoulder inside of it. No summoning spell was necessary for this particular object. A crude, foul coldness drew her straight to it. Swallowing, she pulled it out and refastened the bag's strings closed.
Severus' eyes sank to the mostly ordinary black leather-bound book, its edges jagged and crudely ripped to fit the shape of its cover. Three silver lines adorned the spine. A pinching, prodding ringing buzzed in her ears; however, the book had no other effect on her.
Opening the old tome, Hermione presented the empty pages to the professor. Clearing her throat, she said, "Its pages are all empty. I thought it might emulate Tom Riddle's diary, but ink simply rolls off the parchment. None of the pages soak the ink whatsoever. I've spent too much time tinkering with various spells so it reveals itself to me...but nothing so far works."A flash of the summer sun hitting her face hit her, pulling her from the moment with the force of a freight train. Hermione held her wrist over a funnel as she siphoned her own blood into an inkwell. Scrunching her face, the witch shook her head and swallowed.
"I even tried replacing the ink with…blood. Perhaps it's charmed not to accept the blood of a muggle-born witch or wizard...""May I?"Hermione glanced back up at Snape, nodding absently as she offered him the blank, cursed book. As he clutched its edge and pulled it from her hands, the foul object glowed, its hue the color of the blackest night. The light traveled up from the pages and into his hands.
Severus' entire body seemed paralyzed, and Hermione's panic surged through her like wildfire. Her hands darted toward him instinctively, trembling as she gripped his arm, desperate to shake him free from whatever had taken hold."Severus? Severus!" she called out, her voice rising with alarm. Her mind raced through possibilities, dread curling in her stomach as his expression remained frozen, his features caught in a horrifying stillness that sent chills down her spine. Tears flooded her eyes.Choking on a thick gasp, Hermione covered her mouth only for a second. She cast her full attention on the book. What was happening? Without a second thought, she tried to yank the object from his grasp, but some sort of magic held it there. The dark, vicious glow seeping into the professor's body receded slightly and shot toward the witch's hand.The glow shifted, its color brightening to the same green shade of the killing curse. Entering her body, Hermione froze where she stood. The room they occupied blurred, and she stood in the middle of Hog's Head. A much younger Albus Dumbledore sat across a table in a corner opposite of Professor Trelawney.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies—"
A force ripped her from them and toward a much younger Severus Snape, who lurked in the shadows. Comparatively, this man — quite closer to a boy — felt dangerous. Lethal. Eager. Hungry. Hermione clutched her belly, the dread there too much for her to stomach; however, Aberforth Dumbledore marched right through her and clutched Snape's collar, dragging him toward the door and casting the young dark wizard out.Without moving, the scene ripped away from her view. Instead, a clash of memories ripped apart her control.
"You've done well, Severus," Voldemort said.
Though she was rather non-corporeal at the moment, a torrent of rage thrashed within her. He told Voldemort about the prophecy! Of course, she knew of this. Harry has told her the abstract highlights. But seeing the moment her best friend's life fell apart with her own eyes? Something broke: more than her heart. Her soul, perhaps?
"Protect her," Severus pleaded to Albus.
Protect her. Just Lily? Not James or Harry?

“Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans’s eyes, I am sure?”

“DON’T!” bellowed Snape. “Gone…dead…”
At that moment, Hermione's magic strengthened against the darkness swirling her within the professor's past, the sight of Severus so lost in anguish emboldening her to claim some control in the flurry. She emerged in the memory, no longer an invisible witness. When she reached out for Snape's shoulder, her touch faded within him like she was a ghost.
“Is this remorse, Severus?”

“I wish…I wish I were dead…”

“And what use would that be to anyone?” said Dumbledore coldly.
What USE would he be to anyone if he were dead? Hermione wanted to vomit. No matter how much she thought she knew about Albus, reality revealed a truth that left a seed of hate for the old man in her heart. He'd forced Harry to grow up and was prepared to sacrifice him anyway. But this?
“If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear.”

Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain, and Dumbledore’s words appeared to take a long time to reach him.

“What — what do you mean?”

“You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.”
And he had. Severus never failed Harry when it mattered most.
The professor crossed his arms, quickly shifting his stare over to Lupin and Tonks before settling his undivided attention back on Hermione. She did not know of what lengths Severus would take in order to protect her. He was a part of this endless madness. She was not alone. It was the least he would do.
Suddenly, the darkness ejected her from Severus' mind. The inn room painted itself around her until reality was solid once more. The black glow that had invaded Snape’s body shifted, its inky darkness dissolving into an unsettling, vivid green —a hue that matched the color gnawing around her own arms. His limbs twitched first, then jerked back into motion as though released from invisible chains. The rigidity drained from his frame, but the dark magic lingered around him, crackling faintly in the air like an ominous whisper.The green light coalesced into a tight ball and shot up Hermione's left wrist: into her sleeve. The dark, grim sneer on his face crumbled when she whimpered and fell to her knees. Snape knelt beside her, his expression wild as he shoved her sleeve up, revealing the foul word etched on her skin there. It glowed green for a moment, eventually fading away until all that remained was the original cracked, carved flesh.
Hello, Hermione...
The whisper sharpened with each uttered syllable. That she'd never heard such a voice before brought her little comfort. The witch ignored the Potions master, shooting up to her feet gasping and spinning to take inventory of the room. "Who's there?" she asked, her voice shaky and pulse thrashing at her chest.A ghostlike breath squeezed the air around her, and a draft that ought not to have been there siphoned toward the door, which clicked open. Hermione chased the disturbance, stopping just outside the room's threshold. Checking down both directions of the hall, the witch gasped."Hello?" she asked the empty space of the hallway, withdrawing her wand from the narrow pocket she'd sewn into the denim of each of her trousers and jeans at her right thigh.
A millennia and more have I waited for you: my chosen. I can yet summon magic enough to meet you. The man shall protect you until we can, at last, meet.
Hermione’s breath caught, her chest tightening painfully as a chill crept down her spine. Her fingers gripped the fabric of her jumper as though it might anchor her to something solid."Who are you?"
I am the one who chose you.
A sheen of sweat broke across her brow, and her hands began to tremble despite her attempts to still them. She pressed her lips together, swallowing hard as her gaze darted around the hallway, searching for a threat she couldn’t see."Speak plainly..."
Time shall reveal all.
Her pulse hammered in her ears, drowning out the silence as the air grew heavier, suffocating. Even her breaths felt uneven, shallow, as her mind raced to make sense of the ominous exchange. Yet she stood rooted, unable to step away from the invisible tension tightening around her like a vice."I want to know who you are! What have you chosen me for?"
Protect the book.
"I will destroy the foul thing!"
Heh. You do not destroy it. You destroy me.
Hermione froze. "What?"But the sound of someone falling back against creaky wall with a loud 'thud' made her jump. When she whirled around, the witch pointed the tip of her wand at Severus Snape, who stood under the doorframe clinging to the hilt of his wand like a lifeline and covering his mouth with the other. Lowering the hand at his mouth, he swallowed and rushed toward her, gripping both of her arms near the shoulder. Hermione's right arm fell so her wand no longer pointed at him. He towered over her, his menacing sneer fixed on her. Only her."Tell me exactly what just happened!"Choking on her breath, the witch swallowed. "The book showed me fragments of your past."Severus gritted his teeth and groaned, his impatience never more terrifying. "Yes, I am acutely aware of that! What happened after?""I heard someone.""Who?"Hermione's mouth hung open for a moment. "I-I'm not sure!"Snape's grip on her tightened. She was she the skin there might bruise. "Who were you speaking to? What did you say?"Tears stung her eyes. Flattening her brows, she narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "You heard what I said, sir."Severus' head shook and his sneer darkened. "No!" he roared. A violent chuckle cut off his wild breath. "See, unlike Potter, the Dark Lord, and now, apparently, you, I'm not a Parselmouth!"Hermione gulped. "What?"

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day 21

Monday, September 21, 1998

. . .
Hermione
. . .
Hermione’s chest felt hollow, a gnawing ache tightening around her ribs like iron chains. The connection to the ancient wizard — at least she knew without a doubt it was not Voldemort! — felt like a dark tether, pulling at her thoughts no matter how hard she tried to push it away. Her fingers twitched at her sides, betraying the agitation she wouldn’t allow to reach her face.Only an hour ago, Severus had stood frozen, his limbs and face unnaturally stiff and rigid — all because she’d let go of that stupid cursed book. Assessing him proved rather unsettling. By all appearances, Severus stood at Minerva's side, his expression as inscrutable as ever. He seemed fine. But dark magic always left a mark. It crept beneath the surface, waiting to strike.Just like Bellatrix's cursed scar on her forearm. It ached, itched, and thrashed. Burned, even. Much more ardently now that the small, tight ball of lethal green light infected the already gruesome carving.The thought of him — brilliant, dark, and unrelenting Severus — suffering on her account clawed at her insides. Her chest tightened painfully, as though an invisible hand had reached in to squeeze her heart. Her breath hitched in her throat, breaking into shallow, uneven gasps that she struggled to control. A faint tremor worked its way into her fingers, and she clasped her hands into tight fists to still them. However, the cold sweat gathering on her palms betrayed her effort.The dread gnawed at her relentlessly, its sharp edges carving deeper with every passing moment. Here she stood getting lectured like a third-year without a Hogsmeade permission slip while Severus could be in grave peril — while Bellatrix rallied the remaining Death Eaters.
It would not be earning an 'O' on her Charms N.E.W.T. that protected those she cared about. No amount of writing essays would save them. The idea of cowering in the library felt fraudulent.Then, there was the matter of the Parseltongue.That vile language lingered on the edges of her consciousness, slithering just beneath her thoughts. Every time she opened her mouth or even simply drew breath, the fear gripped her anew. Her teeth clenched as if to trap the words before they formed on her tongue. The tension building in her jaw threatened to split her head in two.What if she spoke, and it wasn’t the common tongue that came out? Better to stay silent, to let them misinterpret her hesitation as insolence or even fear, than to confirm her growing nightmare.The Room of Requirement stretched wide, its transformation eerily perfect. It mirrored the headmistress’ (or rather Albus') office, but on a grander scale, with its high ceilings and glowing sconces along the stone walls. Given the variety of personal agendas and conflicting allegiances that crowded the space, the extra room was probably only a good thing.Hermione’s arms stayed tightly crossed, her nails digging into her sleeves. Her gaze darted past Draco, who stood at her side. His hands were clenched behind his back, and his stance was taut. It was as though he braced against an unseen wind. His weight shifted, a restless energy in his every movement, though his face remained carefully neutral.Malfoy was only here since Hermione had earlier insisted he be informed on matters that involved his mother. It was, however, the unexpected prisoner who still turned his nose up at the room who warranted the need for so many other unexpected faces: Aurors and Order members personally lent to the school by their new Minister.Lucius Malfoy.
Apparently, Azkaban was even too crowded for the likes of the wretched man. Draco hadn't even looked at him. Not once. Nor had the vile Death Eater spoken.Thank Merlin!To the left, Professor McGonagall’s upright posture cast a commanding silhouette. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, swept the room before landing on Hermione. Beside her, Severus Snape seemed to blend with the shadows, his dark robes pooling around his feet. His face was blank, a mask honed from years of practice. His gaze, however, lingered too long on Hermione. She could not discern whether it was anger, hatred, or concern.Perhaps a mix of some combination or other?Remus stood further back, more so an extra wand should things get out of turn than an active participant in the current conversation. Near him, Kingsley Shacklebolt stood as an anchor, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he observed the gathering with a steady presence.Lucius Malfoy, wrists and ankles shackled and pale, stood in the center of a circle of familiar faces: Cormac McLaggen (when had he been accepted as an Auror apprentice?) as well as Bill and Fleur Weasley. His eyes, filled with simmering disdain, flicked toward Hermione before snapping to his wife — softening just a bit.Narcissa’s hands remained unbound, the faint tremor in her knuckles belying the otherwise serene mask she wore. Her eyes, however, darted toward Draco as if tethered to his every move. She also paid her husband no mind at all.McGonagall’s voice sliced through the oppressive silence. “Miss Granger, I must, again, emphasize the seriousness of your actions.” Each word would have landed like a strike had Hermione not just spoken with a dark ghost. “Leaving school grounds without permission, skipping classes, and endangering staff members tasked with locating you are reckless actions I cannot ignore. Gryffindor House will lose thirty points for these infractions.”That would make Gryffindor House have nearly zero points. Her peers would have yet one more thing to blame her for.
Charming.
Hermione’s lips pressed tighter. Her arms locked harder against her body as if to anchor her in place. The heat of McGonagall’s words, the weight of so many eyes, finally bore down on her like a spell that stole the air from her lungs. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her sleeves, but she wouldn’t — couldn’t — speak.The silence stretched until Harry’s footsteps broke the tension. “Professor,” he said, his voice low but steady. The glance he shot Hermione carried far more worry than it ought to have. “Hermione’s dealing with a lot. She’s overburdened — school, the aftermath of the war, and...personal things...” His gaze flicked toward Lucius, his jaw tightening. “Maybe putting her in charge of not one but two Malfoys isn’t the best idea.”Hermione’s head snapped up, her glare striking Harry like a hex. After everything, he seriously thought her incapable of handling such a responsibility? It was absurd! Cutting. “Quiet, Harry!” The sharpness of her voice sliced the air, drawing startled looks from all around. No one looked particularly horrified, which pleased her. She'd spoken in the common tongue after all! Her fists uncurled, one arm dropping to her side as she took a step forward. "This doesn't concern you."Harry drew his head back. "Doesn't concern me? Hermione, need I remind you—"The witch scrunched her face. In quick succession, she rolled her eyes, sighed, and groaned. "I'm perfectly capable of remembering that we're best friends!""All I'm saying—""Never mind you! Last I checked, Aurors-in-training have no jurisdiction in the punishment of Hogwarts students. I shall let you know, however, when I curse one so that you can draw up the arrest papers in advance.""Blimey, Hermione!" Harry winced, stepping back.Kingsley glanced at Hermione, the tension in his features unsettling. "Perhaps Harry's right—""No, he's not!" Hermione gasped, the crack in her voice betraying the authority she wished she assumed right about now. Swallowing, the witch folded her arms over her chest. No matter how she presented herself, she knew she'd appear nothing more than a petulant girl.Reaching up to push back some hair from her face, she said, "I will do what must be done. You say Mr. Malfoy must be here to prevent him from returning to the Death Eaters, so he will be here. I will watch over him. Really, it-it's nothing I cannot handle."If only she could magically transfer Snape's signature sneer onto her face...“Even if Granger can't handle it, my mother isn’t leaving Hogwarts," he said, his tone cold and final. Draco glared at his father. His lip curled. "My father, however, can rot."Hermione’s eyes dropped. There was a way to balance everything. Her chest tightened, the weight of her responsibilities layering one over the other until they nearly buried her alive. The tasks loomed: her classes, her N.E.W.T.s, the cursed horcrux, her apprenticeship with Severus, Narcissa’s sentence. Bellatrix. The threat of her lingered like smoke in the corners of her mind. Intangible, but certainly there. Suffocating. The room felt smaller suddenly, her breaths shallow and quick.Control.The witch had to focus on things she could control. The longer such a thought sounded in the back of her mind, the clearer the answer became. A part of her — the pieces stolen by war and the grief that followed — yanked at her fraying resolve. It was a betrayal of self, but it would serve the greater good.Therefore, it must be done.The murmurs of conversation from McGonagall, Kingsley, and the others blurred into background noise. Snape was remarkably quiet. Hermione took a sharp breath, straightening her back. Her pulse thundered in her ears, but she couldn’t let it stop her.“I’m done pretending to be a student,” she said, her voice cutting through the layered discussions. "I gave it a shot, but it's for the best."The room went still. McGonagall’s brows rose, her expression shifting from surprise to sharp inquiry. “W-What do you mean, Miss Granger?”Hermione squared her shoulders, the tremble in her hands disappearing as she met McGonagall’s gaze. “I can pass all seven of my N.E.W.T.s without sitting in a classroom all year. There’s too much at stake to waste time while Bellatrix strengthens her position. She’s not resting, so why should I?”Kingsley’s calm, appraising gaze moved from the Malfoys back to Hermione. McGonagall’s stare didn’t waver. “Miss Granger, you—"Severus stalked toward her, stopping only until he overwhelmed her field of view. Leaning forward slightly, he imposed his presence upon her. However, his eyes appeared frantic and breath erratic. "You cannot leave Hogwarts.""Prof—""Professor Snape is correct, Hermione." Shacklebolt lifted his chin as he studied her.Minerva joined at Snape's side, her expression fragile as she searched Hermione's features. “Severus' and Draco’s sentences — the apprenticeship — rely heavily on your participation, Hermione. Per the Wizengamot's ruling, they cannot be left alone together, and you know that no one else is willing to apprentice in Potions.”“I’m not leaving the school,” Hermione clarified, her voice rising slightly. She dragged her gaze across the room: starting from Minister Shacklebolt, lingering a little on the headmistress, and settling on Snape. The Potions master's sneer melted a little. He seemed to breathe easier, steadier.“But I won’t sit idly in a classroom while there’s work to be done. Unless any of you have a Time-Turner I can use, it's nothing but impossible to accomplish everything. Something must give, and this is what makes the most sense. I'll be around to honor my commitments to the Ministry’s sentences and my apprenticeship. I’ll attend classes as regularly as reasonable, but lessons and assignments won't be my priority. I'll have the time for Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, too.”Draco’s scoff broke the tension, his arms crossing over his chest. “What about Potions? You’re my partner, remember?”The witch lifted her brow and drew her head back. "You're competent enough to handle it on your own, Malfoy."Draco stepped closer to her, narrowing his eyes. "I don't think you understand the definition of the word 'partners', Granger..."Hermione’s eyes rolled before she offered a curt nod. “Fine. Potions, I'll attend.”Lucius’s chuckle cut through the room, his lips curling as his gaze bored into her. The entire room watched him, which seemed to satisfy him. “My son shouldn’t have to depend on a girl of your…origins.”Control.Yes. Shutting up Lucius Malfoy was something she could control. Hermione’s wand flashed upward, the move a reflex by now. “Locomotor Wibbly!”The spell hit him squarely, his legs wobbling chaotically under his weight. The room erupted in a cacophony of gasps, but Hermione didn’t flinch. Draco glared at his father, not bothering to conceal his chuckle. The man struggled, but he positioned his arms in such a way that he could sneer at the witch. Her wand remained steady, her voice calm and cold.“There’s hardly a reason to hold back, Mr. Malfoy. Just call me a mudblood and be done with it.”Lucius fixed all of his hatred upon her. "Why you little—"Harry and Ron surged forward, their movements quick and instinctive, but Hermione raised a hand to stop them. The anger bubbling beneath her skin made her fingers tremble. Before she could speak, a sharp swish of black robes signaled Severus’ second approach. He inserted himself between Hermione and her two friends so that all that crowded her view was him.The professor's hand clamped onto her elbow, a firm, warning grip that sent a jolt of shock through her. The heat of his touch clashed with the icy intensity in his glare. She found that, despite such harsh eyes devouring her momentary gumption, his touch was not unwelcome. Nor was the suffocating, imposing scent of earthy herbs and the rich weight of campfire smoke.Together, the overwhelming warmth and ambrosial aroma reinforced something within her. The longer she searched the man's dark, deep glare, the delicate heat pinched her cheeks. Swallowing, the witch felt the wrath of his words before he spoke them into existence."You will not speak THAT word, Miss Granger!" Severus hissed. The words reverberated in the still room, striking her like the very curse he'd inflicted upon her when she'd pulled him out of his stupor that night. Dark eyes, burning with a storm of unspoken emotions, locked onto hers, demanding her attention.Her submission.Hermione's breath caught, but she didn’t lower her gaze. Her lips parted, trembling slightly as though she might speak, but no sound emerged. Defiance burned in her expression, her chin tilting upward in a silent challenge. The air between them crackled with tension, neither willing to break the standoff. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her knuckles whitening as if to anchor herself against the whirlwind of his fury.Flattening her brows, the witch parted her lips and prepared a retort. However, she was too slow.Ron shoved Snape back with a force that left the Potions master stumbling slightly. "Take your greasy hands off her, Snape!" Ron’s voice was sharp, his face flushed with anger. He held out an arm as if to protect the witch from the professor.Rolling her eyes, Hermione rushed around her friend and stepped between them, her back to Severus. Countless hours' worth of rows slapped Hermione so hard, their impact made her gut squeeze.
"Keep insulting Professor Snape, and I’ll hex you!" she snapped, her wand twitching in her palm. Her voice trembled slightly, but her eyes remained steady.Minerva sighed. "There will be no hexing..."Behind her, Severus chuckled, the grim sound rather ominous and unsettling. As he shifted, the witch heard his ridiculously excessive cloak sway against the stone floor.
"And yet, Granger trusts these ‘greasy hands’ more than your clumsy fists and loud, empty declarations." Each word felt deliberate and particularly venomous.Hermione stepped closer to the boy. Swallowing, she reached for his arm, but he tore it away."Trusts YOU? You're barking! She pities you — and that’s all you’ll ever have, isn't it?""Please, Ron—"Harry moved close to their best friend. "Come off it, mate.""You live in a fantasy, Weasley! It’s almost endearing how much you believe she needs saving," Severus retorted. "Your ability to provide protection is as empty as your words are loud."Minerva stepped closer to the professor. "Severus, enough. Have some sense—"Ron’s fists clenched at his sides. "How long do you think she’ll tolerate you lurking around her before she realizes you’re poison?" he retorted, stepping closer. The tension between them crackled in the air.Hermione’s hand darted out, pressing firmly against Ron’s chest to halt him. "Stop it, Ronald!" Her voice softened but still carried an edge of desperation.
Ron’s glare didn’t waver until she uttered the syllables of his name. Every shred of anguish he'd directed at Snape now sharpened on her. "Why do you defend him, Hermione?" he asked, his tone laced with betrayal. "He’s a fucking monster! He was one of them!"Hermione’s throat tightened, and her vision blurred as tears gathered in her eyes. "He didn’t kill Fred, Ron…" Her voice cracked, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the room."No, but he sliced George's ear off, didn't he?" Ron took another step forward, his voice lowering but no less heated. "Besides, it doesn’t matter! The man still is and always will be a murderer, Hermione. That’s who your precious Professor bloody Snape really is."A tear slipped down Hermione’s cheek, and she didn’t bother to wipe it away. She stepped closer to Ron, her gaze unwavering. "We’ll finish this conversation in private," she said, her tone steady despite the quiver in her lip.Ron’s eyes flicked toward Severus, then back to Hermione. "She couldn’t just leave you to die, could she?" he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. His voice dropped further, bitterness curling around each word. "No matter. I bet no one would want you in the afterlife either. That…or Lily would simply beg them not to let you in."Harry flew to Ron, shoving him back a few steps. "Do NOT bring my mother into this!"Remus joined Harry's side. Minerva shouted. Kingsley pointed at the three guarding Lucius, clearly barking orders or something. For the moment, everyone focused on Harry, who bickered with Ron.Something told her to glance over her shoulder, and she did. Severus’ wand rose so swiftly it was almost imperceptible. The professor stood much closer to her now. His lips began to form the syllables of the very curse Bellatrix extended to the witch. "Cru—"The start of the quiet, foul incantation shocked her into action. Hermione had to do something. She stumbled, landing squarely against Snape's chest. The witch steadied her clumsy efforts by flattening her palm at Severus' stomach. Splaying her fingers, they curled a little into the thick, coarse fabric of his frock coat. The impact drowned the rest of the unforgivable chant. Instantly, his eyes dropped, meeting hers as he choked on a breath and pinched his brows. A tremor rattled at her palm, and she could have sworn the older wizard leaned into her slightly and briefly shifted his hungry stare down from her glare…to her mouth?No — it couldn’t be. Impossible.
A sharp, menacing, and voluptuous presence squeezed inside of her mind through a gap the size of a pinhole. Its slippery, elusive texture prodded against her brain — the pinch at her left temple more freezing than painful. No matter the person, Severus’ intrusion was a violation. Strangely, though, the witch could not help but feel the bitter loneliness within her soul ease…even just a bit. Perhaps he’d stay and weather the torture, the nightmares, and the fear with her.
What could she do to keep him here with her?The older wizard’s creeping company batted away some of her superficial memories. Eventually, her mind fed him the most profound she’d yet lived:
Hermione stepped closer to Harry, her trembling hands scrunching the boy’s shirt at his stomach. The witch had saved Professor Snape, who should still lay in his private chambers. Madam Pomphrey promised to check in on him. The old wizard’s antivenin, for which she’d apparated to procure from his chambers, had stopped Nagini’s venom. Now the bite and Voldemort’s laceration only had to remain stable.

He’d survive.

Harry had seen something in the professor’s memories. All he told her and Ron was that Dumbledore intended for their best friend to die — how Snape had protected him over the years. Why such a routinely vile man would do so escaped Hermione’s limited interest. A battle waged around them, and she could only feel grateful for the man in whom the deceased headmaster had always trusted: right to the end.

Hermione didn’t need Harry to vocalize how Severus Snape was on their side. Something within her had simply known it. Somehow…

The witch simply would not allow it. If she went with him, two things could happen: Harry Potter would not die alone or Hermione would improvise a way to save him from the darkest wizard of their time.

“I’ll go with you…”

Helga Hufflepuff’s cup was destroyed. The diadem, too. All that remained was killing Nagini and…Harry’s murder. The weight of the world foisted upon her shoulders. Why hadn’t she voiced her greatest fear months ago? Perhaps if she had, they could have planned…something…to save the Boy Who Lived.

The boy who’d become her brother. Her only family.

Without him, there was no one. However, the longer Harry held her heavy stare, the truth weaved between them — binding them to it like a vice. He would go alone. Ron was her best friend, but Harry?

The witch understood why everyone always misunderstood their relationship. She needed him. Perhaps others outside of the two of them would never understand. And that was fine.

Except, Hermione mused, she would lose him. She knew she would lose herself. Not just a piece. The whole of her would simply…cease.

Harry — the horcrux within him — had to die. He was simply fodder for the history books. Hermione had to allow it. Their time together was at an end. Choking on a sob, the witch threw herself into his arms.
The memory sizzled away. Now, Hermione fully felt him claiming physical space in her mind, hoarding just enough so he could infiltrate her thoughts in real time. She grimaced, the invasion feeling impossible to accommodate. A thin layer of sweat dampened her forehead and palms. Gritting her teeth, she fought not with him within herself. The battle strictly fell between the affronted know-it-all within her and the ghostly woman who craved the company.If she hadn't stopped him, Severus would have bestowed upon Ron a curse that haunted her. Every. Single. Fucking. Night. Once more, this man's pride drove him to inflict cruelty in a way that nearly broke her.It would be so easy for him.

"Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron said. "Look!"

He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth — she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back.

Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference."
Tears poured down her face, and she choked on her next breath. He was no friend. No! This man was exactly the thing he hated Harry’s father for: a bully. A weak, insidious coward who’d chosen to make her life miserable for the sole crime of raising her hand…and for associating with Harry Potter…and perhaps being a Gryffindor. The dark thoughts bombarded his presence, now something closer to a shadow or a spectator rather than a corporeal figure.
“Come back to me…”
The whisper brushed her mind like a feather against silk. The words were his. Not a memory, but a message — a joining of his mind with hers. All it would take to infiltrate his own mind was her endless supply of determination. However, she was content with his unexpected, gentle companionship within her mind.
“Please.”
Severus enveloped her mind like a cradle holding an infant. He hoarded the world’s supply of safety and imposed it within her mind — shielding her from all the anguish that crawled in her consciousness and manifested into her worst nightmares. The slippery intrusion melted until only a rich, soft tapestry of peace and security existed. This was not something he manufactured. Rather, the shift felt like her doing. The memory of this man clinging to her only an hour ago flashed around them. The space that existed where their minds tangled was beautiful. Enduring. Safe. But reality eventually blemished the display.
Perhaps if Bellatrix focused less on torturing you and more on finishing the job, life would have spared me back in May!
The revelation yanked her back without her permission. The poorly constructed walls erected around her heart attempted to reinforce themselves so he could not penetrate them.Not again…As the dark wizard's gaze met hers, the shift in his expression was instantaneous and harrowing. Hunger flickered there for a heartbeat before it dissolved into something far more human. Far more devastating. Desperate. His eyes widened, their usual sharpness blunted.
Hermione’s breath caught, her pulse quickening as she watched the controlled mask Severus wore crumble under the weight of his guilt. It was not just horror — it was anguish, twisting his features in a way she had never seen before. His breath hitched audibly as his free hand lifted, reaching for her as though he needed to tether himself to her before she faded away like a ghost.“Herm—“The first syllable of her name slipped from his lips, a hoarse and desperate sound that caught her off guard. The slight quaver in his voice struck her like a physical blow. For a fleeting second, she saw not the commanding, impenetrable professor but a man teetering on the edge of ruin.The stone beneath her boots scuffed as she stepped away from him, the small distance between them more like a chasm. His hand faltered midair, curling into a fist and then shaking between them before he dropped it at his side. Every line of his face worked, his jaw tightening and his brows knitting together. When fresh tears dropped from her eyes, he flinched.Wiping at them, the witch took one more step away from him and turned her back to him. Harry glared at Ron, who also appeared unhappy. However, when their argument dulled, Ron again fixed his glare on Snape. The walls of her throat squeezed.
What was the point of surviving the war if the fighting never stopped? If the pain never stopped?Hermione was rather tired of it all. Her eyes dropped to Ronald's fist, which tightened to the point where his fingers turned white. Divination was a ridiculous subject, but it was common sense as to what would happen next should she not intervene.Again.Life slowed, its lazy motion muting the colors of the world around her. Just when she believed herself finally indifferent to the dark wizard behind her, Hermione's body acted without her permission. In an instant, she fisted Ron's shirt at the collar and braced herself for the momentum of his relentless path. With her free hand, she clenched her fist and wound her arm back before setting loose every bit of grief the war left her with.The bridge of Ron's nose awkwardly collided with the knuckle of her index finger. The effect was as both obvious as it was immediate. At least a fracture... A quick spell would fix her up. The apple of Ron's pale cheek bruised already, and his broken nose bled. The boy clasped his face. The witch whimpered, clutching her wrist as she cringed a bit. The after-effects of their contact burning and vibrating up and down her arm."Merlin!" Hermione shouted, pressing her lips in a thin line as she squealed for a few long seconds. "Your face is a bloody freight train, Ron!""You hit me!" Ron shouted, sounding a bit nasally. He glanced at Harry. "She hit me!"Harry grimaced and rubbed his face with his palm. "Everyone saw that..."Those words seem to puncture Ron's pride in a delayed fashion. He straightened slowly, his gaze locking onto hers. "Once a swot, always a swot, huh?" he spat, his voice filled with disbelief. "What? The two of you crowd a workstation in the dungeons and work out an arrangement? You betray your friends, and he bumps up your marks or something?"Hermione’s breath hitched, the pain in her hand forgotten entirely. "Betraying my friends? You’re the one who’s being a right arse, Ronald!" Her voice cracked again, her words coming in a rush. "Someone had to knock some sense into you!"“Sense, huh?” he retorted, his glare murderous and pinned on her. “I’m not the one who can’t see he uses you to skirt Azkaban!”“Shouting and slinging insults won’t bring Fred back, Ronald!”“You don’t think I know that?” Ron closed the distance between them. The edge of her chest brushed his. The boy threw his finger in Snape’s direction over her shoulder. “I could say the SAME FUCKING THING about him, Hermione!” The ginger-haired boy tried to step around her, but she blocked his path to the Potions master.“You’ll go through me first…”Minerva sighed. “This is absurd. Put an end to this at once!”Ron laughed, wiping the blood under his nose. The boy shifted his attention to Snape. “Still need a girl to defend you, eh?”“RONALD!”Snape stepped forward until his chest pressed against her back, his sternum leaning into her shoulder. The momentum of the professor’s pace whirled the bottom of the black cloak around the witch’s leg as if to bind her to him in some small way. Ron reached out for the professor, but Hermione shoved him away with the uninjured hand, extending her arm and keeping her friend as far away from the older wizard as possible.“How many times has that girl saved your sorry life, Weasley?” Severus sneered. “Without that girl, where would you and Potter be, boy?”Ron scoffed, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes. “Well, that’s beside the point!”The fragrant ghost of patchouli and smoke coiled around Hermione the longer Snape lingered at her back. When a long, slender, and masculine finger delicately twitched against the pinky side of her left hand — opposite of the shoulder he towered over, the witch’s breath caught. The contact ignited a confusing quiver from her shoulders down to her toes.
Swallowing, Hermione loosened her grasp on Ron’s jumper enough to be the first of the feuding trio to invite concession. However, she did not relax her arm — afraid her friend would let loose upon Snape, who would easily best him. It was simply best to avoid any sort of confrontation altogether. Severus’ thumb stroked the length of the witch’s pinky finger, which instinctively curled around his touch. Each palpatation of her heart hammered against her ribcage.“Enough, Ron…”Ron’s face twisted with rage, his glare fixing back on her. "He hates you, Hermione!" he shouted. "I heard it myself when Harry and I visited him at St. Mungo’s. The Old Bat said he would KILL YOU for saving him! He SAID that! If he’s going around telling your two best friends things like that…I can’t imagine what he’s saying or planning to others! And you defend him — all of them! — the way you do?”Severus’ stance shifted, his wand rising to aim directly at Ron. His breaths came quick, his features taut with barely contained fury. He glanced briefly at Hermione, her tear-streaked face a flicker in his periphery, before his gaze snapped back to Ron. His voice, deep and uneven, seethed, "Give me a reason, Weasley..."Minerva moved swiftly, stepping toward Severus with a warning etched into every line of her face. "You threaten an Auror-in-training of the Ministry, Severus!"Hermione pinched her brows, stepping toward Minerva. “Professor Snape hardly started this. Ron provoked him!”The headmistress drew her head back, grimacing as she steadied her attention on the witch. “Professor Snape is a teacher, Miss Granger! An adult…”Hermione rolled her eyes. “Look around you! We’re all adults here.”“Be that as it may, Miss Granger—”Ron scoffed. "I’m not in training. I quit this morning. I’m here — I WAS here — for Hermione and as an Order member. Same as Bill and Fleur." The boy clutched his nose again and looked the witch over with obvious disgust. “Some friend you are, Hermione. Enjoy playing house with your Slytherins…”Despite the urge to follow after him, Hermione let the boy rush out from the Room of Requirement without a word. Her fist unclenched slowly, and the adrenaline coursing through her veins began to ebb, Now, only a dull, throbbing ache in her index finger lingered. She cradled her hand against her chest, taking a shuddering breath.“If all Order meetings are like this, count me in!” Draco proclaimed in the awkward silence.Harry grumbled something under his breath. “Shove off, Malfoy.”The others in the room began side conversations. She was not interested in dropping eaves, so she steeled herself to repair the damage on her hand. Snape’s presence no longer overwhelmed her. Checking over her shoulder, she saw he stalked away from Minerva and the Minister with a roll of his black eyes. He claimed a spot by the entrance a few paces away from her.Harry joined her, cupping her shoulder and furrowing his brows as he searched her muddy eyes. “All right there, Hermione?”“I will be…” The witch sighed. “Ron’s temper is still as bad as ever, I see.”Her friend constricted his features, hesitating before eventually replying, “It’s been a challenge being around him lately. He’s so angry — all the time.”“Not unlike someone I knew back in fifth year.”Harry rolled his eyes. “That was different. I had a—”Hermione flattened her brows when he abruptly stopped. “What, Harry?”“It’s…It’s nothing.”Sighing, the witch stepped close to him and tilted her head. “What were you going to say?”He parted his lips; however, it took a minute longer for him to continue. “I had a dark wizard in my head that year.”“Oh,” she said, swallowing and rubbing the scar on her left forearm unconsciously. “Right.”“Want me to?”“What?”Harry’s eyes fell to her broken finger. “Your hand?”Hermione shook her head. “I’ve got it.” The spell came naturally, silently forming on her lips. "Episkey."The witch bit the inside of her cheek and winced as her finger mended, cracking and strengthening as the bones knit themselves back together. A hiss escaped through gritted teeth, and she shook her hand lightly to dispel the lingering discomfort.
Harry grimaced, sucking in air through his teeth. Dropping his hand from her shoulder, the young wizard bumped his elbow with hers. She offered him a small smile that did not meet her eyes.“Well, that’s two Weasleys I’m not speaking to…”Harry chuckled, looking as exhausted as she felt. “Bad week to be a Weasley, I suppose.”Hermione knit her brows together and studied him for a minute. “Aren’t you going to ask which other Weasley to whom I’m not currently speaking?”For a second, Harry tensed. However, as he cleared his throat, he visibly relaxed again. “Ron and…Percy. Right?”The witch narrowed her eyes. She’d forgotten all about Percy. Something clamored for attention in the back of her mind. But she was simply too tired to chase it. After a beat, Hermione offered him a polite smile. “Right,” she lied.“What’s going on with them?” Harry asked.Hermione turned her head, casting a cautious glance over her shoulder. Severus stood stiffly, his dark silhouette a striking contrast against the warm glow of the sconces. His gaze burned with cold intensity, fixed on someone with exquisitely dark scrutiny. For a fleeting moment, she thought he might draw his wand again.Curiosity flickered to life as her eyes followed Severus’ line of sight. Lucius Malfoy, shackled and back on his feet, anchored on Snape a malevolent grin that stretched across his pale, aristocratic face. His gaze didn’t waver as it met Severus’ glare, sharp and taunting, like a predator cornering its prey. Something unspoken passed between them. However, it was the smugness in Lucius’ smirk that sent a chill skittering down Hermione’s spine.Her fingers twitched, still tingling from the spell. Hermione wished for nothing more than to move to Severus and ask what happened between them. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to face the Potions master. Proximity to the older wizard felt…vulnerable and overwhelming.
But vital.Space. Yes, it would indeed allow her some time to research for possible leads on who’d spoken to her earlier and resolve some of the wild feelings and fears that now inundated her mind.Rather than wait to be dismissed, Hermione announced her leave. Kingsley handed her a missive, a rolled, thick parchment with the seal of the Ministry, before she slipped away. Before she could leave, Harry asked if he could walk with her back to the eighth year tower. She declined.Only when he moved far enough away from her did the witch join Severus in his darkened part of the spacious copy of the headmistress’ office. She would strictly wish him a goodnight and be on her way. However, their proximity subdued her goals until she quietly spoke.“I’m not afraid of you, you know.”Severus stiffened, swallowing before he slipped his black stare on hers. “I am…inclined to believe otherwise, Miss Granger.”Hermione nodded, curling some hair back over her ear and clearing her throat. “You’re a gifted wizard, sir. It’s some of those gifts that inspire my unease. Perhaps it’s also the things you are capable of doing..the things you’ve seen. But Severus Snape? Him I do not fear.”As Snape shifted his weight from one foot to the other, he clenched his hands into fists and he seemed to choke on his quickening breath. “Why does this feel like a goodbye?”Hermione pinched her brows together. “It’s not.”The Potions master swallowed again. Ripping his gaze, which quickly shifted into a chaotic glare, from her, the dark wizard’s jaw worked like he ground his teeth together.
The witch stepped closer to him, turning her body so that they stood side by side. Her shoulder brushed his upper arm. He stiffened against her and swept his glare across the room.“I’ll make a friend out of you yet, Severus,” she muttered, sighing as she joined both hands behind her back. “How could I do that if it’s goodbye?”“I’m sorry, Hermione.”She shook her head. “Please don’t apologize,” she whispered. “Will you teach me?”Severus glanced back down at her, the question etched in his face before he asked, “What shall I teach you?”“Occlumency,” the witch answered. A small smile twitched the corners of her mouth. “Not from you. I…want to know how to keep our mutual friend at bay well before it becomes a problem. I’d like to think I’ll be a much better pupil than Harry was…if that offers you any comfort.”“Ask it,” Severus muttered, the words seeming to inflict him in some way. “And I shall show you anything you wish of me.”“Thank you.”“Do not thank me, Hermione.”Hermione’s smile brightened, stretching wide as she shook her head. Behind her, she fidgeted with her fingers, taking the edges of her sleeve between them and swallowing. “Will classes resume tomorrow?”“What’s it matter? You’re not entirely a student anymore. The headmistress rather quickly satisfied the Girl of the Golden Band of Three War Heroes’ demands.”Rolling her eyes, Hermione bumped her shoulder into his arm. Laughter bubbled in her chest and fluttered up to tickle her throat, the room carrying the quiet sound in the form of a gentle echo. She heard his breath shudder as several pairs of eyes locked onto them. “You make it sound as if I’m the arrogant, strutting Chosen One.”Under the inspection of their curious observers, Severus swallowed, sinking his tempered gaze to hers once more. “In a way, you are chosen. Is that not what you said the mutual friend mentioned?” he said, his features visibly darkening as he narrowed his eyes.Sighing, the witch untangled her hands behind her so she could covertly clasp the edge of his sleeve. She had no desire to speak of this any further. Desperate for anything else for which she could say, Hermione spoke the first thing that came to mind.
“You should know that I sometimes need a little time to stew in my feelings…sort out my fears. I don’t think I’ll be speaking with Ron for a month. At least. Ginny…perhaps only through the end of the week.”Snape stiffened, his brows pinching. “When shall I expect we speak next?”“Well,” Hermione said, clearing her throat. “We’re presently speaking after I’d just resolved to avoid you, too. I honestly don’t know what to make of you.”“The feeling is, regrettably, rather mutual…”The corner of her mouth ticked up. The way he stared at her made her gulp, so she dropped her gaze to observe a particularly uninteresting place on the stone floor. “One more thing…”“What is it?”“In the past, I’ve prioritized preserving my friendships over everything else.”Severus’ fingers bumped into the outside of her thigh, his touch there impossibly gentle and… Hermione cleared her throat. As quick as it came, he jerked his hand away, retreating only by a few millimeters.“I’m rather stuck with Harry and Ron, but I’m finding it necessary to withdraw further in myself with everyone else. I don’t mean to, but it just sort of happens. I endeavor to stay when possible and come back when not, but you know exactly what to say and do to… All that to say…I’m more fragile than I look. Okay?”Before he could reply, the witch offered him a parting smile and made for her private dorm to try to rest for the night. She would never learn to keep her mouth shut, would she?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day 23

Wednesday, September 23, 1998

. . .
Hermione
. . .
The Potions textbook snapped shut in Hermione’s hands. Her fingers hesitated over the pristine cover, and her eyes drifted to the faint shimmer of ink in the margin of the last page she’d reviewed. The words appeared recently written, their sharp black edges standing out against the fresh parchment:
Find me in my chambers after dinner. — S
Her jaw tightened as her gaze traced the slanted, elegant script. The message sprawled over the instructions for the Polyjuice Potion. Her lips pressed into a thin line. The brazen intrusion on her textbook lingered in her mind long after she stuffed the book into her bag and left the classroom.Hours later, the warmth of her private quarters in the eighth-year tower failed to dispel her irritation. She stood before the hearth, the flames reflecting off the glass Floo powder jar on a small stool beside it. With a measured breath, she threw the powder into the fire and stepped into the green flames. “Professor Snape’s chambers.”The spinning sensation ceased abruptly, depositing her in a dimly lit room that smelled faintly of old parchment and something sharper, almost metallic. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with books that seemed to lean under their own weight. A silvery bar cart gleamed in the corner, catching the flicker of firelight.Snape stood at the cart, his back to her. The dark frock coat clung to his sharp frame as he poured amber liquid into an old-fashioned glass. Its tarnished metal base, set with dull emeralds, glinted. Another glass sat beside it, already filled with a shallow pool of Firewhisky. His movements were deliberate, almost languid, as he picked up both glasses and turned to face her.“You know, I only deface books when circumstances call for it,” Hermione said, her tone clipped. Her fingers curled into her palms as she straightened her back. The heat in her words did little to mask the crackling energy in her posture.Snape’s brow arched as he extended one of the glasses to her. “Hardly defacing, Miss Granger,” he replied, his voice low and precise. "Given your absurdly affronted state, I shall volunteer my evening to writing Minister Shacklebolt of my insidious crimes."Her fingers brushed the cold metal of the glass as she accepted it. “Thank you,” she muttered, lifting it to her nose. The scent of Firewhisky stung her nostrils. She took the smallest sip, her face scrunching involuntarily at the burn."There's hardly a reason to mock me, sir. They make parchment and tablets for notes. Yet you've ruined my pristine copy of the text," she said, setting the glass on a side table with a deliberate clink.Snape lifted a brow, balled his fist, and planted the back of his hand at his hip. Lifting his chin, he sneered down at her. "If my greatest infraction against you is some meaningless margin scribblings, then you should count yourself lucky.""Lucky?" Hermione scoffed."You'll not have to look very hard to find plenty of students whose entire Hogwarts experience is forever ruined simply by my presence."
The witch rolled her eyes as if the petulant act would excuse her for ignoring the ridiculousness of her current frustration. “Your note covers crucial instructions!”“Indeed.” Snape’s tone carried the weight of a smirk without the expression itself. “The very instructions you so willingly flaunt about in class that you do not need.”Her steps carried her closer, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “Flaunt? How in Merlin’s name do I flaunt in Potions?”Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t play coy, Hermione. You open your book and never gaze upon it again until class ends to close it. You so obviously possess the need to flaunt your superiority to your peers.”“What?” Her voice rose with incredulity. “Am I supposed to downplay my talents so others can feel good about themselves?”A cruel chuckle vibrated softly in the air between them. “Careful, witch,” Snape warned. Lifting a brow, he added, “You sound dangerously close to a Slytherin.” Her eyes narrowed as his voice deepened, mocking. “And you confuse talent for skills.”Hermione’s head tilted back slightly, her arms tightening against her chest. “Excuse me?”Snape leaned forward just enough to close the space between them, his gaze boring into hers. “I mean that you are truly gifted with the exercised skill of scanning a page of its contents and following instructions.”“Well, not everyone can be the bloody Half-Blood Prince, Severus!” Hermione’s voice wavered despite the venom lacing her words.“Herm—”The witch shook her head, her hands falling to her sides as her eyes glistened. She wiped at each eye before she spoke again. “If you define talent as inventing dangerous, new spells and scribbling corrections in your text as only a Hogwarts student, then fine! Compared to you, I’m not anything special.”The heavy glass caught her gaze, its intricate moldings blurring as she grabbed it and took a long gulp. Her throat burned, but she kept her eyes fixed on the glass rather than meet Snape’s unreadable expression. This conversation prodded at the one insecurity she could never shake: that she did not belong. Never again was she a muggle, but never would she fully find her place within the magical community, either.Severus’ words felt more like artillery raining down upon her. Accusatory.“I-I may not be as impressive or creatively gifted as you, sir, but I’ve contributed enough to the magical world to know I belong here,” Hermione’s voice sounded so small. The words meant to convey conviction. Confidence. Instead, they inflicted her pride and exposed to him a figurative wound that only festered. It never healed. It only always bled. She wondered if she’d ever fully bleed out.When…When she inhaled, the air in her throat stuttered. Snape’s bent arm fell back to his side. The weight of his gaze suffocated her. It was time to change the subject — lest she turn into a complete, blubbering mess. Clearing her throat, Hermione pinched her brows together and asked, “You wanted to speak with me about something?”“Do not mistake me, Granger,” Snape said softly, his silky tone shifting to something no less intense than before. “You are, indeed, special. Of that, you should never doubt.”Her breath caught as she finally looked up. “Why am I here, Severus?”“I seek only to broaden your understanding of what you are truly capable.” His words lingered, heavy and deliberate, the space between them filled with something unspoken.“You’ve not just asked me here to poke at my deepest insecurities, then?”The walls of her throat clenched, tightening like a vice around her lungs. She searched the dark depths of his gaze, now delicate as they surveyed her features. The words would not have the bite one may hear when initially spoken. Instead, genuine curiosity punctuated them.Hermione needed to know he wasn’t like everyone else. At least, not anymore.Slowly, Severus stepped closer, regarding her like she was a dragon setting the world ablaze. He lifted his hand, his index finger bent at the second knuckle, and brushed the hair that had fallen over her face back. In an instant, he lowered it and swallowed, his chaotic features snapping back into their usual air of disdain.
“To teach you Occlumency means I will likely not only find them within your mind but have to prod them, yes,” he finally answered. Snape flattened his brows and parted his lips, holding them in a momentary silence. “However, you are not here for that. At least, not tonight.”The longer he spoke, the more his reply weaved together some scattered tangents until they sparked one single thought. “But this is more of a preamble to the actual lessons, isn’t it? To…prepare me before I muck everything up. Like Harry?”He nodded. “You must learn to Occlude, Hermione. We must first fortify your resolve before we begin. Build a suitable, proper foundation. I had no such luxury with Potter. You, however, seem to possess some measure of time. After all, you mentioned our friend said their magic is not yet strong enough. But in my attempt to make this point, I have overly pushed you. I apologize.”She whispered, “Apology accepted.”The corner of the witch’s mouth twitched, a fleeting curve that vanished almost before it could form. Her fingers flexed at her sides, curling toward her palms as an unsteady rhythm took hold of her breath. The post-war dread she’d learned to conceal well enough simmered just beneath her composure, a quiet storm threatening to spill over — and then he stepped closer.
The space between them shrank to something intimate, suffocating. Her chest tightened as the shift demanded her full focus. The man in her view was no longer a shadow she could ignore. His presence pressed against her senses: sharp and clean with an undercurrent of something richer. Darker. The air between them thickened. It was a magnetism she could neither escape nor fully define. Where once she might have recoiled at his proximity, fear replaced by instinct. But now? Her head tilted, her gaze climbing to meet his. She parted her lips as though to speak, but no words came — only a sudden, raw awareness of the man before her.“Make no mistake, Granger. I will reveal to you your true limits.”She took in the shadows carved into his pale skin, the harsh lines of his face illuminated by the soft, flickering light of the room. The witch had thought, even recently, of his face as harsh, unappealing — a study in shadows and sharp lines. Like a painting abandoned before color softened its crude sketch. His nose was too prominent — too hooked. His mouth too thin, and his skin too pale and sallow.But now…The candlelight softened the stark edges, transforming them into something almost arresting. His features defied conventional beauty, yet together they formed a striking, raw honesty. His dark eyes, once cold, now seemed alive, brimming with intensity that dared her to look closer. They weren’t warm, but they pulled her in, demanding she unravel the secrets behind their sharp focus.The curve of his mouth, tight with restraint, hinted at words left unsaid. She found herself wondering what it might look like if it ever softened—if it ever smiled for her. His lank, dark hair framed his face like bold ink spilled on parchment: imperfect but no less captivating. She fought the urge to brush it back, to see the man unveiled.No, he wasn’t handsome. He was breathtaking. She only saw his face as a map — each line, each shadow telling a story of pain, strength, and resilience.
Hermione’s throat tightened. She cleared it quickly, forcing herself to focus. “Plan on turning me into a dark witch, are you?”“I would never dream of dulling your vibrant colors, Hermione.” Snape’s answer came swiftly, the words feeling more tender than they should. His steady hand rose to cup her arm near the shoulder. The touch sent an unexpected jolt through her chest. Her breath caught, and she tangled her gaze with his, wide and searching.“I wish to share with you magic as I know it. This horcrux you carry is outside the realm of both our understandings — for the time being. But, if you let me, I’ll prepare you for the road ahead as best I can.”The witch’s brows pinched, her face scrunching slightly as she considered his words. Eventually, she asked, “What…what did you see? When I spoke with the voice, what happened on your side of things?”She’d meant to ask him sooner, but other priorities had overtaken her thoughts. Settling Lucius into his warded room and reading to him the terms of his sentence here had been an almost impossible ordeal over the past two days. Narcissa, though, had been most cooperative. Still, this question had lingered, clawing at the edges of her mind.Snape inhaled sharply, the sound closer to a gasp he tried to suppress. His gaze softened momentarily, though his expression betrayed the struggle within him. Lines deepened at the corners of his mouth as he studied her face, his lips parting but closing again as if the words were too difficult to voice. “What I saw…” he began, only to cut himself off. His jaw tightened, and she recognized the deliberate evasion in the shift of his eyes.“Severus?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.His silence stretched into an unbearable weight, each second thick with unspoken horrors he refused to name. Panic flickered in his features, brief but sharp — as if fear gripped him in a way he couldn’t quite control. He lifted his glass of Firewhisky and downed it in one swift motion. The glass trembled slightly as he tried masking his jittery wrist.“Hermione,” he muttered finally. His eyes, pools of tragedy, met hers. “What I saw will not happen. It offered us no answers regarding the horcrux. Let us speak of it no further.”“But—”“NO!” The roar burst from him with a force that shook his entire frame. His voice, a thunderclap in the silence, struck like a physical blow. Hermione recoiled slightly, her hands curling into fists at her sides.“I deserve to know.” The frustration in her voice came out sharper than intended. She stepped closer, her chin tilting defiantly. Her proximity made him straighten to his full height again, a reflexive move to reclaim control of the space.
Severus recoiled as if she transfigured into the Dark Lord himself. “Bloody Gryffindors.”
“I’m not some cursed, eleven-year-old boy ignorant of my fate, Severus. The book showed me you mean to protect me. I saw it! Let…Let me help you.”The professor’s sneer did not wane until the last few of her words. His hand tightened around the empty glass, his knuckles whitening with the strain. “I…I am unsure whether the book simply bridged our minds or…pulled you into my past,” he said, his voice quieter now, though the tension in his jaw remained.She shook her head, unyielding. “We’re not speaking of that right now. I want to know what’s got you so—”“Granger, I will not speak silly fallacies into existence.” The glass in his hand trembled, the strain in his arm now plainly visible. “I am personally inclined to believe more that the book pulled you into my past…”“Pulled me into your past?” Hermione’s eyes narrowed, her head tilting slightly. “You can’t actually believe that. That would mean that I was physically there to some capacity. But I wasn’t! That’s—”“Impossible,” he supplied. The word came out slower, as though trying to convince himself as much as her. His shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension ebbing. “Yes, I know. But when I stood before Albus grieving and blubbering on, the book, which kept me as its invisible hostage onlooking from afar, showed me that you stood beside me. You reached out your hand toward my shoulder. The touch was warm, wholly new, and, indeed, remembered. Before Monday, your presence would not be in it. Yet, now I cannot recall that moment without it.”Her brows knit together as she dropped her gaze, watching his index finger trace the curve of the glass absently. The soft sound of his nail scraping against the glass filled the silence between them. Something about the sight made her breath hitch, a faint warmth creeping into her cheeks. She cleared her throat quickly, forcing herself to meet his gaze again.“B-But I was nothing more than a ghost. You-You couldn’t have felt it.”Snape grimaced slightly, lowering the glass and letting his arm hang loose at his side. After a moment, his free hand rose and settled gently on her shoulder. His thumb brushed against her jumper in a motion so deliberate it made her shiver. The contact felt uncharacteristically soft, almost hesitant.“And yet I did, Hermione,” he said. His voice carried a weight that made her stomach flip. His brows furrowed deeply as if struggling to pull coherence from the chaos of his thoughts. “I know how it sounds, but from my perspective of that moment, it was as if I’d only experienced a fragmented version of events. And only when you extended your hand upon my shoulder did I finally perceive the whole picture — like a an imperceptible detail finally illuminated in a book I’d read a thousand times.”The room seemed to close in around them as Hermione muttered, “Well, if I went to your past, then you…” Her voice dwindled into silence, her words falling apart in the space between them. A soft gasp escaped her, unbidden, as if realization had gripped her. She stepped closer, her hand reaching instinctively to clutch the fabric over his chest. The texture of his robes grounded her, rough beneath her fingers. “Severus, did you glimpse my future? H-How is that possible? You don’t believe it’s real, do you? What did you see?”His hand, which had been resting lightly on her arm, stiffened, his fingers tightening just enough to stop her movement. “What I saw, Hermione, does not matter! It does not happen.” The words came harshly, clipped and final, though his voice carried an undertone of something more.
Something dark and frantic.A tear slipped from her eye, tracing a slow, deliberate path down her cheek. He followed its descent, his dark eyes fixed on it as though its motion held an answer. When it dropped from her jaw, he looked back at her, his gaze softer now, the sharpness dulling ever so slightly.“Clearly, it does if you’re this worked up over it!” Her voice wavered, rising as her fingers curled further into his robes, clutching at the warmth beneath. “It’s my future! Mine! We’re in this together, Severus. I’m not a child. Not anymore. Please just tell me what you saw.”His frame loomed closer as he leaned down, deliberate and unrelenting. The lines of his face deepened, shadows carving across his features. His sneer devoured her gaze, his dark eyes drilling into hers as if searching for truths she dared not speak.
“For once in your bloody life, Granger, mind yourself!”“Are you in danger? Did it involve Harry in some way? Do I hurt someone? I…I’ll help you however I can. Just don’t hide the truth from me. Please.”Severus pulled her closer, their bodies colliding with a force that startled a gasp from her lips. His touch was urgent and firm, though it lacked cruelty. Long strands of his hair brushed her jawline, falling into her vision like a curtain that shut out the rest of the room.“Always prioritizing others above yourself, aren’t you?” he seethed, the words a vicious whisper that made her gulp.
Their breaths tangled, unsteady and shallow, filling the narrow space between them. The tip of his nose brushed lightly against the bridge of hers, sending a shiver cascading through her. His breath skimmed her cheeks, cool yet oddly warm, carrying a scent that enveloped her. Spiced oak, caramelized sugar, and a faint smokiness lingered, rich and foreign, filling her senses. Gooseflesh rose along her skin as her eyelids fluttered, half-closed against the overwhelming closeness. A quiet, uncertain sound escaped her, so soft it seemed to dissipate before it could fully form.“Severus, please…” she murmured, though she hardly knew what she wanted from him.
The witch could not coherently think with his so close. A delicate, airy whine reverberated up her throat. The weight of her ignorance of her youth crushed her like an unrelenting wave, yet still, she yearned to explore this moment for a while longer — if only to learn what it meant.The Potions master’s eyes shifted, half-lidded and unreadable. The dark depths seemed to hold a thousand thoughts — none of which she could decipher. She swallowed again, her throat tight.
The witch’s gaze flickered downward. Her eyes caught on the curve of his mouth, and an inexplicable tightness coiled low in her belly. Her lips tingled at the sight, and she quickly forced her attention back to his eyes. The intensity there felt unbearable, pinning her in place. It rendered her mute, immobile. She’d never known this.Severus’ brows furrowed deeply, then eased. The deep crease earned with age between them softened as he inhaled sharply. The sound broke the moment like shattering glass. Slowly, he pulled back, his hand slipping from her arm — leaving a ghostly absence in its wake. The cold rushed in immediately, harsh and biting, filling the space where his warmth had been.Severus stepped back, his movements deliberate and precise as he circled around her. She tracked him instinctively, her gaze never straying, even as he moved behind her. The quiet rustle of his robes against the stone floor filled the room, each step measured, each moment stretched taut.
Ahead of him, a larger cabinet came into view, its worn and slightly askew door hinting at its age. The uneven grain of the wood and chipped edges marked it as something that had seen decades of use. Most would have discarded it, deemed it unworthy of preservation, yet there it stood — an anachronism amidst the rest of the room's precise order.Hermione’s chest heaved as though she couldn’t quite draw in enough air. She drew her arms closer to her body, fighting the tingle that lingered where his touch had been seconds before. His hand, still holding the glass, moved with purpose as he reached the cabinet. The glass landed atop its chest-high surface with a muted thud, the sound punctuating the silence that hung heavily between them.With a deft motion, he opened the askew door, his fingers barely brushing the handle. The door creaked faintly, its hinges betraying their age. From within, he retrieved a small box, its edges worn smooth by time. He handled it with care, shutting the cabinet door with an audible click before turning sharply on his heel.When he faced her again, the transformation was complete. The warmth, the fleeting vulnerability, the charged intimacy that had filled the space between them moments ago — all of it was gone. The man before her was the professor she had always known: his features composed, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. When he closed in on her, he stopped an arm’s length away. The deliberate distance he placed between them reaffirmed the boundaries that had momentarily blurred.
Hermione’s throat tightened as she glanced at the small box in his hand. He extended it toward her without a word, and her fingers brushed against his as she took it. The box’s worn edges suggested age, its plain exterior bearing the weight of something important.She opened it with care, the hinges creaking softly in the silence. Inside lay an antique ring — its tarnished gold band framing a small, unpolished stone. Obsidian, perhaps. Though unassuming, its simple, aged beauty drew her gaze. It didn’t look particularly expensive or impressive…but its weight told her it was precious all the same. Priceless. Her fingertips hovered over it before looking up, meeting his eyes just as he reached into the box to retrieve the ring.The dull band contrasted with his pale fingers as he held it aloft. Its size appeared far too large for her slender hand. Severus stepped closer, his expression unreadable. Without hesitation, he slid the ring onto her left index finger past the second knuckle. The metal shrank, adjusting instantly to fit perfectly. She blinked, her brows drawing together.“What is it? Aside from a ring, of course…” Her voice carried the edge of curiosity she couldn’t suppress.Severus’ throat bobbed. His eyes shifted briefly before meeting hers again. “The original reason I asked you here tonight.”Hermione tilted her head, studying the dark stone. “And what does it do?”“This ring connects us — or, more accurately…you to me. It is of my own making.”Nodding, the witch watched the professor with decided interest. “Go on…”“Should circumstances such as those that occurred Monday afternoon repeat, I shall know your location without requiring unnecessary help to do so. Once activated by the incantation, it shows me where you are. You know already I retain the ability to Apparate. Wherever you are, I will only ever be a heartbeat away.”Her lips curved faintly, the corner lifting in acknowledgment. “And what if I go missing without any notice? Patronuses only go so far — at least mine do. Ever since the war’s end, I’ve been unable to conjure my corporeal one. Actually, conjuring it at all strains my magic more than ever nowadays.”He took a deliberate step closer, though his movements remained restrained, as if he refused to breach a self-imposed boundary. “Utter the incantation, ‘Adveni Statim,’ and the ring will connect with my mind to show me where to Apparate to find you.”Her eyes narrowed as she pressed further. “Connects with your mind? How is that possible?”His shoulders tensed under her scrutiny, but he shrugged with a measured air. “I’ve isolated a sustained Legilimency charm and imbued it within the object — among other efforts.”“I’m rather ignorant on Legilimency, so forgive me for asking…” Hermione stepped closer, her brows furrowing as she considered him. “You can do that?”His lips quirked into something resembling a smirk, though it barely touched his eyes. “Anyone adept enough in magic can achieve similar results.”Her brows lifted in disbelief. “Not according to any books I’ve read,” she muttered. “It’s Legilimency — not a Protean or Extension charm.”Severus’ expression sharpened slightly. “Magic is not simply learned from books, Granger. It is created. Designed. Shaped. Its limits and boundaries end where yours exist.”Her arms crossed, and she chuckled softly. “Your boundaries must not exist at all, then.” The jest lingered in the air, though her tone carried admiration beneath its levity.His mouth quirked again, this time into a more distinct half-smile. It vanished as quickly as it appeared. “I’ve achieved much,” he admitted. “And there is yet more to explore…”Hermione sighed, asking, “Is this something you’ve had in development for a time?”Severus shook his head. “No, I started Monday evening and finalized it this morning before breakfast.”
The witch laughed without saying a word. This wizard, while capable of a great deal of crude things, never failed to surprise her.Severus pinched his brows together, looking as though he already lined up a thousand cruel quips on his tongue. “What?” he demands.
“It’s just that…” she muttered, curling some hair behind her ear. “You’re remarkable, you know?”For a moment, the professor stared at her, his expression unreadable. Something in his gaze shifted, rekindling a small fraction of the charged tension of their earlier interaction. Hermione’s breath hitched as she tried to fidget with the ring on her finger. It would not budge. Her eyes snapped to his, narrowing.“Severus, why won’t the ring move?”Without hesitation, he replied, “Because it responds only to my touch.”Her eyes rolled, exasperated. “What if I want to remove it for a bath or—or switch it to another finger?”At her mention of a bath, Severus’ jaw tightened briefly. He grimaced, though he recovered quickly. “Tell me which finger you prefer, and I’m happy to switch it on your behalf.”Hermione glared at him, incredulous. “That’s not the point, Severus! I should be able to take it off as I please.”“No.” His voice dropped, cold and firm. His gaze sharpened, his sneer returning with a vengeance. “That ring can never leave your finger. Not until, at the very least, we come to understand more about the horcrux.”Her scoff filled the space between them. “That’s not for you to decide!”“That is where you are wrong, Hermione!” His voice rose, low and thunderous, as he leaned closer, the weight of his presence bearing down on her. She stiffened, her breathing shallow as his gaze searched hers, seeking understanding. “I’ve resigned to protect you, as you already know. I cannot fail in this particular endeavor. I will not fail you! It is not up for discussion.”“But—”The older wizard’s hand rose, his palm cool as it cupped her throat. His thumb brushed the line of her jaw, the touch paradoxically firm and delicate. Her breath stuttered, her pulse hammering beneath his fingers. His gaze dropped, lingering on her throat before returning to her eyes.“You asked me to let you help me protect you,” he muttered, his voice low and insistent. “Wear this ring without further protest, and provide me the reassurance I need to walk with you in all this. Please, Hermione.”Her lips parted, trembling slightly. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”
. . .

Day 26

Saturday, September 26, 1998

. . .
Severus
. . .

The forest loomed around Severus Snape, a silent, indifferent witness to his unraveling. Thick snow fell in heavy, relentless waves, coating the ground in a pristine white that mocked the scene of devastation it surrounded. The icy flakes clung to his hair and robes, melting against his warm tears as they streamed down his face and quivering chin. The ground beneath him was damp and frozen, the cold biting through his knees. But he did not feel it. The book, its edges pooling in the excess flesh of its outside cover, splayed open near her hand that dangled at his boots. But he ignored it. The small, lifeless body consumed his focus. His very existence.

Hermione Granger.

Her name rang in his mind, a reverberation that grew louder with every heartbeat he could still feel pounding in his chest. Heartbeats that mocked him, as hers had ceased. They inflicted more than any curse ever would.

His hands trembled as they cradled her body. One steadied at her waist. The other lingered at her head, his long fingers tangling in the strands of her hair. He stroked it, over and over. Each motion was slower than the last — afraid that if he stopped, she would slip further away from him. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, sharp and shallow. When he tried to speak, his throat closed around the words.

"Come back to me," he finally whispered, a sound scraped from the depths of his soul. He lowered his head to hers, pressing his forehead to her cool skin. The contact sent a shiver down his spine, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. His tears slipped from his face to hers, running in quiet rivulets over cheeks that no longer flushed with the warmth to which he clung.

The snow continued to fall, blanketing her hair and shoulders and flecking her lashes with delicate white crystals as though it intended to bury her there. Severus brushed it from her face with trembling hands, the contrast of her stillness against the ceaseless falling snow driving a fresh wave of anguish through him.

“Don’t go to where I cannot follow,” he murmured, his voice shaking. His lips brushed against her temple, her nose, her lips — in a frantic succession of fleeting kisses. They were desperate, trembling touches: as if he could breathe his life into her through them. As if he could coax her back with the force of his longing. His love.

Merlin, she did not know.

Through his own stupidity and cowardice, Hermione did not know he loved her. And he did. If he were an honest man, he'd have admitted that she'd consumed him so wholly months ago. The lack of color on her skin struck him like a physical laceration. Leave it to him to admit the inevitable truth when it was too late.

When the very thing he needed most was gone already.

The weight of her absence pressed on his chest, a suffocating void that hollowed him out with every passing second. He pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her as though he could protect her from what had already claimed her. His shoulders hunched, his body curling around hers as if to shield her from the forest, the snow, the truth.

“You cannot leave me,” he said, the words cracking under the force of his sobs. His hands framed her face, his thumbs brushing against her stiff cheeks. “You’re...you’re what keeps me breathing. I need you.” The words spilled out, unguarded and desperate, each one carrying a piece of him with it. “I-I love you, Hermione Jean Granger. Please don’t go...” His voice gave out, dissolving into a choked cry that shook his entire body. He rocked her gently, the motion unconscious, like a man trying to soothe a child.

"Follow my voice, Hermione. I'm right here. You don't have to love me back. Think me repulsive. Call me a monster. You cannot go! Hate me or have me. Just come back to me, my love..."

Severus pressed his forehead to hers again. Her skin long cold. His breath hitched with every shallow inhale. He traced her features with shaking fingers, committing every line, every curve to memory — as though the act could anchor her here.

Tether her soul to the world that had been so cruel to them both.

“I can fix this,” he whispered, his voice breaking, the lie clinging to his lips as though saying it would make it true. His tears fell harder, their warmth soaking into her dark peacoat, his chest heaving with the force of his sobs. “I cannot breathe! Find me, Hermione…”

The snow thickened, muffling the world around him. Silencing even the distant rustling of the forest. It fell on her still form, dusting her hair and lashes anew. Severus’s fingers clenched into the fabric of her dark peacoat, his knuckles white, his body trembling under the weight of his grief. He kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers, willing them to part, to respond, to prove him wrong. But the silence stretched on, vast and unyielding, a chasm that separated them.

“Please...” The word fell from his lips like a final breath, his voice hollow. His tears streaked down her face, landing with the faintest of splashes. They were the only signs of life in a body that had none. He stared down at her, his features slackening, drained of all the agony that had twisted them moments before. His eyes, red-rimmed and unseeing, fixated on her face.

"There is only you, Hermione. Do you understand? I love you. You are the source of all the love in my life. I would have given you my name and a home worthy of you. Together, we'd have filled it with as many children as you wished. You would have been mine, but I will always be yours," he whispered against her temple. "I would spend the whole of my life giving you everything. I would trade my life for yours. Whatever the price, I would gladly pay it with interest. Please...just come back to me. Find me. Hear me."

Every thread of his life that had once seemed so monumental — so defining and profound — unraveled into nothingness in the face of this singular moment. They meant nothing now. The gaping chasm that Hermione's absence carved into his soul dwarfed their weight.

"I will find you. I swear it. I will always find you."

If life snuffed out Hermione Granger, then Severus Snape would surrender the dull embers of his own miserable life. One simply could not exist without the other.

. . .
The fallacy — for that was all it could be — came every night. Sometimes, several times would Severus wake up, sweat lathering his body and convulsing like he’d been hit with the Crutiatus for days without respite, in a single night. Dreamless Sleep, he grimly discovered, dulled it to mere fragments. But the volatility and power of those brief, fractured moments never did.It was…inescapable.Other nights, thus far, it came with far more fleeting, delectable illusions — deceptions, most consequently, that gripped him
Severus Snape knew her: all the parts of the young witch had yet to experience. Parts that equally reflected his own inexperience.
Although his lips had yet to meet another pair, the perverse wizard could intimately assume the angle in which he knew Hermione would enjoy his wide, thin mouth. He could recall precisely the way to illicit a most intoxicating, quiet moan from her throat: the tip of his nose delicately brushing against the straight bridge of hers. It was the very sound he’d stolen from her in his quarters Wednesday night. He knew exactly what that quaint, airy melody would do to him.

Wednesday…
That night with her had shown him crucial information — verified a working theory of his he’d, most reluctantly, wished to test. Such an experiment would not again repeat. The findings? It was much like Granger’s academic prowess: the very thing that held her back from achieving so much more. Watching these dreams was quite like reading a book. You understand concepts, but concepts do not win battles. Practice made such knowledge more profound. It reinforced that knowledge with experience.

Experience would kill her.
These fallacies were muddled memories magically transmitted from a future he’d somehow lived. But that future would never happen. As it stood, it seemed as though Hermione Granger had untempered access to his past, to which she had yet to return. Severus Snape saw a future broken by his own discipline.
All because of that bloody book. And the bloody witch…
He was fucked.
Wanking was out of the question. Not only was she his student and Potions apprentice, she determined to be his friend. Nothing was worth that fragile connection — one he wished to strengthen. Hermione was very much a torch he could carry across the darkness. If he kept it at arm’s length, it would not burn him alive. He could freely pass through the darkness.Severus had survived nearly two decades strengthening his abstinent restraint. The last wank he remembered was back in his sixth year. Lily usually wore more form-fitting attire at the school year’s close. Summer always suited her. At the time, that was all it took to ignite his pathetic longing for the witch he’d betrayed. Following, however, the Dark Lord’s influence stretched and whispered in the circles in which he associated. There’d hardly been time to admire simple things. Indulge in things that, had the Dark Lord discovered, would have prematurely killed Potter. Himself. Of course, there was also the matter with whom she was attached. The witch whose shoulders drowned in a sea of dark copper dated and later married his mortal enemy.If the Dark Lord had not destroyed any desires to continue his self-satisfaction efforts, that would surely have done it.
As he worshipped her, driving his cock deeper into her tight, torturous quim in the languid and hesitant pace he set for them, Hermione seemed to liquify in his arms — as if she intended to fill the parched holes in his heart so she could solidify and mend them away forever. The walls of her sex squeezed around his intrusion, the pain distant and hollow even though he gritted his teeth and bared them to her for a moment. Each breath she took dragged a sweet moan — proof of the pleasure he gave to her.

With each irregular thrust, Severus choked on his own breath and shivered when her shuddering exhales tangled with his. The witch curled her trim nails into his back, the many constellations of scars new and old twitching in response each time she adjusted her hand on him. Her arms clasped around him, caging him inside a plane of existence all their own.

A bead of his thick sweat dropped on her cheek from his forehead, but she didn’t not seem to mind. As it rolled down the feminine curve of her face, he saw it coalesce with a thin tear slipping from her eyes. Together, the moisture on her skin disappeared into her silken, messy hair.

This witch took the man as he was — accepted him as if he was worthy of her or anything she could give him.

When she readjusted her arm, her hand fell to the nape of his neck. Instinctively, Hermione scratched at his scalp, a sensation that had quickly become his greatest pleasure until this. The pleasure measured in concealed fragments, hinting at what could be without revealing its full weight and texture. It was maddening.

He needed more…

Severus adjusted in his seat, tossing the book upon his sofa, where it bounced once until settling. Any desire — and thickness in his trousers — died when the image of her body, lifeless and lost, sagged in his arms. If only he could invent a spell to delay winter. Then he’d certainly guarantee the fucking fallacy never achieved fruition.
Occlude, you filthy lech. Remove her from your mind. Protect her.
A low hum of forever was in her arms, and it echoed like a ripple from the future into his beating chest. This thing between them, somehow, bridged time itself. It did not carry the weight of dark magic, but time would, indeed, tell. It offered him everything he had ever wanted — everything he’d sought in Lily but never found.
But he would indulge none of it. He couldn’t.
The proof laid before him as clear as the honeyed hue hidden in those rich, grounding brown eyes. In a flash, their warmth dulled as the nightmare strangling him while he slept pulverized the moment’s peace. This time, the memory flashed with his consent. Occluding had saved him before. It would now save Hermione.
Seduction — particularly of the dark arts —
had once happened. But Hermione would never be seduction. She was gentle, strong. Compassionate and patient. This pull should not endear him so.The witch required nothing of him yet still extended to him all he desired: power, belonging, companionship. It was all there. If he could freely have all of it without the future’s crude fallacies coming true, the choice was as easy as it was simple.
He would save Hermione. And he would have help in doing so.Severus loved Lily. Lily Evans’ memory saved him from the darkest moments he’d yet witnessed. Any amount of his soul that still endured was because of her. She’s spared him. And she would save him once more. His soul was much like his childhood home at Spinner’s End: small, dilapidated, dirty, and paltry. There was no room in it for another. Therefore, he was incapable of loving Hermione Granger.
Anyone else.
Lily would always be the light — the brilliant stars, the radiating planets, and glittering galaxies — that brightened his black, lonely universe. She would shield him, and in so doing, save Hermione. If it was the only thing he asked of her ghost, Lily would save him from loving the brightest witch of the ages.She had to.If Lily could save Harry, she could help him save Hermione. And if the witch could rewrite the past as he knew it, he would change the future and spare her from himself.
“Severus, I would walk beside you into the deepest darkness — if only to be the light that guides you out of it,” she said, looking up at him as if he alone was responsible for the stars in the sky.
Protecting Hermione was as vital as breathing for Severus Snape. He would do anything to protect her — even from himself. Silly fallacies, indeed.
. . .

Day 30

Wednesday, September 30, 1998

. . .
Severus
. . .
“A theory you’d do well to leave on parchment rather than in practice,” he interrupted, his tone low but devoid of malice. “Curiosity without discipline invites catastrophe.”Her lips pressed into a faint line, then softened, a small smile teasing the corners. “Perhaps, in this case, curiosity exceeds caution. Proving you wrong would be a rather novel accomplishment I'd enjoy achieving.”“A dangerous trait, Granger,” Snape replied, his gaze fixed on her. The intensity in his eyes did not waver. “Though not uncommon among…Gryffindors.”The words settled between them, the conversation dissolving into a silence that hummed with unspoken tension. Her chuckle lingered in the air, soft and disarming, a sound that pricked at something dormant within him.Hermione shifted, her arms folding across her chest as the deepening chill seemed to draw them closer. Her shoulder brushed against his arm — a fleeting touch, unintentional and unremarkable in any other context. Yet, it shot through him like a spark, unraveling a knot he hadn’t realized was there. His fingers twitched at his sides, the motion imperceptible beneath his robes.The Potions master stiffened — as if to brace himself against the tremor rippling through his composure. The air thickened, every breath laden with the weight of what had just passed. He drew in a measured breath, slow and deliberate. The effort to maintain control etched into the sharp lines of his face. The moment stretched, fragile and potent.
Each time she brushed against Severus, his breath faltered, shallow and uneven. It betrayed the cracks forming beneath his thinly composed exterior. His fingers curled into fists, hidden within the folds of his robes, nails biting into his palms as though pain could anchor him. His eyes darted to the horizon, fixing on the distant line as though it held the answers to his disquiet.
Protect her.
From deep within, he pulled fragments of Lily — not the vivid, aching memories that haunted him. Rather, their hollowed-out echoes. A faint smile here, a murmured laugh there, stripped of their power yet crafted to deflect. He let the ghost of those recollections rise to the surface, his lips twitching with an almost imperceptible sneer as he shaped them into barriers.Every breath he drew was a battle, measured and deliberate, as he sought to force the chaos within back into submission. He would not — could not — indulge this. Indulge her. Allow her to glimpse the fraying edges of his control.
Severus would protect Hermione.
“Lily once theorized a method to stabilize volatile tinctures using moonstone dust,” he said, breaking the stillness. His hand shifted subtly within the folds of his robes, the fingers tightening imperceptibly as if tethering himself to the moment. The words emerged deliberately, his tone measured and precise, as though presenting a carefully curated artifact from some distant, unreachable part of himself.Hermione’s head snapped toward him, her brows lifting with an expression that hovered between surprise and curiosity. “Did she?” she asked, the faintest edge of hesitation softening her voice.His jaw tightened briefly, the muscles working against the strain of what lay beneath. A moment later, he relaxed, though his features remained carefully composed. “Fanciful nonsense,” he said dismissively, yet the absence of his usual derision left the words hanging, faintly hollow. “She had a penchant for optimism. Misplaced, perhaps, but…compelling.”Hermione’s gaze lingered on him, her posture shifting as though she were weighing something unspoken. Her hands moved absently to smooth her sleeves, a movement unhurried but deliberate. A strand of her hair slipped loose in the breeze, brushing her cheek before she tucked it behind her ear without breaking her focus. Eventually, the witch yawned.“It’s late,” she said finally, the quiet weight of her words dissolving the fragile thread of the moment. Her voice carried a reluctance that she did not articulate, her eyes lingering on him just a beat too long. "Good night, Severus..."Snape inclined his head, the motion exacting and deliberate, as though rehearsed. “Good night, Hermione,” he replied, the syllables clipped but devoid of coldness.Her footsteps echoed softly as she descended the spiral staircase, the rhythm growing fainter with each step until silence reclaimed the tower. For a moment, he did not move, his gaze fixed on the spot where she had stood. The wind tugged at the edges of his cloak, a faint and futile resistance against the stillness that settled over him.His eyes drifted to the horizon, where the light deepened and shadows stretched long across the stones. The breath he exhaled was measured but unsteady, his hands retreating once more into the sanctuary of his robes. The lingering traces of her presence seemed to press against him, a weight he neither welcomed nor could entirely cast aside.“You’ve grown sentimental...”The voice, unmistakable, coiled through the air behind him. His hand shot to his wand, the motion fluid and instinctive, as he turned sharply. Black eyes narrowed against the emptiness, scanning the air with a predator’s precision.“Hello, Severus,” came the voice again, soft and familiar, as the faint shimmer of spectral light began to coalesce. Albus Dumbledore’s translucent form emerged — his ghost pale and insubstantial, but impossibly real.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day 39

Friday, October 9, 1998

. . .
Hermione
. . .
The Ravenclaw table stretched long and empty, its polished surface casting faint reflections of the enchanted candles above. Hermione Granger sat near the grand double doors, her quill moving in precise strokes across a piece of parchment. The distance between her and the Slytherin table wasn’t accidental. Rather, it was deliberate, a silent promise she intended to keep. She didn’t look their way often. Forty feet was far enough to grant them a respectable, modest privacy. However, the awareness of their presence lingered, unshakable.Precisely like a quiet hum at the back of her mind.The witch’s posture remained deliberately casual — though her hand lingered on the edge of her book, tapping lightly as if to ground herself. For the first time in at least five minutes, Hermione glanced over at the three Slytherins occupying their table: Severus, Narcissa, and Draco.Severus sat stiffly on the left, his dark gaze sharp even in repose. His free period coincided with a class the witch could effectively skip for the day: DADA. Despite his insistence on taking his lunch in his private quarters most days, he’d surprised her by being the first among them in the hall that morning.
An old book lay open before him, though that she could hear the powerful, deep timbre of his low voice suggested he currently ignored it. The longer the witch observed the potions master, the straighter the older man sat. She even thought she saw him flash his dark eyes in her direction — not at all meeting her gaze but simply settling his in her direction. Something one of the other two Slytherins said quickly caught his attention, though.The delicate clink of teacups against saucers punctuated their quiet conversation. Narcissa and Draco sat across from him. Draco leaned in close to his mother, his pale hair catching the candlelight as he spoke in hushed tones. The boy wore what he probably considered to be his most casual dress robes: all black, well-tailored, and impeccably pressed.Narcissa’s presence carried tremendous weight — distant, restrained, but undeniable. The woman wore a rather luxurious, dark velvet gown with ornate, intricate embroidery — its string carrying the brilliance of a platinum hue. The witch wasn’t sure if it was the woman’s quiet dignity or simply the thin line between privilege and punishment she seemed to walk. Nonetheless, the witch felt it impose upon her: even across the hall.
Hermione’s resolve strengthened. House arrest wasn’t exactly a prison sentence. Whatever the Ministry intended, the Gryffindor would not allow Mrs. Malfoy’s to feel like one. Not after what she’d done for Harry — how acquiescing and cooperative she continued to be given the circumstances. The calm would eventually shatter once the current classes ended and the student body spilled into the Great Hall. For now, though, the silence reigned. Only the soft sounds of turning pages and the refined, enunciated words quietly spoken between the three others broke it.Returning her attention to the orderly chaos enveloping her, Hermione pressed her pen harder against the page of her muggle notebook, the nib catching slightly before gliding again. The fortress of books and papers sprawled across the table acted like a barricade of sorts. Not a single tome helped her achieve further understanding: of the man dwelling inside her mind nor the magic the book had obviously triggered between her and Severus.
With a dejected sigh and a shake of her head, the witch rolled her eyes and closed the book. She crossed another title off her list, her fingers trembling as they turned the brittle pages of another ancient tome to her right. A single word remained the only hint that could possibly offer any insight: Foul.
Leaning her head to the side, Hermione stretched the cramped muscles of her neck, touching her ears to each shoulder and rolling her shoulders back. A light moan tickled her throat when she finally felt the tight muscles relax and warm a bit. She pinched the elastic around her wrist and began shoving her endless, unruly curls to the crown of her head. Satisfied with its position, the witch looped the elastic around the thick bunch of hair — its ends falling high between her shoulder blades. Finally, she cupped her hand at her throat and bit her lip as she surveyed the mess around her.“Oi, Snape! You going to listen to me or keep gawking?” Draco’s voice boomed in every direction, his dark chuckle chasing after the intrusive disruption about the hall.Hermione swallowed, quickly shifting her gaze toward the others. She could not discern what Severus stared at, for he already glared at Draco and slammed his small book shut.“Careful, Malfoy…”Malfoy met her curious stare and rolled his eyes, promptly ignoring her again after assessing her for a moment. The boy leaned on his elbows toward the professor. “Oh, come off it. I already have detention with you for another two weeks — and that’s on top of having me as your apprentice. Keep doting your time upon me, and I’ll have no other choice but to think I have healthy competition in admiring my beauty.”Narcissa sighed, setting her tea cup on the saucer she held in her other hand before scolding her son. “Quiet, Draco.”The Slytherin wizard rolled his eyes again. “What’s the point of surviving that bloody war if a bit of fun can’t be had every once in a while?”“You’d do well to remember everything Professor Snape has done for you…”Draco leaned away from Severus and scooted a few inches away from his mother. “Happy times, those,” he replied, swiping a hand across the table to steal Severus’ book. He cracked it open and grumbled something under his breath. “A bit of light reading here, professor? Still curious to learn all about the numerous dark ways witches and wizards can kill muggles, are we?”Snape snatched the book from Draco’s hand. “You’ve a lot more in common with your aunt Bellatrix, Malfoy. Like her, you touch what is not yours without care or caution.”Narcissa lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes at the professor. “Do not compare my Draco to that monster, Severus,” she said, taking a moment to exhale slowly before adding, “Even in jest.” The threat nestled in her otherwise calm demeanor was hard to overlook or unhear.Severus straightened until his posture perfectly matched theirs. Given his natural stature, he was still tall enough to look down his nose at Mrs. Malfoy — even while sitting. A dangerous sneer scrunched his features.
“I often find that confidence masks a certain lack of prudence. Wouldn’t you agree, Narcissa?”The glow of the overhead candles’ light warmed his otherwise pale, sallow skin. The high sun’s glow bathed his straight, layered hair in such a way that the strands caught subtle highlights the color of the most delectable chocolate. They revealed to her a dynamic display of rich color she’d never seen before in him.Hermione swallowed, her head spinning as her pulse quickened and palms dampen slightly. When she exhaled, her breath stuttered as she struggled to stifle the shiver rocking at her spine. All traces of light within the Great Hall flowed to him like it meant to crush him, backlighting his dark figure so that all she saw was him outlined in a show of exquisite splendor. The witch parted her lips just as her cheeks pinched and burned in response to the dull heat gathered on her lightly-freckled skin.The sharp line of his strong jaw, the faint hollows of his cheeks, and the graceful curve of his long fingers as they rested against the table all drew her gaze, holding it longer than she intended. He carried every prominent, overly long feature as though his very existence was an act of defiance against a world that had sought to diminish him. Even in stillness, his presence felt palpable. His dark eyes scanned the room with a quiet, measured intensity that left her pen faltering mid-stroke. There was something undeniably captivating in the way he commanded the space without uttering a single word.
A quiet snort consumed her undivided attention. Draco watched her openly stare at their Potions master. Hermione’s bland, brown gaze flashed to Narcissa and Severus; however, they both seemed rather insistent on staring the other down — threats visibly bubbling in their glares. Shifting her attention back to Malfoy, she lifted her head and rolled her eyes. The best she could hope for was that he would not press the matter.It would not do to have to face the man she’d been ogling — a man very much in love with her best friend's deceased mother…Without further conversation, the hall fell silent once more. It was high time she began tidying up her makeshift workspace. Slowly, she placed each book borrowed from the library inside her beaded bag: until only one remained flat on the table. It was the last one she’d yet to finish dissecting. With any luck, she’d be able to wrap up her assessment by the upcoming weekend’s end.
The witch carefully eased the book open, careful of its delicate spine and flimsy edges. Narrowing her eyes, she bit her lip and perused the upcoming pages — scanning them of anything useful. The book itself was more of a historical account of the little known history of ancient dark arts: the magic, the practitioners, and the artifacts. One of this tome’s quirks was that many passages remained untranslated from the ancient runes she’d come to know so well. Surely, if any book in Hogwarts held a modicum of helpful information, it would be this one. Right?“Still playing the academic, I see.”The sudden voice snapped her concentration like a bowstring. Hermione flinched, her body jerking as her eyes flicked across the page. A hand brushed her cheek, its cool and coarse texture startling and unwelcome. She froze, her breath hitching as her head turned sharply toward the intruder.“What do you want, Cormac?” she snapped, her voice sharp but taut, the words landing with the precision of a quill stroke. This wizard had asked her to accompany him to Hogsmeade no less than six times over the last several days. It seemed he would not accept subtle hints. Thankfully, being rude to the likes of him felt necessary.Easy — even if her parents would say kindness could solve many things. They had not met an insufferable, arrogant wizard so determined to force his affection and attention upon a most unwilling witch.
Cormac McLaggen smirked, his hand retreating with an exaggerated slowness that made her skin crawl. It was like he felt entitled to her personal space. His gaze fell upon the contents of the page splayed open to the side, his brows pinching and features faltering for a second before he assumed another permanent arrogant smirk. “Studying the Dark Arts, Granger? Planning on testing some of it on your new charges, are you?” His voice carried too easily in the empty hall, his tone dripping with mockery.Hermione’s shoulders squared, her hands gripping the edges of her notebook tightly enough to crease the paper. Grinding her teeth together, she began slipping the majority of her belongings — save the book, notebook, and fountain pen — inside her beaded bag.
“A bit of independent study, actually. I’ve made arrangements with some professors to accommodate some new…responsibilities.”His grin widened, a predator’s expression. “That’s a shame. I would have turned a blind eye. Someone ought to show those snakes the same mercy they showed us last year.”The witch’s grip tightened, the skin of her knuckles paling. She forced herself to meet his gaze, her voice clipped. “You’re an Auror-in-training, McLaggen. Your prejudices ought not to—”“My prejudices? Do you forget who we’re talking about, Granger?” He laughed, the sound loud and derisive. Leaning closer, he perched on the table’s edge, his boots scraping against the floor. The wood creaked under his weight. “A year ago, all three of those slippery, vicious vipers would have sent the Killing Curse your way faster than a Niffler could steal gold. Actually, I’m wrong. Each of them would have captured you. They would have brought you before their precious Dark Lord,” he paused, leaning into her and lowering his voice just slightly when he neared her ear. “What do you think they’d have let that decrepit maniac do with you?”Her breath came shallow as she fought to steady herself. She clicked the cap of her pen shut with a deliberate motion, the sound punctuating her growing frustration. It was the final item that she would stow in her bag. Quickly, Hermione stood and stepped over the long bench. For now, she made no move to leave. Privately, she hoped standing would be enough to send a message to this infuriating man. His gaze dipped to her chest. Yes. The book she would carry — if only to obstruct her small, unimpressive breasts already buried in thick fiber from his view.“A lot can change in a year’s time.”Cormac stepped closer to the witch. “You know, I’m sure the Ministry would love hearing how lenient you’ve been with Mummy Malfoy…”
“If you have a point, McLaggen, you’d best get on with it.”Cormac lifted his brow and sank his heated gaze to her feet, slowly dragging it up the length of her petite body again. Hermione clutched the book tighter, her fingers clenching as she bit her lip. “You wouldn’t be the first to discover it, Granger, but I’m certain you’d love my point.”“So you’re here only to impose upon me rather unstimulating conversation, then?” Her tone rose slightly, betraying her effort to maintain her composure. She did not want him to know he affected her in any way. It only seemed to encourage him further. “Got it…”Cormac tilted his head, studying her like a cat watching a cornered mouse. “Careful, Granger. You sound dangerously similar to a certain Dungeon Bat that stalks your shadow these days.”Her fingers curled tightly around the spine of her book, the pressure grounding her as she fought to keep her breathing steady. Her eyes flickered away from Cormac’s looming presence, darting over her shoulder toward the Slytherin table — calculating the exact amount of steps it would take to reach the faint promise of safety.
Narcissa’s teacup hovered mid-air, her perfectly manicured fingers frozen in a poised grip, the only sign she was even aware of the exchange. Draco’s pale eyes bore into her, his expression blank save for the faintest furrow of his brow. Quickly, he studied the professor before shifting his attention back to Hermione and Cormac.Severus, however, was a study in restraint — every line of his posture seemed coiled, ready to snap. His dark gaze burned with a ferocious intensity that sent a chill skittering down her spine. His stillness was more unsettling than if he’d moved. The fingers of his left hand rested lightly on the table, while the other hovered near his cup, motionless save for the slightest twitch as though barely suppressing the urge to act. His expression remained unreadable, a mask of cold indifference. However, the weight of his focus on her — on them — was suffocating. He made no move to rise, no gesture to interrupt. Yet something in the taut set of his jaw and the sharp gleam in his glare suggested he was already mentally rehearsing the spell he’d unleash if given an excuse. For now, he sat unmoving, allowing the scene to unfold, though his presence alone felt like a blade hanging overhead — impatient and hungry as it waited to fall.Each of them, in their own way, seemed content to leave her to her own defenses. For the time being. That was the difference between Slytherins and Gryffindors, she supposed. Had Harry or the few other housemates she still had left been here, they’d have already jumped to her defense. Without question or hesitation.Restraint and recklessness: two opposing ideals in the way one played the game of life.“You must be exhausted.”“What?” Her voice cracked slightly as she turned back to him, her brow furrowing.“Don’t be coy,” he said, his tone softening but laced with something...more: a cross between arrogance and suggestion. “You know exactly what you’ve done — what you continue to do...” His eyes dragged over her with a boldness that made her stomach churn.“I really must speak with Professor Snape, Cormac—”“You’ve filled out nicely, Granger,” he interrupted, his voice almost conversational. Straightening, he shoved one fist into his pocket and cocked his head, appraising her like one might a piece of art.Before she could register what was happening, he lifted his free hand and curled his index finger around a long, loose, and moderately frizzy ringlet she’d missed when binding it earlier. The witch stiffened, parts of her body shutting down as her brain switched on its autopilot function. Her eyes dropped to his collarbone while she willed his touch and proximity away. The witch choked on her breath while she fought nearly in vain to stop the tears from welling in her eyes.Cormac's manicured nail brushed against the skin at her cheek as he dragged his hand lower down the unruly coil. The image of the forest flashed all around her at his crude contact. Scabior... He'd brushed the same spot when the Snatchers caught the trio. Hermione cringed, swallowing as she parted her lips. Words — any words — would do. However, none came to mind. She had to say something, but she couldn't even meet Cormac's hungry eyes. She anchored her blank gaze in his, praying it would be enough to inspire her to say something. Instead, she grimaced when the backs of his fingers brushed her collarbone, which her cable knit jumper buried under its intricate woven stitches.“You’re not a girl anymore, Hermione. You’ve thought about it. About me. Us…together. You’ll find there would be nothing…unstimulating about that,” he muttered.Her throat tightened, heat rising to her face. She glanced down at herself instinctively, the weight of his words twisting her insides. The book pressed harder against her chest. The Slytherin table felt miles away, and her legs felt leaden as she tried to move. A teacup gently collided with its saucer behind her. The interruption was enough to gasp, shake her head, and step back from this vile, wretched wizard.“Touch me again, Cormac, and I'll leave you unable to recall even your own name,” she said, her voice wavering but sharp. Her feet finally obeyed, carrying her steadily toward Severus, Narcissa, and Draco.Cormac followed, his footsteps echoing about the hall ominously. He was close behind. Much too close. “Threatening an Auror-in-training? I've always enjoyed your spirit, Granger," he said, the smugness in his voice thickening. “It’s quite…entertaining.”Hermione spared him no attention. All she had to do was keep walking toward the three others. Then, this insufferable wizard would leave her alone.“I read The Prophet, you know?"The witch stopped abruptly, her breathing uneven as she turned to face him. Her arms relaxed, the book dropping at her side. “The Prophet? Have you come to gloat over what you've read?” she snapped, her chest heaving with the effort to contain her anger. “Think you’ll be the lucky prat to—what? Deflower the last remaining virgin of the Golden Trio? Shut up Harry Potter’s self-righteous, know-it-all friend long enough to scream your name? Claim Ronald Weasley’s reject?”Behind her, Narcissa choked on her tea.Draco groaned. “The man who finally shuts you up would simply be my hero…”Severus maneuvered himself in a way she could not personally see. It sounded as though he began climbing out of the bench. His heavy dragonhide boots echoed across the hall. Beyond that, he seemed to still again.“Miss Granger,” the Potions master said, sounding rather dangerous and simultaneously exhausted. “You’ve yet to—”Hermione, however, only saw Cormac. She slammed the book at her side on the table beside her and stepped closer to McLaggen. “Haven’t you read that I’m supposedly saving myself for a pureblood wizard from Slytherin? Monday, I was supposedly writing my love in the form of letters to Antonin Dolohov. That’s the biggest load of rubbish! He would have killed me in the Department of Mysteries if I hadn’t silenced him! Wednesday, it was Theodore Nott. Perhaps, today, it’s Malfoy! I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen today’s Prophet.”Narcissa scoffed, clearing her throat. “You will leave my family out of this obscene exchange.”
Cormac shrugged, his smirk unyielding. “You know, I like you angry. Admittedly, I also like making you angry.”“Leave!” Hermione demanded, her voice cracking slightly. “Now!”The young wizard stepped into her personal space, testing whether or not she’d hex him. She should have, but there was hardly an acceptable reason to whip her wand out for every little, insignificant skirmish others subjected her to. The witch did not back away. She would not let him win, nor would she display any more weakness.“The Prophet will forever be a silly, little paper that can be bought, Hermione. Its sway is only so powerful enough to influence those with weak minds. I know the truth. Ron? He couldn’t handle you. Took one look at you and knew he’d never satisfy you. You’re a very intimidating witch. You wouldn’t find that problem with me, though.”“My personal life isn’t your concern. We’ve never been friends, Cormac. We never will be.”“Oh, I don't want to be your friend,” he said, his tone light but his words barbed. He scrunched his features as he spoke the last word. “My interests, I’m certain, are rather obvious, yeah?”Hermione shook her head. She didn’t have to win every battle. As unnatural as it felt to her, she would withdraw from this pointless conversation. No matter what she said, she knew Cormac would not leave her alone. The witch grabbed the book and stalked toward the three others, her eyes sinking to the empty seat beside Snape, who now not only stood but also stalked toward them.
Finally.
Cormac grabbed her arm, his grip firm but not painful. “Join me in Hogsmeade, Granger. Allow me to prove myself to you.”Her patience snapped. “I would sooner choke on a troll, Cormac,” she shouted, her voice reverberating through the hall. “Release me!”The young wizard’s laugh rang out, unbothered by her anger. “Blimey, Granger. The mouth on you…I’d love nothing more than to discover what else it can do.”Behind her, the scrape of heavy boots against stone grew louder. Severus’ presence quickly cast a long shadow over the scene. Cormac hesitated, his smirk faltering as he stepped back. “You won’t be able to hide behind your Slytherins forever,” he said, retreating toward the exit. “You will say yes — eventually…”Hermione’s hands curled into fists, her breath shaking as she struggled to contain the turmoil inside her. Snape approached, his expression unreadable but his movements deliberate. The witch sharpened her anger and set it loose. With the back of her thick book, she smacked Snape’s chest, causing him to stumble backward a bit. Immediately, he scowled, brows pinching and mouth tightening as he fixed his glare on her.“Where the bloody hell were you?” she asked.Severus clutched the book and easily ripped it out of her hands. He tucked it at his left elbow. Leaning down, the professor’s sneer did little to quell her anger. “Never mind where I was. Why are you hitting me? I am still your professor!”“I would encourage you to take house points, but—”“Gryffindor has none,” he supplied.“Stop that!”Severus narrowed an eye and tilted his head to the side slightly. “Stop what, Granger?”“Interrupting me!”“You hit me!”“Believe me,” the witch seethed, pausing only to draw in her next breath. “It was worth it!”Snape glared down at her, saying nothing. The way he looked at her reminded her of all the times he’d scolded her house mates over the years. Hermione Granger was no child!She rolled her eyes, her hands reaching for the book. However, he held it high above his head. The witch folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. “Need I remind you we’re friends?”“So?”The witch scoffed, her brows dipping as her frown deepened. “So friends help their friends. Surely, that’s not a concept difficult to grasp?”"Surely, you are capable of asking a question without insulting my intelligence?"Hermione clenched both hands in front of her. “You are so—”“Are you two quite finished?” Draco’s voice cut the thick tension between the witch and their professor. Honestly, he sounded rather bored.
The witch took one last look at Severus and walked around him, stealing the book from his grasp on her way. In doing so, the tips of her fingers slipped across the top of his — coaxing an unconscious tremble to dance all over her body. She caught her breath, holding it until she stole the spot Snape had previously occupied. The wood at her bum was warm. Sitting where the professor once had felt…intimate somehow. Swallowing, the witch sighed.Severus returned to the cool seat on the long bench beside her, his steps measured and unhurried, each stride exuding a controlled precision that commanded her attention. The faint swish of his excessive robes swept across the floor, a soft whisper that contrasted sharply with the near-silent fall of his dull boots. Each step landed with measured intent. Every movement carried an unspoken weight.As he eased onto the bench, the fabric of his cloak cascaded around him — like a shadow pooling against the wood and flowing downward toward the stone floor like a waterfall bathed in the dark hue of the night. When he settled, the outsides of their thighs brushed together, the fleeting contact sparking a current that left her breath catching in her throat.The unexpected touch sent a jolt racing through her, the sensation blooming hot across her skin. Her back straightened sharply, a telltale rigidity betraying the turmoil she tried to suppress. His long fingers, which rested atop the wooden table, straightened, flaring out like the muscles there had unbearable tension he needed to expunge.Hermione buried her hands into the plush fabric of her cable knit jumper, a futile attempt to steady herself. She exhaled softly, her gaze locking onto the book before her as though it held answers to a question she couldn’t yet articulate. The pathetic display of obvious fidgeting betrayed the overwhelming effort required to ignore the heat lingering where their legs still touched.For a brief moment, she allowed her mind to wander, clinging to the rhythm of her breath. The quiet hum of the Great Hall seemed magnified, each creak of wood or faint rustle of fabric amplified in the stillness. Her fingers twitched at the ends of her long sleeves, a silent plea for distraction. The words she wanted to say burned at the edge of her tongue, demanding release. Too many questions demanded attention. Before she could stop herself, she spoke the first thing that popped into her mind.“That bloody article!” she snapped suddenly, her voice breaking the quiet of the Great Hall.Draco Malfoy barely glanced up from his seat, his pale eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s your own fault, you know?” he replied with a dry sneer. "You don't know when to keep your own mouth shut."Hermione’s glare was immediate, sharp as a blade aimed directly at her peer. “No!” she exclaimed, launching into a tirade. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s Ginny bloody Weasley! She and Harry have found disgusting levels of happiness in each other. Naturally, that means the rest of us are pathetically lost without the presence of our one true significant other. She's determined to matchmake anyone with a pulse! All this fuss because she wouldn’t stop speaking about Michael Corner…”Draco’s sigh was audible, his expression morphing into something halfway between exasperation and mild amusement. Narcissa lifted a brow, her chin naturally rising as she looked down her nose at the witch. Severus remained as still as a statue. When a symphonic, gentle chuckle tickled low in her throat, the wizard beside her visibly relaxed — his head tilting so he could better watch her. Those dark, inquiring eyes gave her nothing.Hermione swallowed, awkwardly dulling her quiet laughter while searching for something — anything — to busy her mouth. A half-empty tea cup sat beside the book. Immediately, she plucked it from its matching saucer and sipped the lukewarm, slightly bitter tea. Her features instinctively scrunched. Rather quickly, she cleared her throat and set the teacup back down onto its saucer.“That’s not my tea…” The witch glanced at both Malfoys before settling her attention on Snape, whose throat bobbed as he watched her. “You like Darjeeling? Do you let it brew for longer? I don’t remember it tasting so bitter…”The corner of the professor’s mouth ticked up. Those indifferent, cold eyes softened just slightly. The shift was subtle, but it was something the witch could detect. Sometimes. He nodded, though his eyes narrowed as his thin lips parted — like he weighed whether or not he should say something.“Brewing it longer does add a certain astringency; however, it’s not the same thing as bitterness.”“So,” Draco muttered. He leaned on his elbows closer to the pair across from him. “You think Potter and Weaselette are disgusting, do you?”The witch pinched her brows together and drew her head back. “No, I said they’re disgustingly happy. It’s actually rather annoying…”“Jealous, are you?”The witch chuckled, an uncomfortable grin stretching her lips. “Jealous of Harry and Ginny? I unfortunately lived with them over summer. I can quite confidently say that they are particularly nauseating. I can only hope my future relationships are far more…discreet? I should be content with anything opposite of them, I suppose.”Hermione’s eyes shifted to Narcissa, who sipped her own tea as if this conversation was quite possibly the most banal topic in all the world. She pulled some of her bound curly hair over her shoulder and played with some of the ends, once more looking at Draco and asking, “Why are we speaking of this?”Malfoy sighed, his pale fingers drumming lightly against the polished surface of the table. “Because you’ll apparently tell anyone anything.”Hermione’s head snapped up, a sharp furrow cutting across her brow. “Well, that’s not true!” she retorted, her tone defensive and clipped. Her hands fidgeted with the edge of her jumper again, twisting the soft fabric in a futile effort to channel her frustration elsewhere.“What’s happening right now?” Draco asked, leaning back slightly. His posture was laced with exaggerated skepticism. He gestured lazily with one hand — as though presenting undeniable proof of her hypocrisy.Hermione’s eyes narrowed, a flash of indignation brightening their depths. “It’s different!” she scoffed, her tone rising. She opened her mouth, clearly ready to launch into a detailed argument, but faltered for a moment as the words formed on her tongue. An overlong rant would not do, so she posed a simple argument instead. “You made an unfounded assumption, and I simply corrected you.”Draco tilted his head, his expression hovering between mild amusement and derision. “Sure, Granger…”Across the table, Severus shifted in his seat, his dark gaze flicking between the two as if weighing whether to interject. After a pause, he finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “You mentioned the article…”“The Prophet…” Hermione seethed, her words tumbling out in a rush. Her hands clenched into fists on the table, trembling slightly as she fought to contain her rising temper. “What a mockery of legitimate journalism!”Draco lifted a brow, a sly smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Well, you make Skeeter’s job so easy! The way you go about broadcasting your private business hardly helps you. Is this new, or have you always subjected Potter and Weasleby to these rants of yours?”Hermione’s breath hitched, her glare cutting through the air like a blade. She opened her mouth to counter, but the weight of Draco’s smirk seemed to stifle her response for a moment longer than she intended. Sighing, the witch flattened her brows and shook her head.
“Actually, it’s but one of many lingering gifts with which the war spoiled me…”The endless nightmares, the crude scar, the vile book, the strained friendship with Ronald, the distinct lack of parents, the lack of confidence from most of whom she’d always counted on, the unexpected friendship with Severus, and now the insufferable babbling. All of it twisted, jabbing her gut like a sharp, serrated blade threw a dance party in her belly.
The witch adjusted in her seat, the outside of her thigh fidgeting against Snape’s. The professor froze in place just as their sustained contact offered her a moment’s warmth. When she peeked up at him, she saw he spared her no attention. The flex of his tight jaw made her pinch her brows together. As he swallowed, Hermione rested her gentle palm on his knee — a rather unconscious act steeped only in the desire for reassurance and habit. Whether it was for her own or his remained unclear.
However, as soon as her hand settled on him, he grimaced, his features scrunching inward as if her touch disgusted him. The older wizard clutched her wrist and cast away her hand — the action rough and rushed as if her hand were made of a fire that would consume him. Tears sheathed her dark eyes. Thankfully, she kept them hostage.
Severus’s eyes widened, and he choked on his breath as his wild glare met her vacant stare. The heat in his eyes softened as the tautness of his body visibly eased. When his hand reached for her arm, Hermione scooted away — ensuring a few inches punctuated the distance she’d originally disrespected. His hand stiffened, his fingers curling into a first that he dropped onto the bench between them.Hermione offered him a polite, disingenuous smile. Among everyone who used to stand beside her, only Harry seemed to understand her these days. She was sure there was nothing she could say or do that he would not fully accept. But these days, they rarely saw each other.Over the past week or so, Hermione was sure she’d made some progress in her friendship with Severus. He even spoke of Lily with her. There was a certain implied intimacy between them. Clearly, he trusted her enough not to immediately relay what little he revealed of his past with Harry’s mother. His secrets would remain safe with her.
Perhaps her babbling gave him pause? Perhaps he simply wished not to be touched? Perhaps she spent too much time inside her own head… Always overanalyzing everything.
The antique ring on her left index finger felt like a vice. Absently, she fidgeted with it — knowing it would not budge. Severus was not Harry — nor Ron for that matter. Never had that been more clear. Part of how she expressed her affection was through touch. It physically connected her to friends and those she cherished. But it also reassured her she was wanted. That she belonged in some pathetic way.
Over the last couple of years, touching Harry and Ronald had been part of how she’d stayed at all sane. When she touched them, she felt their bodies’ warmth. She felt their pulse. It proved they were safe. Over the nine months they were on the run, holding hands with Ron had been quite possibly the only way she could express to him her affection. Half the time, the boy had probably remained oblivious to such truth — especially during the days leading up to his leaving them at camp.The war had taken much from everyone. However, it had quite literally shattered her entire world. A chaste kiss remained one of the quiet secrets of the Chamber. The truth was that she only had Harry left. However, he’d eventually have a life of his own. It hadn’t mattered that he survived Voldemort’s Killing curse again. Though he lived, the part of their lives where they shared each day and thing with the other really was over.Hermione Granger was a lost witch with a desperate, pathetic penchant of imposing herself into the lives of others — especially given the Harry and Ron sized holes in her own life. It wasn’t fair to impose her needs on someone who clearly did not want them. That was exactly what she was doing with Severus Snape. She’d saved an unwilling man and forced him to live on. Now, he endured more danger on her behalf.Reaching inside her beaded bag, she found her father’s wristwatch. The student’s lunch would occur in precisely twenty-five minutes. The witch glanced at both Malfoys across the table. “Apologies, I’ve intruded. Lunch begins soon. We’ll leave in fifteen or so minutes to avoid most of the chaos of the corridors once classes end.”Hermione deposited the watch back in her bag and rubbed her stomach. Her fingers tightened around the dusty rose fibers of her jumper. Her nails pressed into the soft material, the small motion betraying the tension coiled in her petite frame. She looked at Snape again, offering him a stiff, awkward smirk.“Apologies for your tea, Professor Snape…”The older wizard’s soft gaze heated, darkening into a vicious sneer. His lashes twitched as his lids narrowed slightly. It looked as if he bit the inside of his cheek.
“Granger,” he replied.The witch’s hand trembled as she pushed herself up from the bench. “Excuse me,” she murmured, the words so soft they barely broke the heavy air around her. The slight scrape of wood against stone rang out in the cavernous hall, louder than it ought to.
The pace she set back to her spot at the Ravenclaw table was slow. Before she could reach it, however, a quiet rustling of thick, expansive owl wings broke the prevailing silence lingering throughout the hall. The owl swooped through the small gap at the top of the hall’s high ceilings, weaving through the floating candles and rafters until it flew only a few feet above the table.
When it reached her, the bird dropped a plain package wrapped in simple brown paper and twine. It landed with precision in front of Hermione. The pure black owl did not regard her before once more taking flight. The brown paper wrapping bore no markings save for her first name scrawled in an elegant, looping hand.“Shut it, Malfoy,” Snape’s low, deep voice warned from across the hall. His boots echoed across the hall as he likely stood for some reason.Hermione ignored everything save the delivery. She slid into the bench beside the parcel, grasping it in both hands as she flipped it over and scrunched her brows. It had to be a book. The weight of it and the sharp edges where a cover would end to reveal its soft paper were all too familiar for her to be wrong. The witch yanked at the twine, which looped around the package twice in a cross-like fashion.The bench she occupied dipped under Severus Snape’s weight. Without a word, the professor reached for the thick crossbody string of her beaded bag. His fingertips softly prodded at her lower waist as he pulled the bag toward him. The unexpected contact made her breath hitch as she swallowed, finally glancing over at him. The dark wizard held her stare for a moment until he dropped his dark gaze to the bag, tugging the top open and slipping her library book inside.“You forgot it when you left…” he said just as he met her eyes again.When he sealed her bag closed, she swore he leaned in closer to her — just slightly. But that couldn’t be. “Thank you.”“You’re welcome.”The longer they held the other’s stare, the faster her pulse quickened. Swallowing, she cleared her throat. The witch regarded the parcel before her. She continued untying the twine, which felt coarse against Hermione’s fingertips as she pulled at it again. Eventually, it fell to the table, and she immediately tore the wrapping at the top right corner. The smooth brown wrapping gave way, revealing a sliver of an aged book. The faint, musty scent of antiquity drifted up as she peeled back even more.Beside her, Severus shifted, his leg pressing against hers briefly. The warmth startled her, sending an unbidden flush to her cheeks. She stiffened, her movements faltering. He leaned closer, his voice low, the weight of his presence pressing down on her. “What is this?”“A book,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Obviously, Hermione,” the professor muttered, not bothering to mask his impatience. “Who sent it?”“I’m not exactly sure. The wrapping had only my name on it…”Her fingers continued to tug at the paper, revealing the faded embossing on the cover: Magia Carnalis: Profanum Arcanum. Her brow furrowed as she read the title aloud, her voice catching on the Latin. Shaking her head, she pinched her brows and dropped the book on the table.“It translates to Carnal Magic: The Profane Arcane. ”Severus’s gaze narrowed, his expression unreadable, but she felt the tension radiating from him like a physical force. The witch speculated he knew exactly what sort of contents she’d find within this book. She reached for the paper once more and tore it until the corner of a small muggle photograph was revealed. Hermione hesitated, her breath hitching as her fingers reached for it. It was her family home, frozen in time. Her parents stood smiling in front of the house, the joy in their faces unmistakable. Between them was space enough for the three-year-old girl who no longer existed to them. Over both of their faces was a crude crimson “X”.

The room seemed to tilt. Hermione’s chest tightened, her vision blurring as tears gathered and fell freely. She clutched the photograph, her hands trembling, her pulse roaring in her ears. The ink, vibrant and menacing, burned into her mind. She couldn’t look away.Severus’ hand reached out as he claimed the half-wrapped book. His fingers brushed against hers briefly, but she didn’t react. He turned the book over, his dark eyes scanning the expanse of the wrapping paper. Finding nothing, the older wizard flipped over the book again, pulling the torn paper to scan the penmanship of her name. His lips pressed into a thin line. When he finally spoke, the word fell like a curse.“Bellatrix.”Hermione’s hand moved instinctively toward the thin pocket at her thigh. Her wand slipped into her palm. A sharp flick of her wrist sent the heavy doors of the Great Hall slamming shut, the sound echoing ominously. The locks clicked into place. “She’s been inside my home,” Hermione said, her voice breaking as she gestured toward the photograph. “This photo was in their bedroom.”Severus set the book down carefully, his movements measured as though handling a volatile potion. His hand found the small of her back, the warmth of his touch cutting through her spiraling thoughts. “Your parents remain safe, Hermione,” he said, his voice firm. Almost commanding.Her gaze snapped to him, desperate for reassurance. A very large part of her wished for nothing more than to leave the safety of Hogwarts to track down her parents. She could only truly know they remained safe by seeing them for herself. But this nightmare had once already played out. And Sirius Black paid the price.
Hermione nodded, choking on her own breath until Severus’ touch slipped higher on her back. He anchored her back to reality. “All I know is where they originally went when I Obliviated them,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “They could be anywhere else in the world by now.”He nodded, his jaw tight. He opened his mouth to say more, but a shimmer of light interrupted him. Hermione’s breath caught as a figure materialized at the center of the hall. The familiar silhouette of Albus Dumbledore emerged, his spectral form glowing faintly in the dim light. The ghost elegantly hovered toward them.“Bellatrix wishes to draw you out, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, his tone calm but weighted. His piercing gaze fell on her before shifting to Severus. “She seeks the horcrux. However, I do not believe she yet suspects Miss Granger possesses it.”Every word struck Hermione like a physical blow. Her head whipped toward Severus, her pulse quickening as the truth settled over her like a suffocating fog. He’d told Albus, and she hadn’t even known of his return. In an instant, any comfort the gentle hand at her back offered dissolved. As she glared up at him, she gasped and slapped away his arm, quickly scooting at least a foot away from him on the bench.Her voice, low and trembling, carried an edge of betrayal. “You told him.”Severus’ gaze locked with hers, and for a fleeting moment, his stoic mask seemed to falter. The tightness around his eyes deepened, shadows pooling in the hollows of his face as if he bore a weight too immense to carry. His jaw clenched and released, the subtle movement betraying the struggle within. When he finally spoke, his voice emerged low and strained, each word shaped as though dragged over shards of glass.“I believed…it was necessary.” The words landed flat, doing nothing to extinguish the storm in her chest."But telling me he's back wasn't?"Snape said nothing.Hermione’s lips parted, a sharp breath escaping as though she’d been struck. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table. The depth of her betrayal swelled, choking her, yet she lacked the strength to shout. Her voice, barely more than a whisper, carried the weight of her devastation. "I never should have told you about any of this..."The faint hitch in Severus’ breathing betrayed his fraying control. He whispered her name, soft and desperate, but she recoiled as if the sound burned her.Albus, his spectral form radiating calm amidst the tension, opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione paid him no heed. The only person who existed in her world was Severus Snape. Her hand trembled as she gestured toward him, her voice raw.“What else are you hiding from me?”Severus’ lips pressed into a thin line, his silence damning.Her chest tightened further, anger and sorrow swirling like a storm. More secrets. More people she could not fully trust. Despite that self-preserving thought, Hermione knew in her bones she trusted this man. The revelation only acted as a shackle that threatened to suffocate her. Slowly.“What part of my future did you see?” she asked, her voice breaking under the strain of the words.He said nothing. The weight of his silence crushed her.She scoffed bitterly, a tear slipping down her cheek as she wiped it away with trembling fingers. The distance between them, once narrow, now felt like a chasm.It left her cold. Alone. Isolated. Scared.Dumbledore’s ghost raised a hand as though to placate her. She continued to ignore him, her focus locked on Severus. The dark wizard's expression twisted again. He opened his mouth, his voice uncharacteristically strained. “We believe Albus returned because Bellatrix has, indeed, begun attempting to mend the Elder Wand. He does not believe she has succeeded, though she's clearly done something.”The room seemed to shrink around her. Her throat tightened, her breaths shallow. “And you didn’t think to tell me?” she demanded, her voice breaking."I-I'm telling you now..."The witch chuckled. "Only because you have to!"Severus reached for her, but cringed away from him. His black eyes searched her glare, each of his features stiffening back into a laughable attempt at his usual sneer.The truth hung between them. She'd been a fool to believe they could ever be equals. Either he didn't trust her for some reason, or he simply believed her to be a child incapable of providing meaningful help. How could they be friends with so much left unsaid between them?
Hermione whispered, “We were supposed to be in this together, Severus.”He flinched, his shoulders stiffening as though bracing for another blow. Before he could respond, Narcissa and Draco approached the table, their presence a stark reminder of the tangled alliances at play. Narcissa’s usually composed mask cracked, concern flickering in her icy gaze as Draco’s expression hardened.Dumbledore’s attention shifted to Severus, his voice taking on a grave urgency. “Severus, I believe you'll find the Malfoys’ cooperation essential in this. You know what you must do...”Severus’ jaw tightened further, his dark eyes flicking between Hermione and the ghostly headmaster. All traces of visible emotion drained from his features in an instant. The professor stood from the bench and turned toward Narcissa, his voice cold but resolute. “Draco—”“No,” Narcissa cut in sharply, stepping forward. “He has done enough. We'll have no part in whatever is going on!”“Narcissa, you have no choice,” Severus countered, his tone brooking no argument. "He will make the vow as I once did for him."Hermione barely registered the argument. Eventually, she shook her head and stood. "I'll Obliviate them! They aren't a part of this."Snape ignored her. Instead, he continued to bicker with Narcissa. Draco even joined in. Dumbledore stared at them. It was as if she were the ghost. As she breathed, the exhales stuttered. She struggled to keep calm.
Tears poured down her face as the Great Hall silenced in an instant. The air around her squeezed until she was sure her bones would break under the impact. Slowly, a dull but piercing ringing formed into coherent words.
The book. Touch the book.
Hermione’s gaze fell to Bellatrix’s book, still half-wrapped. Glancing over at the others once more, she saw that no one paid her any mind. Pinching her brows together, the witch grabbed the lower left corner of the book, her fingers brushing the paper. With her right hand, she slid the pads of her fingers over the aged cover of the foul book. A wicked, torrential draft snuffed out every candle in the Great Hall. Its likeness blotted away as an inky, black smoke rushed all over the spacious room until all she saw was a room with floors that matched those in Malfoy Manor.
“Hermione!” Severus shouted, though his voice sounded far away. His palm cupped her shoulder, but a force she could not control threw him back.The witch stepped forward, but she sank her gaze to the floor. Various bones of all sizes and shapes littered the space around her. A mix of nearly dried and fresh blood stained her steps. The head of a large snake emerged through her left ankle. She cringed away, stepping to the right and watching in horror as Nagini slithered toward a large bed in the private room within which she now dwelled. She still clutched the book tightly in her shaky hands. She slid the paper off of it and let it fall to the floor. Only for a moment did she survey the book’s cover.A haunting voice whispered to the snake that still slithered at her left. Hermione followed after her, and the image of Voldemort overwhelmed her. Blood splattered nearly every inch of every surface around them. This was the past — a memory associated with the very book she held. It only took a moment for the witch to find the very tome resting open on the nightstand to the left of the overlarge bed.The room was dim, the only light coming from a feeble fire that spat weakly in a soot-stained hearth. Its flicker painted jagged shadows on the cold stone walls. Voldemort sat at the edge of a massive four-poster bed, his posture unnervingly still, his skeletal fingers steepled lightly as he watched Nagini slither further in.
The snake settled in the corner. Her massive body coiled in a pool of fresh blood. A limp muggle hung from her jaws, his broken limbs twisted grotesquely. The wet crunch of bones echoed as she tightened her coils, her golden eyes gleaming in the firelight. Her forked tongue flicked lazily, tasting the metallic tang in the air, before she dropped the body with a dull thud. Blood dripped steadily from her fangs, pooling beneath her as she turned her head toward Voldemort.
On the bed behind him, Bellatrix lay sprawled and mostly bare: her face slack and lips parted in a faint, dreamy smile. Her wild hair clung to her sweat-slicked face, matted with streaks of crimson. One bloodied hand curled against the sheets, brushing feebly at nothing. The mattress beneath her was soaked, the dark stain spreading outward like a gruesome halo.Voldemort rose, his movements smooth and deliberate. His thin lips curled faintly as his crimson gaze flicked toward Nagini. His voice, low and serpentine, spilled into the air in Parseltongue, each word a hiss that slithered through the oppressive silence. “Servants, they call themselves. Yet none of them can locate a single book…” the serpent-like being chuckled. “ Soon enough, I shall have to kill the lot of them. Their usefulness wanes with each passing day. I can count on so few of them — those who proudly call themselves Death Eaters.” Nagini’s body shifted, her head lowering slightly as her golden eyes stayed fixed on him. “We must focus on killing Harry Potter. Only then will your reign be secure.” Voldemort watched the snake with undivided interest. “Of course, you are right, old friend. Only once the boy is dead may our plan see fruition.” “The children?” Nagini’s tongue flicked out again, the tip brushing the air between them.Voldemort’s pale fingers trailed lightly over the edge of the bed frame as he began to pace, his robes whispering against the blood-covered stone. “Hogwarts remains the most important piece of the plan. With Severus as headmaster, we shall seize control of the very future of wizardkind. The mudblood children will come — eager to prove themselves with stolen magic. He will sequester them and deliver them here: intact and ripe for the cleansing.” He paused, turning his head slightly as though savoring the thought.Nagini uncoiled slightly, her body rippling as she slithered forward, her fangs glinting in the firelight. “Yes,” Voldemort hissed, his lipless mouth curling further. “Their souls will be emptied. The rituals will feed their stolen magic back into the pure and the truly loyal. The balance will forever be restored. We will save our kind once and for all.” Nagini’s tail coiled tightly around the muggle’s lifeless body, the sound of shifting scales filling the room. “They will strengthen you, master. You will walk immortal once you possess the Foul.” Voldemort stopped before the fire, his skeletal hands clasping behind his back as his red eyes narrowed. “The Foul will cease. Its magic will be mine. This magic — no, this power — will burn any who dare defy me. I shall finally be free of Death’s chains.” Nagini’s head lowered further, her movements reverent. Almost deferential. “And the pet?” Her tongue flicked toward Bellatrix’s prone form, her tone dripping with disdain.Voldemort turned briefly, his gaze falling on Bellatrix. Her chest rose and fell shallowly, her lips twitching faintly as though caught in some private, blissful dream. His face twisted in something between amusement and contempt. “She will have her reward,” he said, his voice softer but no less venomous. “A taste, nothing more. She will never know real power, friend. But she may prove herself to be my most important servant. Only she knows of what comes next should I meet my ruin once more. However, this time, it won’t take nearly so long for me to return. Let the Order believe their success is permanent. It will make killing them all the more satisfying.” Nagini hissed softly, a low, almost pleased sound, as she slithered back toward her corner. Blood trailed behind her, dark streaks against the stone.
Voldemort’s lipless smile deepened, his sharp, skeletal features catching the faint glow of the fire. He raised one pale hand, letting it hover briefly over the flames. “Defeat is improbable, Nagini. They will all bow before me — or die.” The memory cracked like shattering glass, the shadows splintering into fragments of green light. Hermione fell hard onto the stone floor of the Great Hall, her knees striking with a hollow thud. Her body convulsed, wracked with trembling sobs as her fingers clawed weakly at the ground.
The book dropped to the floor with a loud thud a few feet away from her. Her breath came in short, jagged gasps, her tears pooling beneath her. Finally, the Great Hall reemerged. The stone floor absorbed the gore, bones, and blood flooding the once embellished, expensive floor. Each candle floating overhead reignited one by one. All traces of darkness receded. The light flooded the space once more.A cloud of black fabric flooded her vision. Severus kneeled to her side and cupped her face, wiping her tears away with his thumb pad as he swallowed. “We heard the Dark Lord… What did you see? What did he say?”Rather than answer him, Hermione crawled around him and plucked the book from the floor. She kept the distance between her and Snape while she deposited the vile book in her bag. Grabbing her wand, the witch pointed it inside the beaded bag.
“Accio empty vial…”
Almost instantly, an empty glass vial with a cork flew up. She grasped it and wiped at her tears. Breathing twice, she steadied her thoughts, focusing only on the events that had just unfolded before her. The tip of her want touched her temple. Closing her eyes, she extracted the memory and slowly allowed it to drop inside the now uncorked vial.Sighing, Hermione swallowed, eventually extending her hand to Severus. “I won’t speak of what I saw. You should theoretically be able to understand what he said by watching this in the pensieve. We should keep it. I can’t imagine the Order would be so understanding of any of this. We’d do well to preserve what we can.”“Agreed,” Severus muttered, his voice sounding much smaller than she’d ever heard previously. When he claimed the vial, their fingers brushed. Only this time, Hermione felt nothing. It was like all traces of emotion left her body along with the memory.
At least for the time being.“Golden Snitches have flesh memory. Harry’s carried the Resurrection Stone. Do you think… Is it possible that touch memory is a thing? Have you heard of such magic — or any witches or wizards who possessed such abilities?”Draco scoffed. “Going to gloss over the fact that the Dark Lord’s voice rang all over this hall, are we?”When Hermione glanced over to her peer, she saw a frightened boy. His eyes were wide, his skin pale and ashen, and his posture rigid. He gripped his mother by her arm — as if he could protect her from anything.Narcissa’s eyes almost bugged out of their sockets. Thick tears welled in them. As she regarded Hermione, her mouth hung open. “He’s not really dead is he?”Hermione stood, noting how quickly Severus followed her lead. “He is. For now.”“For now?”The witch glanced over at Dumbledore. The ghostlike version of the headmaster regarded her — his eyes narrowed and mouth flattened. It was like seeing her in this moment clicked together previously meaningless puzzle pieces. He knew something, but there was little chance he’d tell her anything. Unfortunately, she’d have to cooperate with him — if only for the moment. Severus trusted him to some capacity, and she knew she trusted him…no matter how much doing so held her hostage. All of this was rather too much for one person to handle on their own.“I don’t know how to forgive you, sir.”Albus floated closer to her. “You know Harry had to die — or rather, the piece of Voldemort within him had to…”Hermione shook her head. “The Order is rather disorganized these days. Some focus on rebuilding. Others seek revenge. The rest of us — notably, a very small portion — cautiously ready themselves for what’s to come.”Dumbledore smirked. “And only one Polyjuices themselves and storms the Ministry alone to steal memories for a man almost all others doubt.”The witch glared at Severus. “So you’ve told him everything, then?”The professor sighed. “Any minute now, we’ll have a stampede of drooling dunderheads to contend with.”Rolling her eyes, Hermione crossed her arms and shook her head. “Bellatrix looks for a way to revive You Know Who.”Albus joined his hands before him at his hips, his cool, translucent form warmed by the dull glow of the candlelight above. “That much is clear, Miss Granger.”“The Elder Wand may just be a piece of it. It didn’t sound like it would be through means of another horcrux, however.”“Severus will parse the memory.”Hermione narrowed her eyes at the dead headmaster. “What do you know of the Foul? He mentioned it in the memory. I’ve seen it in a few books I’ve checked out, but I can’t find anything concrete.”“What I know is only mere speculation, Hermione. And we’re out of time to discuss such things here. The others must not know I’ve returned. At least…not yet.”“Fine,” she replied. Sighing, Hermione looked at Snape one last time. “No more unnecessary secrets.”Severus stared at her for a moment. However, he eventually nodded. Quickly, he flashed his glare at Narcissa and Draco. “We’ve no time for the vow for now. Speak of this to no one. You both know precisely what I am capable of. You’re a part of this whether you wish to be involved or not. The Dark Lord cannot return. You will help me undue whatever atrocities your sister coordinates. Do you understand?”Narcissa lifted her chin, reaching for Draco’s hand but slowly dragging her gaze to Hermione. “Promise me you’ll protect him as if he were Harry Potter himself. Precious he may not be to you, Draco is all I have left.”The witch pinched her brows. “You’d take me at my word?”“Did you really steal Severus’ memories from the Ministry?”“Yes…”Narcissa dropped Draco’s hand and stepped closer to Hermione. “Then your word is quite possibly the most valuable thing you could ever offer. Your word?”“You have my word, Mrs. Malfoy.”“Narcissa,” she corrected. “Now, I must insist on returning to my quarters.” The woman regarded Snape. “We’ll speak later.”“Indeed.”Albus, without a word, faded away until all that remained was a dull ball of bluish light that disappeared into the wall. Draco glared at Hermione — then to Severus, who caught Hermione by the elbow.“Wait a moment,” the professor said.
When Hermione met his eyes, every feature softened slightly. She watched as his throat bobbed slowly. Narcissa and Draco walked toward the double doors. Only when they achieved an appropriate distance did Severus step closer to the witch, leaning down until his straight, black hair tickled her cheek.
“What I saw of your future…it can never come true.”The older wizard pulled back so they could meet each other’s gaze. He still lingered rather close. Hermione’s heart quickened as she searched his mesmerizing features. “You owe me answers, Severus.”“They are answers I cannot give to you.”“Can’t or won’t?”Snape’s jaw clenched. He leaned further down into her, swallowing as he struggled to catch his breath. He flattened his brows as he searched her eyes. “I have hurt you,” he muttered, his deep voice so low and quiet it stole the breath from her lungs. “But you — out of everyone still breathing — can always trust me.”“I know that, but I don’t like you very much right now.”His grip on her arm relaxed, and he seemed satisfied with her reply. Straightening, the professor lowered his hand until his palm warmed the scar on her left arm. “We begin Occlumency lessons this weekend, but I must have your word. You cannot attempt to breach my mind for the answers you seek.”Hermione nodded. “Of course, Severus.”Severus gently squeezed her arm and pinched his brows together. The corner of his mouth ticked up for only a second. He nodded. “Meet me in my office tomorrow at noon.”Hermione blinked, the words registering slowly. “Noon?”“Is that a problem?” The question was clipped, his head tilting ever so slightly as his gaze narrowed, sharpening into something more intense.“Actually, it is. I…” Her words faltered, caught between reluctance and obligation.His grip on her arm tightened just enough to be noticeable. “What?” he asked, his voice sharper now, the corners of his mouth drawing taut. The faintest flicker of irritation danced in the depths of his expression, and his free hand twitched by his side before settling into a clenched fist.“I’ll be in Hogsmeade then,” Hermione admitted, her voice tinged with both apology and dread. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her eyes darting away from his piercing gaze to focus on the floor instead.Severus’ lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw visibly tightening as he exhaled through his nose. The shadows cast by the flickering candlelight seemed to accentuate the sharp lines of his face, adding to the aura of restrained displeasure that emanated from him. His shoulders squared further, a habitual motion that seemed to anchor him in the moment. “You should not go there alone,” he said, his tone colder, the words deliberate.Hermione’s brow furrowed as she raised her chin to meet his gaze, the resolve in her eyes battling the unease simmering beneath her skin. “Headmistress McGonagall lifted the restrictions beginning tomorrow. Still, Luna doesn’t want to risk going on her date alone, so I told her I’d join her. She won’t tell me who we’re meeting. It’s, unfortunately, a surprise.”The corner of Severus’ mouth twitched, but this time it wasn’t a fleeting smirk — it was a barely contained sneer. His dark eyes searched her face, lingering for a moment too long, as though weighing the implications of her words. The slight flare of his nostrils and the rigid set of his jaw betrayed the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. Yet, he said nothing further, allowing the unspoken tension to settle heavily between them.Hermione shifted again, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her jumper as she awaited a response, her chest tightening with the weight of his disapproval. “I don’t want to go, but I promised her I would. I-I should be back by three, though. Does that work with your schedule?”When he finally released her arm, the absence of his touch left a cold void that she couldn’t quite explain. He stepped back, his gaze dropping briefly before locking onto hers once more, guarded yet unmistakably piercing. “It does not.”Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Would you mind specifying an alternative time that does, then?”“It will have to be after dinner. Eight.”“Fine.”“Be careful, Granger,” he said at last, the warning laced with something far heavier than mere caution. Without another word, he turned on his heel, his ridiculous cloak billowing behind him as he strode away, leaving her rooted in place with an inexplicable ache tightening her chest.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day 40

Saturday, October 10, 1998

. . .
Severus
. . .

Spinners End. Daylight. A delicate dusting of pure, white snow hitting the filthy cobblestones outside. The dilapidated kitchen.

Severus sipped the teacup as he watched her over its rim. Hermione leaned against the threshold, her arms folded across her chest as her small, lithe body drowned in his dull black, long sleeve button-down shirt. A lovely smirk stretched her paralyzing lips.

The older wizard wore nothing save a pair of faded black joggers. Form-fitting on a fuller wizard; moderately baggy on the likes of him. On full display to Hermione was his lanky, narrow, and undefined torso. He proudly bore to her every constellation of gathered scars. Most hadn’t ever healed properly — bunching in a crude way and beveling in shallow mounds across his aged, pale skin. After all the clandestine Death Eater meetings that resulted in spontaneous floggings, the man could have hardly paid Poppy Pomfrey a visit for proper treatment. The rest were a random array of disfigured lesions: thick, deep, short, and long. Her lovely eyes settled on Nagini’s bite.

A jagged crescent marred the column of his neck, stark against the pale expanse. Two deep punctures marked the center, their edges slightly raised like the very fangs that had pierced him left a dark memory in the flesh itself. The surrounding uneven tissue was ridged where the skin had struggled to knit itself back together, creating a texture that seemed both weathered and raw. The scar shimmered faintly under certain lights — a silvery sheen. Threads of lighter, almost translucent lines radiated outward from the center, spidering toward his jaw and collarbone like ghostly veins that receded at the slowest pace possible.

The man she openly appreciated was rather unremarkable in every way physically possible. Yet the pair of honeyed, earthy eyes transmitted to him a power — a quiet confidence — more profound than magic itself. She knew precisely how to look at him in such a way that made it easier for him to stand taller.

Last night, he’d proclaimed she was his — that she belonged to only him. The dark wizard had cruelly withheld from her that which she coveted from him most in order to ensure she sobbed such an inevitability aloud. As she’d acquiesced, he’d slipped her quim an inch of his thick, hard cock in exchange for each time she chanted those words. He’d stolen from her the reassurance for which he’d spent four decades searching — a shard of that Gryffindor pride she entrusted with him.

Severus bestowed to her a strange, delicate tenderness that ought to have outright clashed with his need to dominate: to possess her in every possible way in their bed. Overwhelmingly so. The older wizard knew that spending many of his years of serving, coincidentally, had only reinforced his need for control. At first, he’d been disheartened that it would extend to this part of his life, too.

But Hermione had always been a most willing and eager pupil. Beyond that, she trusted him — an invaluable, precious gift he’d never again betray. The witch had eased him through the whispers of his dark need: so potent and deeply rooted within him since his grim, dismal childhood. She gorged his pathetic, humiliating, and insatiable appetite for praise, devotion, reassurance, and security — most ardently and entirely without judgment.

It was much too soon to declare such, but Severus would spend every moment of the rest of their life spoiling her in every way within his slightly more than modest means. Abstaining from spending the overwhelming majority of his Hogwarts salary for more than seventeen years meant that he could offer her a life worthy of the witch. He would never attempt to dull her brilliance by stowing her away in dreary Cokeworth.

All that he was — all that he had or would have — would be hers. Now and forever.

Together, they’d invented a far more delicious and effective alternative to any magical vow. It was equally unbreakable, yet its power eclipsed everything he thought he knew of magic. Such was the splendor of their soul.

Yes.

The truth was rather the reverse. Severus Snape belonged to Hermione Granger. He would find the courage to say such. To surrender to her the whole of his pride. Himself. Soon. The witch had his heart already. He wanted to ensure she knew the world — life itself — began and ended with her. She seemed to also appreciate words spoken and sentiments known.

However, the way Hermione’s hips swayed as she closed the distance between them told him she knew it, too. Those grounding eyes were so heavy and heated, anchoring on him like a brand he welcomed. They told him everything she wanted — things only he could give to her.

When she stopped only inches from him, she leaned her head back, compensating for their mismatched heights. The witch’s gaze flicked down to his plain, unimpressive teacup, trailing it as he lowered it from his lips. When it leveled at his waist between them, she lifted a brow and reached for it.

Stealing the cup from his hand, Hermione blew at the steam fogging above its wide mouth. Her cool breath mixed with the molten vapor and tickled at his bare chest, the sparse hair waving in response. Gooseflesh tightened his tingling skin. The simple effort had become one of the single most seductive acts with which she’d yet spoiled him.

Severus trembled, gifting the witch a low, gutteral moan. By now, she’d be able to stock a thousand vials’ worth of memories containing such pleasurable sounds from him. Finally, Hermione sipped the tea he knew she disliked. As always, she grimaced, eyes narrowing as if to blame him for her decision to sample the astringent taste of his preferred beverage.

“Bitter…”
Quirking a brow, the wizard shook his head. “You and this bloody tea. I should just jot down the instructions to achieve the astringent taste and be done with it.”

“No,” she insisted. Narrowing her eyes, she sighed, the crease forming between her brows deepening and her lips thinning as she lost herself in new thought. “One day, I’ll brew and steep this to perfection. And I’ll do it without the Half-Blood Prince’s help, thank you.”

With an overly dramatic sigh, the professor smirked. He enjoyed when she referred to him as his self-appointed moniker. The words on her tongue made him squirm, their ringing texture intimate and silken in his ears. “Wasting perfectly good — and rather expensive — tea leaves for a nonsensical goal.”

“A nonsensical goal?”
Rolling his eyes, Snape grumbled a curse under his breath. “Oh, good. You can repeat exactly what I say. I’d begun to worry…”
Hermione laughed, gently shoving at his chest. “Shut up.”

“Will you ever share with me the reason for your obsessive need to know my exact brew?”

“No,” she said.

The next sip drew a small, involuntary wince as she swallowed. Hermione paused, smacking her lips softly in quick succession as if to test the lingering bitterness clinging to her tongue. Her expression shifted, faint traces of curiosity overriding the discomfort, and she took another sip, slower this time.

“Some secrets are sacred, Severus.” Eventually, she added, “You taught me that, didn’t you?”

Severus groaned, though a quaint smile stretched his thin lips. Of course, she did not know he already knew the reason. Seeing her fuss over something as simple as discovering his exact brew of tea made his heart swell. He’d buy every last Darjeeling tea leaf in the world if it meant he could help her to play her private game — in perpetuity if necessary. Though at the rate she steeped the leaves, he ought to find space enough to build a small greenhouse for her private use.

“You’re never going to let that go.”
“Oh, good. You can see the future. I’d begun to worry…”
Black eyes, soft and adoring, held a gentle and patient brown gaze. He could drown in their depths forever. The quiet between them stitched their soul more tightly than ever. The pulse of life around them squeezed him like a hug — sequestering him away from the long years of neglect and pain.

It was all he could do: lift his left pinky to intertwine with hers. The slightly faded dark hue of his vulgar Dark Mark faced up on full display between them. Untangling her finger from his, Hermione clasped his wrist, gangly and sallow, and eased it up until the mark leveled with her lips, which she pressed against the skull’s center.

The mere sight of him ought to have her flogging him. The ugly, old man would forever remain wholly unworthy of the brightest witch of the ages: past, present, and future. Yet here she was, slowly healing him with her gentle touch, the rich melody of her warm laughter, and peaceful presence.

Hermione was a gift: unearned but overly appreciated.

At one point in his life, he’d willingly taken this mark and served the Dark Lord. Faithfully. Until after he delivered the prophecy, of course. His lord had preferred him to keep close company with Hogwarts and Albus. Spy work, mostly. Occasionally, he’d brew the odd potion or two — never quite knowing or bothering to ask what their intended purpose or victim would be.

When he’d had nothing to his name and not a soul beside him, he’d joined the one group that offered belonging — acceptance of his natural gifts with dark magic and converting Potions from a science to an art. He’d been sure paying almost any price to secure the one thing for which he’d always starved would be worth it. Even if it meant he was amongst those who believed wizards should subjugate muggles and cleanse muggle-born witches and wizards from their ranks.

It didn’t matter that he’d managed to skirt the fouler mission assignments. It didn’t matter that he’d helped the Order. It didn’t matter that he’d played a crucial role in protecting Potter over the years. Nothing would undo what he’d done.

Snape carried guilt enough to crush the whole of the universe. Nothing would ever change that. The only thing sparing him the effort of self-inflicting the Killing curse was the woman before him. She gave him renewed purpose — the strength and courage to endure the weight of his past.

Severus had been rather foolish without her. Lost. His past was as repulsive as he, in every possible way, was. But he’d managed to survive everything to find her. Yes, survive — for he hadn’t begun to live until the first of September. That night, his vigil at the castle gates greeting the students (Minerva’s absurd idea) ended as soon as he’d spotted her. He’d glowered at her. He’d hated her, then. He’d intended to make her final year a misery. With any luck, he’d have found a way to flunk her — by any means necessary.

But now she was his purpose, his power, and his pleasure. Fuck, this witch was his perfection. The world, the stars, and the universe all paled compared to her image. Love — raw, honest love — was a singular and strange thing, indeed.

Swallowing, the older wizard smiled down at the woman who’d saved him. Now that she held his teacup, he could gently brush back her tresses, wild from their love-making, behind the curve of her ear. She shivered when his cool fingertips grazed the warmth of her skin. Searching her eyes, he leaned into her until his lips pressed a delicate kiss at the tip of her nose. She lowered his arm and tangled together their hands, which hung loose by their sides.

“Hermione Granger, I am prepared to give to you things I swore were never mine. Things I’ve never wanted. Until you…”

Hermione parted her lips, saying nothing as she pinched her brows and placed the teacup on the cluttered countertop beside them. Tears welled heavy in her eyes, and a brilliant grin stretched her mouth. Her free hand settled at the small of his back, her index finger charting the path of a long scar there. “What kind of things, Severus Snape?” she whispered.

When Severus cupped the back of her head, he held her in the perfect angle for him to slip his lips against hers. The texture and warmth of her lips felt far away from him. Perpetually intangible and leaving him hungry for more — starving for this future moment to turn real.

The dark wizard pulled away, bending his knees just enough so he could rest his forehead to hers. He pinched the plain, antique ring — the last of the Prince legacy — on her left index finger. It was the only thing his mother had possessed to will to him upon her death. The cool feel of magic activated as he touched the tarnished gold object, which he twisted a little. Seeing it askew, the wizard righted the ring back to its proper position on her slender, tantalizing finger. He craved to see it sit on a different one — to have her accept him as hers for the rest of their life.

Yes! He would give her precisely what she’d given him.

“Everything.”

. . .
“I want to know more about these pieces from the future,” Albus said, his arms gathering behind him. His bluish, translucent figure floated through a group of Potions stations. “Do they come to you while you sleep? Or do you see them at odd times throughout the day?”Severus sighed, pinching the prominent bridge of his hooked nose and casting the poorly-written assignment he’d been trying — failing — to properly grade back onto his desk. It was well past two in the morning. Still, the man could simply do nothing to ease the chaos swelling in his mind.

“Luna doesn’t want to risk going on her date alone, so I told her I’d join her. She won’t tell me who we’re meeting. It’s, unfortunately, a surprise.”
Hermione Granger would meet a boy — a boy close in age, handsome enough, and (hopefully) without a sordid, nauseating past filled to the brim of misdeeds. At Hogsmeade. Later that day. Merlin, fucking kill him already. The witch would give her smile to him — would share her time with someone who would never deserve her.
It was bad enough that she drew the attention of Cormac McLaggen, who’d seemingly taken a page from a book his mortal nemesis had written. Like James bloody fucking Potter, the Gryffindor pranced and preened around the witch the past few days — practically commanding she join him in Hogsmeade.
Yesterday, it’d positively been a miracle he hadn’t readied his wand and muttered two words that would rip him from the world in a quick, bright green flash. Snape could only ball his fists so tight he’d drawn blood on his palms to keep from doing just that.
“You wouldn’t be the first to discover it, Granger, but I’m certain you’d love my point.”
Severus sat motionless, the silence of the room broken only by the faint creak of the chair beneath him. His fingers hovered around the quill, the feathery end trembling with the residual energy of a hand that refused to rest. He stared down at the cluttered desk, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily on his shoulders. His lips pressed together, forming a pale, thin line, his nostrils flaring with each deliberate breath.
“You’ve filled out nicely, Granger.”
The quill slipped from his grasp, clattering softly against the desk, though Severus barely registered the sound. His breath caught, shallow and uneven, as his mind turned against him in shameful defiance. Each detail burned into him, vivid and wholly forbidden: a dangerous indulgence he had no right to savor nor will at present to resist.

Her lips, soft and maddeningly expressive, lingered in his thoughts — how they parted in unguarded moments of thought, how they curved with sharp wit or pressed into defiance. The faint blush that would creep across her cheeks when passion overtook her teased at his restraint. The delicate hollow of her throat beckoned like an unspoken invitation, teasing the line between maddening innocence and deliberate allure.That McLaggen dared to reduce her to implied, crass simplicities — to vocalize what Severus had forced into the darkest recesses of his mind — felt like a profanation of something sacred. The insult lingered, barbed and festering and frantic, feeding the storm that coiled tighter in his chest. He tightened his fingers against the desk, the wood cool. The tension in his jaw was relentless, his teeth grinding in silence.
“You’re not a girl anymore, Hermione. You’ve thought about it. About me. Us…together. You’ll find there would be nothing…unstimulating about that.”
The meager warmth of the candles mingled with the oppressive heat building in his chest, stoked by thoughts he could no longer suppress under such mental stress and profound lack of sleep. McLaggen’s words rang through his mind, drawing forth a fury that left him trembling. The idea of that oafish boy — his calloused hands daring to touch what Severus had only allowed himself to admire from a careful, tortured distance — was unbearable.For the boy’s safety and the assurance that he would not earn himself the quickest trip to Azkaban in wizarding history, Severus had used every single tactic to remain as calm and far away as he’d been in the Great Hall while McLaggen touched her.The next issue? Friendship… Everything about it eluded the wizard.In the past, Lily had always scorned any assistance with keeping Potter at bay. She’d sworn she could handle it alone. However, the witch whose touch he both craved and feared had scolded him for not interfering sooner. She’d had the audacity to hit him with that bloody library book — as if he were Potter or Weasley. Although light bickering followed, there was an air of comfort restored to Hermione in Snape’s presence: like his foreboding presence offered her any amount of safety.
That had never been something he’d noticed when it came to Lily Evans. She seemed determined to never need his help for much.When Albus sighed, Snape’s glare quickly shifted to the translucent figure still lurking about his classroom. The bloody fallacy — new and one he wished to flee back into — he’d seen in the few minutes he’d managed to doze off tonight had undone the already fractured remnants of his self-control. He wanted to escape back into the safety of Hermione’s embrace, one he intimately knew but would never truly know. These future memories came to him repeatedly. Daily — accosting him and waiting for submission.But he would not.
Never again would he bend to a master of any kind. Accept necessary help? That he would do for Hermione’s sake. However, gone were his days of serving anyone or anything.Snape could do it: serve himself and save her.The dark wizard had fooled the Order, the Dark Lord, and his Death Eaters for years. How was it an insufferable know-it-all swot — no, a tempting, lovely, and wholly singular woman — shattered every last one of mental defenses with such ease? Things like unbridled fear, emotional and mental duress, and days deprived of meaningful sleep hadn’t ever beaten him in so acutely. Now, it had taken its toll on the Potions master, and he’d unintentionally hurt Hermione.
Severus could not afford to compromise his ability to make clear decisions. In so doing, he’d betrayed her trust in telling Albus anything — hiding his return from her. It was a miscalculation he knew not how to precisely salvage.“Albus,” the professor said, not bothering to disguise his impatience. “You know everything I do…”That wasn’t at all the truth.
True, he’d given the former headmaster quite a lot of information — perhaps, in hindsight, too much. But Severus had purposely withheld crucial details his former master did not need to know.
The fragments of himself that clung to their paltry hope wished to hoard a part of the witch that would never exist — to keep all of her he could for himself. Surely, there would come a day when the witch would tire of entertaining the idea of maintaining this friendship. At the rate he was betraying her trust, he would lose her as he always lost everything and everyone else.It was only a matter of time…Regardless, Albus would not benefit in any way from knowing the fallacies — the perversions, horrors, and dreams — that bared themselves to him incessantly. Severus once again lived a double life. Nonetheless, strategic cooperation with the ghost seemed as prudent as Potter’s assistance.At least…until he’d seen Hermione’s contempt for the dead headmaster.“What do you see, Severus,” Albus asked, his voice firm. “...in these visions of yours?”The Potions master deflated back in the chair he occupied, narrowing his dark glare at Dumbledore. Decades of closely working with the man he’d obediently killed rendered any meaningful attempt at subterfuge pointless. Dumbledore would likely see through it. No. Outright denial would be the best tool so long as the wizard remained compromised.Better to say nothing than risk saying something that Albus could use to hurt Hermione further.Finally, Snape replied. “What I see is my own business, old man.”“Ah, yes!” Albus declared. “One benefit of dying is that I can no longer get any older. A rather novel, unique perk. Don’t you agree?”Severus lifted his brow and shook his head, gesturing a hand to the pile of parchments he’d had yet to grade. “I have not the time for silly philosophical musings.”“Yet there is, my friend, a distinct opening in your schedule — without all the Death Eater meetings to attend.”“Friend,” he spat. The word felt hollow. “Albus, you can satisfy other’s whimsical perceptions of you with anyone else. Make your point so you can leave me in peace...”“Miss Granger…”Steepling his fingers over his lap, the professor rolled his eyes. “What about her?”“You did not rebuff or correct her when she called you friend earlier,” the ghost said, a subtle accusation hiding between the words.“And?”Albus’ eyes narrowed. “I simply find it curious. Do you believe this new connection with her is…merely a side effect of the book’s dark magic?”Of course, Severus had already considered as much: that this profound need to remain close with the witch was manufactured. In some way false. But Albus still did not know about many things.
The ghost did not know about the night he’d cursed Hermione in the corridor. He did not know she’d purposely stopped referring to the Dark Lord as that wretched name in Snape’s presence — long before the professor even knew about the horcrux. He did not know that Hermione defended him unfailingly to those she loved most — thereby crippling her infant relationship with Weasley. He did not know that Hermione had stayed where Lily had left.“I will say this once, Albus…”“Yes, Severus?”Severus’s sneer anchored on the translucent face that had haunted him all last school year. “Make no attempt to sway Hermione Granger in the way you made use of me. She is not nor ever will be a tool at your disposal. She is not a weapon to wield or a martyr to sacrifice. You will not use or manipulate me against her, and you will not conspire her against me. You will also cease using Lily as a means to beat me into submission. No matter how noble your end goal is, I am no longer yours to control. Do you understand?”“Explicitly,” the ghost replied. However, the suppressed twinkle in Albus’ eyes told him otherwise.
. . .
A sharp, searing pinch yanked Severus Snape from the depths of restless sleep, cutting through the fragile stillness of the night. The sensation pierced his thoughts, dragging him into suffocating awareness. Darkness clung to the room, but the faint image of a modest chamber burned vividly in his mind, impossible to ignore. His hand shot out, fingers brushing over the familiar fabric of his black robe. The material slid through his grip as he forced his arms into the sleeves, tying the belt with a quick, practiced tug. With a sharp crack, he vanished, the air collapsing in his absence.The room greeted him with muted shadows and the soft glow of embers struggling to survive in the hearth. Hermione Granger’s quarters in the eighth-year tower felt unbearably heavy, as though grief itself had seeped into the walls. By the bed, she was a broken silhouette, crumpled on the cold stone floor. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her face buried against them, her shoulders shaking with every silent sob that tore from her. The dying fire’s light flickered over her, each dim flash highlighting the tear tracks glistening on her pale skin.Severus stood frozen, the sight rooting him in place. Her fragility struck him harder than any spell, a raw, jagged thing that left him momentarily hollow. Her hands twisted the fabric of her sleeves, pulling with restless, frantic energy as though trying to anchor herself. The quiet was broken only by the jagged sound of her gasps, a symphony of pain that twisted in his chest and left his composure in shreds.Two deliberate steps brought him to her. The stone bit into his knees as he sank beside her, the cold radiating up through his robes. He hesitated only a moment before wrapping his arms around her trembling form. Her body collapsed against him, the weight of her despair pressing into his chest. She clung to him as if drowning, her sobs tearing through the air and lacerating the silence with unrelenting force. Her fingers worked feverishly at the ends of her sleeves, twisting, fidgeting, a desperate rhythm that spoke of a mind fraying at the seams. He pulled her closer, his hold a barrier against the storm within her.Without thought, his lips brushed her temple, then her forehead. The gestures were fleeting, instinctual, a silent reassurance she would never hear but might feel. Words were a distant concept, drowned beneath the raw reality of her anguish. Each shiver that wracked her frame echoed through him, binding him to her pain. The room seemed to shrink around them, their shared silence a suffocating force that left no space for anything else.Her trembling hands found his robe, clutching the fabric in frantic desperation. Each ragged breath hitched in her chest, striking him like a physical blow. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. I know this isn’t the purpose of the ring. I still don’t like you, but I’m out of Dreamless Sleep and didn’t know what else to do. I’m so sorry, Severus…” Her voice broke on his name, the apology a whispered plea that shattered what little resolve he had left.The words hung in the air, a weight heavier than he could bear. His hand brushed her tear-streaked cheek, the touch feather-light yet deliberate. “Hermione,” he murmured, his voice rough, edged with something raw, “please don’t apologize. Don’t speak. Just breathe. You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m here.”Her face pressed into the hollow of his throat, her breath warm and broken against his skin. His long hair tangled beneath her, dampened by the salt of her tears. The jagged scar on his neck, the serpent’s cruel legacy, lay exposed, unhidden by his usual high-collared robes. She didn’t recoil. Instead, her warmth seeped into his cold skin, grounding him as much as he tried to ground her. The floor beneath them might as well have been miles away, her presence the only thing anchoring him.Her sobs quieted by degrees, the silence that followed thick with unspoken grief. His fingers moved of their own accord, tracing calming patterns through the wild tangles of her curls. The rhythm steadied him as much as it steadied her, a small ritual against the chaos threatening to swallow them both. Each minute felt endless, suspended in an uneasy peace.When she finally pulled back, her movements hesitant and slow, her hands brushed the damp skin of his neck. Her gaze fell on the angry scar that marred his throat. The firelight caught her expression, softening it into something unreadable yet unflinchingly tender. Her thumb hovered over the uneven ridge before settling lightly against it. The touch sent a wave of something unfamiliar coursing through him, a fragile vulnerability he couldn’t suppress.“Does it still hurt?” she asked, her voice barely louder than a breath, fragile as spun glass.He searched her face, his dark eyes lingering on the sorrow etched into her features. “A dull ache, really,” he replied, the words measured and careful. “The venom spread far before you returned with the antivenin. The healers at St. Mungo’s think time and care will improve it.”A shadow of a smile crossed her lips, fleeting and bittersweet. It didn’t touch her eyes, the sorrow in them too deep to dislodge.“What happened, Hermione?” The question fell between them like a stone into still water, rippling with weight.Her fingers twisted her sleeve, her gaze dropping to the floor. The firelight cast shifting shadows across her face, highlighting the tension tightening her features. “Have you watched my memory yet?”“Minerva occupied her office during the few chances I had to review it,” he admitted, his voice dipping lower, almost reluctant. “I plan to do so tomorrow.”Her lips pressed into a thin line, fear flickering across her face. “After he killed Harry, he would have had you lure muggleborns to the castle under the guise of attending school. He would have required you to separate them from purebloods and half-bloods…bring them to Malfoy Manor to…cleanse them…us…only after he could somehow siphon their magic from them.”“Thanks to you, that will never happen, Hermione.”She shook her head violently, her arms curling tightly around her knees. “It was all you. You and Harry,” she said, her voice barely audible, heavy with grief. “I didn’t do nearly enough… hardly anything, really.”“That’s not—”“It’s true, Severus. It is,” she interrupted, her tone resolute despite its softness. She folded further into herself, her grief a palpable force that dimmed even the firelight around them.
Wiping at her eyes, Hermione swallowed. “I couldn’t stop from splinching Ron on the way out of the Ministry. Food always remained scarce. The lack of it dulled my mind, which is about the only thing I could contribute — aside from preparing the paltry meals for us, I suppose. I should have packed more — prepared more. Done more… I could also do nothing meaningful to spare us from capture…”“You bought yourselves time. Your quick thinking saved Potter’s life. The Dark Lord would have killed you all at the manor had you not jinxed him. Had you died that day, everything you saw in that memory...”The witch shook her head, a fresh wave of tears pouring down her face as she searched his features. “I know that, Severus. Logically, of course, I know all of that. But…”The words briefly died on her lips. Hermione wiped at her cheek with her palm, wincing as the embers glowing in the hearth cracked. Eventually, she shook her head.“I feel so uncontrollably guilty all the time. Like all of my happiest days are behind me. Like the very power at my command is a stranger. Like I have no place in the world. There’s nothing left of my muggle life. My parents don’t know I exist. My grandparents all died while I was quite young…”Hermione frowned, clearly slipping far away from the moment to recall something that made the corner of her mouth tick up slightly.“And magic? Between my thirst for knowledge, my eagerness to prove myself, and my lack of magical blood, I’ve always been unwelcome no matter where I go. Harry and Ron really only accepted me as a friend only after I lied to you all about seeking out the troll first year. Before then, they saw me as a nuisance. Rightfully so. I always insert myself in the lives of others before stopping long enough to think if I am wanted. Lately, it all feels like a lie. Like I’ll never truly belong…”Severus’ features twitched, his throat bobbing. The obvious contrast of their childhoods aside, this witch mirrored the same vulnerabilities that had haunted him for as long as he could remember. Seeing her endure any measure of the indignity and agony to which the world had always subjected him pulverized his gut, collapsing every last wall within him. A thick, glassy sheen glossed over his black gaze.“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered. Hermione dropped her eyes to the tops of her folded knees, tucking her chin closer into her chest. Shrinking — as if the concept of her taking up space in the world was unearned. Offensive. “Please…”Severus searched her profile, its edges highlighted by the dull glow of the hearth and softened by the shadows creeping around her. His breath caught somewhere between his lungs and throat. Her lips trembled. Fresh tears, shimmering in the dim firelight, now spilled freely down her cheeks. He tensed, unsteady fingers twitching by his side, helpless to stem her sorrow.
When she finally spoke, her voice broke under the weight of her anguish. “Why do people hate muggleborns so much?”The words hung in the air, fragile and brittle. It was a question that he could not take at face value. Layers of dark, unspoken insinuations twisted with years of self-doubt visibly crippled her. This question represented the whole weight of her agony, and he found he did not wish to answer her — to acknowledge their world’s ugly past or his own contributions to it. It felt too heavy to contemplate: its truth too cruel for this magnetic moment.
This moment — so precious, so unlike any he’d known — deserved preservation.
Severus allowed silence to reign. Words rather felt like an intrusion right now. Instead, he offered her a comfort he’d not known. Not until a woman named Hermione Granger dared to be his friend. His hand trembled as he lifted it to brush a collection of thick tears from her cheek.
The contact ensnared her undivided attention. Her honeyed eyes snapped to his obsidian stare like a magnet. Her skin was so fucking soft, smooth — impossibly warm beneath his cool touch. He would remember the sound of her breath catching — a quiet confirmation that his touch affected her as hers did him — for the whole of his life. The wizard’s hand lowered, his gentle fingertips jittery against the feminine curve of her throat. When his thumb brushed over her flesh, the strong pulse pounded. Thrashed.
Snape’s eyelids felt too heavy as he stared down at her. He swore she leaned into him — just slightly. Perhaps his imagination working. No woman had ever looked at him in such a way — responded to his touch as if he were anything to be desired.His hand lingered, unsure and unwanting to sever their physical connection, which strengthened something inside of him. Until she shifted her own, intertwining their fingers with a quiet resolve. Her palm, small and strong, nestled against his own. It fit there as though it had always belonged.
Yes. Belonged.
Hermione sank against him, her head finding its place on the edge of his shoulder. She settled their laced hands on his lower thigh. Together they watched the embers pulse and glow in the hearth for what had to be at least ten minutes. Her voice, when it returned, was softer now, almost distant, as though she were speaking to the fire itself.“I remember exactly how I felt the day I received my letter. Mum and dad took me out for pancakes that evening — ice cream is their worst nightmare. They’re dentists, you see.”Severus leaned his head against her, his eyes fluttering closed. Such peace. Among all their horrors, she resonated a peace he’d never before known. Nothing would stop him from indulging this — savoring this witch. For now.“I have no siblings. Trying to make friends was a pointless effort. Strange, inexplicable things usually happened around me,” she paused, a sad chuckle teasing the intensity in the air. “I was always overly eager to learn everything, as you know. ‘Silly, little girl,’ you called me first year. Insufferable, too…”The delicate inflections of her quiet musings gave him no urge to feel called out. Defensive. She was merely building to her point, so the professor simply continued to listen.“I was alone. My parents were all I had growing up. For nearly a year before arriving at Hogwarts, they remained the only people in all the world I could share all I learned about the magical world. Occasionally on weekends, they’d take me to Diagon Alley. So many shops from which to choose. But Flourish and Blotts remained my favorite to visit. Never once did they make me feel like I was something other than myself.”For a fraction of a second, the wizard wondered how different his life would have been had it been Hermione he’d found in his youth — instead of Lily. They were awfully similar, weren’t they? The unwelcome thought simmered in his mind. At first, the walls the witch had crumbled to the ground began erecting around him like an impenetrable cocoon. Once (rather recently), the idea of not having ever met Lily would have unleashed a fury — a need to destroy something within arm’s reach.But now…
Only for tonight, Severus allowed himself the luxury of tightening his grip on her hand. When sun rose later that morning, he would, regretfully, crawl back to the familiar remains buried in his soul. Ever obedient.“I was so eager to leave home. Find my own place in this world. Prove that I belonged here. Help make the world a better place.”Snape fit their joined hands in his free palm. He reveled the sight of him shielding a part of her from the world beyond this room. It foreshadowed the results of their journey together — venturing deeper into the lore and capabilities of the strange book. She would remain safe, and he would not fail her.Lose her.“The more I sleep, the more of the horrors I see within. It’s getting harder to…not listen to them, Severus. A-A growing part of me wishes I could just go back. Be…ordinary.”Her voice wavered, and she paused, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around his. With her free hand, she scoffed and rolled her eyes, wiping away more falling tears.“It would solve quite a lot, wouldn’t it? If I just never had magic to begin with… My parents would still remember me. Fred would still be alive. A lot of people would still live. I suppose Harry wouldn’t, though — if all muggles could never possess magic.”Severus stared into the hearth, the weight of her words settling over him like a shroud. The thought of a world without her — magical or muggle… It gripped his heart and yanked it downward, plunging him into a darkness he dared not explore.
Before this school year, the world had painted itself in five shades: black, white, grey, dark copper, and emerald green. Somewhere in the past few weeks, however, this witch had brightened life itself, expanding the palette to an infinite array of highlights, shadows, and hues.A fleeting image of her lifeless in his arms flashed through his mind — so vivid it nearly stole the breath from his lungs. He exhaled sharply, the sound too loud in the quiet room.
Hermione turned her gaze to him. Her lips, parted slightly, drew his attention as though they were gravity itself. He leaned forward, barely, just enough to feel the muscles of his neck and back strain slightly. So close was the mouth he yearned to explore. To taste. That she could be the only witch in his life he might savor intoxicated him.More than anything — including the dark arts — ever had. No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Friends. It was all he could have with Hermione. Lily. Severus ground his teeth together, his jaw taut and flexing. He would not think of her at all. Not yet. The ghost could give him this moment.It was the least she could do…The older wizard fixed his gaze on their joined hands. Every fallacy — each maddening dream and all the moments he’d denied himself a wank that would never satisfy him — ripped the air from his lungs.“Severus?”The crease between his brows deepened. There was a distinct panic in her voice. A fragility that hinted at something far more chaotic. Insecure and frantic.“I-I’m sorry I upset you. It was stupid.”Severus struggled to breathe. He had to stop her from unraveling. He wanted to obliterate the guilt she wore — that she deeply felt. He desired to give to her what he’d given to no other.Memories, cursed and long abandoned horrors, flooded his mind. He forced those moments he swore he’d never again consent to recall into words — words he forced from his throat in a rapid fashion.“I shouldn’t have said anything. I—”“My father didn’t like anything much,” he began, his voice low and rough. “A drunken, abrasive fool he was. Hated magic. He often beat my mother when he caught her using it. Every day, I saw just how low muggles went to hurt those they claimed to love. Those for whom they were supposed to care and protect.”“Severus—”“Please let me finish,” he interrupted, his eyes closing briefly against the shame that threatened to consume him. “Out of everyone, I want you to understand.”She squeezed his hand, a silent assurance, and he continued.“I have spoken of this to no one, Hermione. Not even her. With Lily, I lied to myself as much as I lied to her. I’m… I find myself too tired to lie to you right now. You say we are friends. But I’ve behaved abhorrently toward you. I know that. You deserve more than I believe I can provide…”The dark wizard swallowed, leaning back so he could fully meet her mesmerizing eyes.“I cannot promise this morning will be the last time I hurt you. You know I will continue to keep my secrets. You know I will lie to you. You want to believe otherwise, I know. But… I don’t know how to keep you — anyone — safe without subterfuge. For that, I am truly sorry, Hermione.”He searched her gaze, the firelight casting shadows across her tear-streaked face. The professor’s lips quivered. He eased her hair over her shoulder and brushed his thumb along the high bone of her cheek.
“We will speak of Albus and a path forward this evening. All right?”Hermione pinched her brows together, tightening her fingers clasped between his.“The next part isn’t kind. Perhaps if I were a better man, I’d spare you. But I want you to know it, Hermione. I would like you to…know me. May I tell you?”She nodded, her hand trembling as she reached to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. The touch, gentle and fleeting, made his throat tighten.“I would hide under my bed. Cover my ears when they argued,” he said, the words coming slow and heavy. “Their arguments frequently spiraled. Mother, often enough, would scream — the wretched sound muffled by the wall that separated my room from theirs. Dampened by their headboard repeatedly slamming against it. Sometimes for hours. Skipping lessons to tend to her became a normal part of our routine.”He swallowed hard, the bitterness rising like bile. Hermione curled her hand around the inside of his upper arm, her thumb stroking the thick fabric of his robe’s sleeve.“One night, father brought home another woman. Drunk, of course. He made mother watch as he took her. When he was done, he threw out the strange woman and locked them in the room. Had his way with mother next.”
Snape paused, stilling and finally breathing when Hermione pressed a gentle kiss at his shoulder. He anchored his soft stare over where he’d find that awful scar on her left arm.“That woman didn’t leave, though. Instead, she came into my room. She helped herself to me — not for very long. Didn’t get very far — just far enough to finally cripple my spirit. Shatter my faith in muggles altogether.”The witch tightened her hold on his arm, gasping quietly. Saying nothing. Simply listening.“Mother heard, thankfully. Took her a little while to climb out from under my father’s weight.”“Please tell me what happened to that monster.”Severus’ mouth ticked up. Had her eyes not offered so much patience and compassion, he might have deflected. Asked her which monster she’d meant. But he knew what she asked.“Mother hexed her. Paralyzed her. Turned her over to her stomach. Beat her over the head with a brick. Twice. Killed the woman. She vanished the blood from my room. Moved the body to theirs. Blamed my father for it. Tried to send him to prison. Made me swear to never tell a soul. Yet, here I break that promise…”A part of him waited for her to call his mother a monster. A murderer. Rebuke him for lacking sympathy for the muggle. His defiler. She only swallowed and lifted her hand to cup his cheek. Her palm was so, so warm. Her touch washed over him as if it cleansed away a part of his dark past.“Your father?” she whispered.Severus shrugged. “He claimed it was self-defense. They let him go in the end. Why wouldn’t they? Things only got worse for mother. She never hurt him, nor did she ever use magic against him. Likely because of me – a desire to keep the happy family together, I suppose.”The wizard mourned the absence of her touch as she searched his gaze and eased a lock of his straight, black hair back. It had fallen back in front of his eyes while speaking. He’d noticed she’d done that. Often. It was as if she could not bear the idea of him hiding from her in any way. He found he did not want to hide from this witch.Not at all. He’d have to, of course. But now? Time stood still for them. Somewhere in the universe, time bent its laws for them.“It was magic that saved me that night, Hermione. Magic — not muggles. Any time he’d bring someone home, I would just go sleep in the nearby park. That’s when I first saw her. Lily. I watched her and her dreadful, ordinary sister for far longer than I ought to have before approaching her. She was the only solace I could find from the hell I endured each day.”Hermione’s tears fell freely, and he reached to wipe them away, his thumb brushing her cheekbone again. Touching her was like breathing. Necessary to survive.
“Please don’t cry for me. It was a long time ago. My father got what he deserved in the end. Drowned in the river my sixth year — days after he’d murdered mother in a drunken stupor.”Her chin rested on his shoulder, her eyes never leaving his. Her nose brushed against his, her breath warm and sharp with spearmint. His pulse quickened, every nerve in his body screaming at him to close the distance. He gasped, barely audible, and his gaze dropped to her lips before snapping back to her eyes.Severus could take what he wanted. Right now. He could drown in it. But to do so would destroy her. Losing her only led to his own doom. He knew he would not survive it. When her eyelids sank halfway, he knew she felt it, too. The way she swallowed, trembling against him as she bounced her gaze over the expanse of his face, spoke only of the inexperience she’d so publically spouted.Had a wizard ever touched her? The thought was dangerous. The answer — the truth — sat plain in her hesitant stare. No. He doubted she’d even taken time to explore herself.
Merlin, he was twice her age. Beyond that, the last year alone had aged him twenty or more years. At least.Snape was her professor and Hermione his student. Others would think him a lech, a wicked man who’d taken advantage of a confused, grieving witch at adulthood’s doorstep. She had her whole life ahead of her. Frankly, his life was practically over. The truth would never matter. The lies would tear them apart. After all, those she loved most were the very people who he hated.
This would never work. Friendship…or otherwise.The filthy rumors had already started — and they were only barely friends. Deducting house points would only delay their reach for so long. When they found her, she’d begin distancing herself from him. She was beautiful, sincere, and forthright. Young. The light itself. He was…not.With a pinch of his brows, he bowed his head so that his forehead steadied against hers. He was a fool to allow her so close. But in so doing, a proverbial, heavy weight shackled at his feet broke apart. She helped him breathe a bit easier.One single kiss would make him the wealthiest man in whole world. The most powerful. Stronger than even the Dark Lord and Albus combined. He swallowed the urge, locking it away with every ounce of strength he could muster.
Falling further into this would serve no purpose. Whatever he had to do to prepare her for what would come — to bury this perfect peace beyond the depths where even Lily lingered, he would ensure her safety.
Lifting his chin, Severus choked on a breath before pressing his lips to her forehead. He closed his eyes, hoping to penetrate into her mind and weave the very peace she created for him into her very soul. He had no idea what he was doing.All he did know was that this was entirely inappropriate. Impossible.“I’ll fetch you a vial of Dreamless Sleep,” he said, his voice raw. The walls of his throat swelled, tightening to an impossible degree.“No. Don’t go,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Stay. S-Sleep here. Please?”Snape opened his eyes and pulled away, frowning when he saw new tears falling down her face. Dabbing at the corners of her eyes, the dark wizard dried them from existence. “It would not be appropriate.”“Severus.” The soft, fragile, and broken sob stole his breath. “Tell me one thing that’s happened in the last year and a half that’s been appropriate.”“I cannot.”“So stay.” She stroked the back of his hand she still clasped with her thumb. “Please?”“All right,” he murmured.Hermione untangled herself from him, slowly standing and awkwardly wobbling as her ankle rolled slightly. Severus followed her lead, his stare anchoring on the bed in her small room. Thankfully, the eighth-year tower offered a moderately wider bed — a double — than the normal house dormitories’ twins.The witch tucked a tantalizing curl behind her ear, exposing her throat to him. Clearing her throat, she cast the covers toward the foot of the bed. She climbed in and scooted to the wall. The space remaining for him was adequate enough. He watched her as he lowered to the mattress, a bit thicker than he preferred. Laying down until his head hit the pillow, the wizard swallowed, flinching a little when Hermione moved closer and hesitantly rested her head on his shoulder, her forehead bowed against his throat.

Fucking. Everything.
The way her small body fit the length of his made it hard to control his sputtering heartbeat. But he managed. Thank you, Occlumency. The pace of their breathing unified, syncing in a way that anchored him to her. Hermione bent her knee, slipping a small part of her leg over his hip as she adjusted to find the right position on her side. He stared at the stone ceiling, eventually forcing his eyes shut.“Good night, Severus.”“Good night, Hermione.”Slowly drifting into sleep, the professor woke a few hours later — still rather early. An odd click (perhaps the snapping of fire) tore him from the sobering peace of Hermione’s arms. The night he’d cursed her — a lifetime ago by now — it hadn’t, obviously, been death that took him to that still, dark, and blissful place.
It was her.For the first time in weeks, no fallacies, dreams, or horrors came. Simply a blissful rest. In her arms, nothing had claimed him. Only a generous serenity existed in this bed — because of the witch beside him.
Fuck.

. . .
Hermione
. . .
The cool October air whispered against Hermione’s flushed cheeks as she walked alongside Luna Lovegood toward Hogsmeade. Her curls, unbound and frizzing even in the crisp breeze, framed her face — save for the strands pinned back neatly above her temples. The simplicity of her appearance was rather intentional — no cosmetics, no flattering clothing, no amount of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.
No.Today, she’d chosen casual layers: worn jeans and a charcoal cotton long-sleeve shirt topped with a plush, darker purple jumper that cinched at her waist. It wasn’t quite cold enough for her peacoat. The plain ensemble would send a clear message to her mysterious date: this was obligation, not interest.Despite only achieving a few hours at most of decent sleep, the witch felt more herself. Rested. Last night (this morning?), he’d given her something sacred. He’d promised they’d speak of the secrets — plan for what’s to come — later tonight. They’d probably have quite a long night if they still planned on squeezing in the first of her Occlumency lessons…Beside her, Luna wore an equally ordinary outfit — compared to what she normally donned, of course. Her eclectic style still proved rather unique in its display of mismatched patterns and clashing shades. It was as if the two witches had silently conspired to reject the formality of the unfortunate outing.The trees lining the path swayed gently, their golden and crimson leaves rustling in perfect sync with the soft breeze. A few drifted to the ground, swirling around their feet before settling among the others. Hermione kicked a small pile of them absently, her thoughts elsewhere.“Do you actually look forward to this date?” Hermione’s words broke the quiet, her tone even but carrying the weight of genuine curiosity. Her gaze flickered toward Luna, who walked with her usual languid grace: head slightly tilted as though listening to a sound no one else could hear. The question had lingered in her mind since they’d set out, and now the words had escaped before she could reconsider.Luna’s dreamy eyes brightened, though her pace remained unhurried. “Not particularly.” A pause, then a soft smile played across her lips. “But Neville asked me to attend as a favor.” Her voice floated, light as ever, yet tinged with a peculiar certainty.Hermione scrunched her features. “Neville asked you to accept a date from someone else?”“Yep,” the younger witch confirmed. Luna stopped briefly and sank to the ground long enough to pluck a bold red leaf. The girl stared at it as if it were a priceless artifact. “He’s quite set on staying friends.”“And you? How are you taking all of it?”Luna’s features remained serene — if only slightly heavy. “I can hardly force him to be with me. I can only control how best to move forward. Neville is quite important to me — even if we’re only ever to be friends.”The words unsettled her, their weight lingering in the cool air between them. Hermione’s gaze drifted, unfocused, as she caught the faint memory of Harry’s green eyes — Lily’s eyes. The witch now knew why Lily meant so much to Severus. Life had not been kind to him since his birth. She only wished she could banish the burn in her throat. She was grateful to the woman — her best friend’s mum – who’d offered the Potions master any sort of respite. He’d deserved so much more.
Hermione’s lips pressed together, faintly chapped from the autumn air. Her fingers curled against the strap of her bag, knuckles pale as if gripping a fragile thought.The image came. Severus, only a boy, staring into those same eyes — softer than she’d ever personally know — filled with something she couldn’t imagine him showing anyone else. Her shoulders rounded slightly, as though folding in on themselves. The witch blinked against the sudden tightness in her chest.
A strand of hair, freed by the wind, brushed against her cheek. She tucked it back with fingers that trembled, just barely. Her steps faltered, slower now, as her chest rose and fell with a measured breath. The strap of her bag slid against her shoulder, and she adjusted it quickly. The motion was a little too deliberate: as if her hands simply needed something to do.
Luna spoke again, and Hermione gave a small, noncommittal nod. She didn’t look up right away. Instead, her gaze lingered on the path as if it held some answer she wasn’t ready to uncover.The ring’s weight squeezed at her left index finger. Unconsciously, Hermione dragged her fingertips over it, the touch gentle against the tarnished gold metal and smooth black stone. The witch wondered who Severus Snape was once stripped of his thick, impenetrable walls. Most desperately, she yearned to uncover every mystery of the man she’d saved — ugly blemishes and all. Perhaps she could not always give him her complete understanding. However, she would, at the very least, accept him if he ever gave her the chance to truly know him.Severus had told her that he wanted her to understand him. She would try. They’d lived such different lives. How could she fully understand all he’d endured — and from such a young age at that…“I find being open to possibilities is rather exciting. Don’t you?”“P-Possibilities?” Hermione’s brow furrowed, her steps quickening slightly. She glanced at Luna, waiting for an explanation that would make sense. The witch bit her lip, knowing she’d ignored part of their pleasant conversation. She hoped Luna hadn’t noticed.“Oh, yes!” Luna turned her gaze back to the horizon, her expression serene. “The way I see it, I’ll either get to know my date a bit better — learn more about a friend. Or I might also enjoy myself.” Her hands, tucked loosely into the sleeves of her cardigan, swayed slightly with her steps. “Besides, my date is Terry Boot. He’s pleasant enough company, isn’t he?”Hermione let out a short breath, almost a laugh but without the humor. “And mine?” she pressed, though she wasn’t entirely sure why she’d asked. The answer was rather obvious: Where Terry was, his best friends surely weren’t too far away.Luna’s head tilted slightly as if she’d been asked an unexpected riddle. Her voice, as steady as ever, came after a thoughtful pause. “Michael Corner, perhaps. Or Anthony Goldstein. I gave Terry the option to pick who else he brought.”Hermione’s lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. A sigh escaped instead. Her shoulders momentarily slumped as she muttered a single word under her breath. “Lovely.”The village loomed a bit closer now — its cobblestone streets and cheerfully puffing chimneys promising the illusion of warmth against the autumn chill. The sight brought little comfort; Hermione’s unease about the afternoon still lingered, coiled in her chest like a stubborn knot.“Luna,” she said after a long silence, her voice quieter than before. “Why did you choose me to come?”Luna’s pace remained steady, her voice untroubled as she answered. “It came down to a few things, really. You’re my friend. It also wouldn’t do to make this trip alone with the recent Death Eater sightings. Father’s worried, you see. You’re a rather talented witch. If it came down to it, I’d trust you with my life.” Her tone remained as light as before, yet her eyes darted briefly to Hermione’s, grounding her words in quiet sincerity.Hermione’s response lingered in her throat, unspoken. Her lips pressed into a thin line. After a moment, she nodded, more to herself than to Luna. “Right,” she murmured. A reluctant agreement, but an agreement nonetheless."I should also admit that I'd hoped today could help mend some of the hesitation others in the DA have toward you." Luna smiled at Hermione. "I think they'll eventually come around. Perhaps they simply need some time. But I thought this outing might speed things up a bit…"The wind picked up, scattering more leaves across the path and making Hermione pull her scarf tighter around her neck. Luna, by contrast, seemed unbothered by the chill. Her hair, loose and golden, caught the light as it swayed gently behind her."It's not just Ron who still grieves. A lot of people remain angry — it's not my place to judge how others cope with the war."The Ravenclaw witch nodded. "A very thoughtful response. Still... Thank you for coming,” Luna added after a pause. “Even if it isn’t what you wanted to do.”Hermione’s gaze flicked to Luna, her features softening slightly. “It's the date that I don't wish to endure — not your company, Luna,” she said quietly, her tone losing its earlier edge.“That's nice.”The two of them continued their walk, the quiet punctuated by the rhythmic crunch of their footsteps on the gravel path. Luna’s gaze wandered skyward again, while Hermione’s remained fixed ahead, her mind venturing far beyond the quaint streets of Hogsmeade. The sound of distant laughter drifted toward them, a reminder that not everyone carried the same weight in their steps. For now, they walked together, neither hurried nor hesitant.The path narrowed slightly as they neared the outskirts of the village. Luna slowed her pace, her expression shifting to something more focused. She pulled her wand from behind her left ear with a fluid motion and stopped abruptly. A faint flick of her wrist sent a Muffliato charm spiraling outward, the sound of the bustling village ahead dulling to a quiet hum around them.“There’s something else I ought to tell you,” Luna began, her voice still carrying that soft, dreamlike quality, though her gaze now rested firmly on Hermione. “I know about the horcrux.”Hermione blinked, her breath catching mid-step. “What?” The word escaped her lips before she could stop it. She stared at Luna. “How could you possibly—”“Headmaster Dumbledore mentioned it to me after Helena Ravenclaw told me she'd seen him about the library corridor one night when I woke up from my sleepwalk,” Luna interrupted gently, her head tilting ever so slightly. “He thought it important for you to have friends close. Spoke of how you'd prefer to keep Harry and Ron out of it for now. You’re not alone, you know.”Hermione’s lips parted, a dozen questions tumbling through her mind. However, none managed to surface. She searched Luna’s face for any sign of doubt or hesitation, but the Ravenclaw’s expression remained calm. Serene. Her fingers twitched at her sides before she folded her arms across her chest, her posture defensive but her voice measured. “I see. Well...thank you.”Luna’s lips curved into a faint smile. “You don’t have to thank me. I simply thought it might help. I admire you for your persistence. It's unfortunate others aren't able to accept the truth about all Professor Snape's done.” Her tone softened further as she stepped closer and rested a hand lightly on Hermione’s shoulder. “Neville and I… We officially swore into the Order. Professor Lupin initiated us himself late last month...”Hermione’s brows rose, surprise flickering across her features. “Really?” Her voice came quieter now, her arms loosening slightly.“Yes,” Luna confirmed, her hand falling back to her side. “You can lean on us if you ever need to. Neville would stand beside you — I'm sure of it.” She paused, her gaze flickering to Hermione’s. "But I do imagine Professor Snape's proximity may complicate things a bit..."Hermione’s posture stiffened again, though she quickly masked the movement by adjusting her scarf. Her voice came slow and deliberate. “And you? Draco's now involved in all of this. Narcissa, too. You'd help even after all they put you through?"Luna’s peaceful expression faltered. Just slightly. Her gaze momentarily dropped to the ground. “So long as Bellatrix remains free, I think the choice is rather simple. The dark forces out there won’t wait for us to sort through our differences.” She met Hermione’s eyes again, her voice steady once more. “If we don’t stand together, we’ll just fall apart.”Hermione studied Luna for a long moment, her jaw tight but her eyes searching. “Why do you think Remus initiated you two?”Luna’s expression turned thoughtful. “Perhaps he suspects something's happened with you and Professor Snape."The witch's shoulders tensed and the crease between her brows deepened as she narrowed her eyes. "Nothing's happened, Luna! We're…friends. He's helping me with all this horcrux nonsense. That's all."The Ravenclaw's lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. It rather unsettled Hermione. Why was everyone always so set on misunderstanding her friendships? A correction formed on her tongue, but it died. It was not her place to tell others that Severus Snape’s affections were already spoken for.“Perhaps he simply means to prepare for the unexpected where it pertains to Bellatrix, then."A faint flush crept up Hermione’s neck, though she shook her head quickly. “R-Right..."“Aberforth officially swore back in recently, too,” Luna continued, seamlessly changing the subject. “It’ll be a bit awkward for him to realize his brother’s ghost is now at Hogwarts, but I’m hopeful he’ll set aside their differences.”Hermione sighed, her expression softening despite herself. “That will be a quite an ordeal, I think.”Luna nodded, her smile widening slightly.​​A flicker of motion behind Hermione caught her friend’s attention. The younger witch glanced over her shoulder. A smile brightened her face as she waved to the approaching figures of Harry and Ginny. With a quick flick of her wand, the Ravenclaw tucked her wand away with the same fluidity as she had drawn it. The quiet hum of the Muffliato charm faded into the passing breeze.Hermione turned at the motion, her expression immediately softening at the sight of her best friend. “Hello, Harry! Ginny,” Luna greeted, the words accompanied by a warm, familiar smile."Hermione. Luna," Harry replied with a wide smirk.Luna moved forward, closing the space between them with her usual effortless ease. She hugged Ginny without hesitation, her voice light and welcoming. “It’s good to see you. What brings you two to Hogsmeade today?”Ginny’s grin widened as she returned the embrace. “We could ask you the same,” she teased, her gaze flicking between Luna and Hermione. “What are you two up to?”“Oh, we’re heading to the Three Broomsticks for our double date,” Luna replied with a contented nod.Ginny’s brows rose in curiosity. Her eyes shifted to Hermione, who had stepped back slightly, the corners of her lips lifting in a polite but muted smile. “A double date?” Ginny asked, her tone teasing but not unkind.Luna nodded again. “Terry Boot invited me earlier this week, but I didn't think it would be wise to travel in so few numbers. Hermione kindly agreed to come as well.”Ginny’s gaze lingered on Hermione a moment longer, catching the lack of enthusiasm in her expression despite the practiced smile. Before she could say more, Harry interjected, his voice laced with a mix of humor and exasperation. “We’re on patrol. Well, I'm on patrol. Ginny's tagging along,” he announced, raising their joined hands slightly to make a point. Sighing, he continued, "We plan to meet George at the new shop in town later with...Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Ron's name isn't a curse, Harry. Besides, he gets on with you well enough these days. It's not a crime to see a friend.""Y-Yeah," Harry muttered. "He's decided to help George with the shop for a bit while he figures things out now that he's no longer in Auror training.""So he'll be here in Hogsmeade?" Luna asked. "That'll be nice. We'll see him more often, then."Ginny smiled. "Sounds like it."Hermione pinched her brows and rubbed her elbow in an attempt to quell the quiet anguish pulverizing her belly. Despite everything that had happened between them, she missed her friend. She hoped that one day soon they could go back to being on better terms."So George decided to expand the shop after all?" Hermione asked, her voice rather small and quiet.Ginny nodded. "I think having mum and dad here at Hogwarts sealed it for him to be perfectly honest. These days, George just holes himself up in that shop or in his flat. It'll do him some good to be close to the family again. We've hardly seen him since..."Harry threw an arm over his girlfriend's shoulders, pulling her in for a tight hug and rubbing her arm affectionately. "You should stop by after your date ends — if you have a chance, of course."Hermione grimaced and shook her head a bit. "I don't think that's a good idea. I'd hate to ruin a perfectly adequate day. Ron should see the family without having to worry about me.""Nonsense—""Seriously, Harry. It's fine. Besides, I have other plans."Ginny's features twisted. "Not with Snape, I hope..."Hermione frowned, drawing her head back and shaking her head. "Actually, I'd planned to do a bit of reading in my room later this afternoon...""Oh, good.""I'm sorry, why would plans with Severus be bad?" the witch countered.The copper-haired witch glanced at Harry, who shook his head. Eventually, Ginny sighed. "Well, it's weird, isn't it?"Harry grumbled something under his breath. "Ginny—""How is it weird to have plans with a friend? I have plans with Luna—"Ginny stepped closer to Hermione. "That's not remotely similar, Hermione. He's not your friend. Snape's our professor. He's twice our age, and he hates the majority of us.""Harry frequently spends time with Remus and Tonks." That she could not call them Professor Lupin and Professor Tonks only further solidified Ginny’s point. Hermione reached for her elbow and flattened her brows.The younger witch crossed her arms, saying, "They're family!"Harry tugged on Ginny's hand, snagging her focus for the moment. "Ginny, now's not the time. Besides, I've got a job to do..."Ginny rolled her eyes and stalked off ahead of him. Harry caught Luna’s gaze, and she nodded. Skipping after the youngest Weasley.Her best friend sighed, closing in on Hermione. "Don't mind her. She got into a bit of a row earlier with Seamus and Dean. Apparently, some people talk..."Hermione flattened her brows, reaching for Harry's hand. "Talk? What do they talk about?""It's really not anything to worry about.""Harry, just tell me..."Hanging his mouth open, he looked as if he struggled to piece together the words in his mind. Narrowing his eyes, Harry replied. "Fine, apparently a growing number of those in DA believe you're involved.""Involved?" Hermione shook her head. A number of possible ideas flooded her mind. Eventually, a small smirk stretched her lips. "In...what? A dark magic cult or something similar? Honestly, people are truly thick if they believe—"Gripping his floppy, dark hair, the wizard groaned. "Blimey, Hermione! Involved with Snape, all right?"Hermione's mouth fell, dragging until it flattened entirely. Tears welled in her eyes, though she hardly knew why. The walls of her throat tightened, and her chest constricted.
"But that's i-impossible. He l-lov—""I know that, Hermione. But they don't. Look, Ginny defended you. What they're saying about isn't exactly kind. Frankly, it's all made her quite uncomfortable. It’s got her…thinking."“Thinking?”“Yeah…”Hermione chuckled, the sound low and volatile. Tight. "And why should she be uncomfortable? It’s not as though they gossip about her or write about the most intimate details of her personal life in The Prophet…"Harry stared at her for a moment too long. The witch supposed she was meant to understand what he silently tried to convey. After a beat more, he rolled his green eyes."Despite how you feel, Hermione, your...friendship is unusual. I understand it. I do. But—”“But nothing, Harry!”“Hermione, please let me finish!”“Fine…”“Ron's knickers are twisted so far up his arse that he'd rather spend his time being a right prat than properly talk to either of us. I'm busy with Auror training. Given that your two best friends chose not to attend their final year of school, I can absolutely see why you'd look for another friend...”Hermione scoffed. “You think he’s a stand-in for you two idiots? Harry, in case you haven’t noticed, I have other friends! Luna, Neville, Ginny, and… Well, that’s about all of them for the moment. Still, I happen to enjoy his company.”“I’m sorry, okay?” The Auror-in-training shoved his hands in his hair and growled. “I-I’m not saying any of this right…”“Severus Snape is a brilliant man and a remarkable wizard.”“He’s one of the bravest men I know. But that’s not the point!”“What is, then?”“Take away everything we both know about him. From an outsider's perspective, you must see how it’s...well, weird…for a lack of a better word.”Harry’s words lingered. Hermione’s hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails pressing lightly into her palms. From an outsider’s perspective? The phrase echoed in her mind, warping into something sharper. She imagined their whispers. Indeed, how strange it must look: him spending any amount of time with the likes of her.
Severus Snape — the man who repeatedly walked beside the Dark Lord to spy on Dumbledore’s order. Each day might have been his last. The power that bent to his will seemed effortless. Not something he commanded — but something he simply was. Those black, sharp eyes, ever-watchful, missed nothing. His voice, smooth and deep and cutting, could carve truth from lies in a single syllable. A man capable of making unthinkable, unforgivable choices wrapped in survival, loyalty, and loss.And then there was Hermione Granger.
Annoying. A know-it-all. The girl who acquired and recited facts as though they were a shield, the only way she knew how to prove she deserved to hold space in a world that hadn’t ever felt like hers. A pathetic, lonely witch without a home, a family, and a purpose. An arrogant, young woman who believed herself the older wizard’s equal simply because she’d made a few hard decisions.Hermione was nothing. Yet Severus…he was everything.In his presence, the world’s dull color bolded. The lack of life in her veins pulsed anew. The shackles of the fear that enslaved her shattered. The illusion of her value enveloped her. The promise of her belonging sang to her like a siren. The power of his safety whispered like a delicate memory she’d surely soon have to Obliviate.Hermione’s throat tightened as the thought settled in, unbidden but stubborn. Her eyes fell to the ground, watching the dust shift beneath her shoes, as if the path itself might offer her a distraction. Her shoulders curled inward slightly, making her feel small, as though shrinking would erase the doubts gnawing at her edges.“Is…Is it really so impossible that someone like me could be worthy of his friendship?”Harry stared at the witch, his gaze both exploratory and frantic. It was like he desperately sought after something — something she could not discern. He must have found it: perhaps even a morsel. Every feature on his face expanded: eyes widening, mouth hanging, nostrils flaring, and brows raising. He gasped, swallowing quickly as if he tried to conceal whatever he’d discovered.Rather suddenly, he closed the distance between them. Harry hauled her toward him, his arms winding tightly around her back and hands rubbing up and down as if to soothe the witch. Before she could ask what he was doing, he kissed her temple and pressed his lips to her ear, his words a soft whisper.“Hermione, don’t you ever doubt yourself. I am alive — because of you. Voldemort is dead — because of you. Your parents are safe — because of you. Out of all of us, you are the most deserving. I know nobody else more worthy of everything this world has to offer someone.”Pulling back from their tight, impenetrable embrace, the boy reached a hand behind her head and eased her forehead to his lips. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as tears welled in her eyes. He stepped back once, searching her features again. This time, his eyes were gentle. Appraising.
“You know I’ll always be here for you, right? You can tell me anything. You are so much more than my best friend. Ginny is the love of my life. Ron is my best mate. But you? You are my family, Hermione. Honestly, you’re a lot more than that. Look, I don’t care how far apart it feels life takes us. I would drop everything if it meant I could help or protect you. Tell me you understand all of that?”“What’s gotten into you, Harry?”Harry shook his head, clearing his throat as he sniffled. “I just feel like we don’t say any of this enough. It’s easy to forget it with everything going on. But growing up does not mean we’re growing apart. You will always be important to me.”Hermione offered him a sad, lopsided smile. A particularly strong gust of wind roared between them, messing up his already hopelessly unkempt hair. The witch reached for it and flattened it back down. Eventually, she narrowed her eyes and sighed.“What’s any of this got to do with my friendship with Snape?”“Just…please be careful. I don’t want to see you hurt.”Hermione pinched her brows together. “Harry, you haven’t got anything to worry about. I promise.”Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine…”Hermione wiped at her eyes. "Go on. Ginny's losing you..."But he stood there a moment more as if he were reluctant to leave. Eventually, Harry started forward, brushing past the witch with a hesitant glance over his shoulder. “Enjoy your date.”As their figures grew smaller in the distance, Hermione let out a long breath through her nose, her expression caught somewhere between irritation and confusion. A bit further up the path, she saw Luna waiting for her.
When she reached her friend, she said, “Well that was intense…”Luna, ever perceptive, tilted her head slightly, observing her friend with quiet curiosity. “Harry's rather protective of you these days,” Her tone was light but thoughtful. She glanced back toward the village ahead for a second before anchoring her focus back on the witch. "I'm sorry to hear that others speak of you behind your back. I often forget how hard others find it to be understanding..."Hermione's mouth ticked up. "Thank you, Luna."“Shall we continue?”Hermione nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line before softening again. “Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, the words carrying less conviction than intended. Her pace quickened slightly, her bag shifting with each step, while Luna matched her stride without hesitation, the soft hum of the bustling village growing louder as they drew closer.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 13

. . .

Day 40

Saturday, October 10, 1998

. . .
Hermione
. . .
“HARRY JAMES POTTER!”Hermione’s voice sliced through the quiet, her fists balled so tightly her knuckles blanched. The heavy wooden door to the staff room groaned shut behind her with a loud thud. She stood frozen for a moment, her breath uneven. Each of her fingers twitched at her sides. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in every detail.
By the hearth, Severus Snape sat in a low armchair, his black robes pooling around his feet. One leg crossed over the other, his tea cup hovered near his lips, steam curling lazily upward as he scanned today’s issue of The Prophet. When her voice boomed across the sizable staff room, she saw him visibly tense, turning his head only enough so he could watch her in his periphery.Across the room, Harry and Remus hunched over a two-person table, the Marauder’s Map obviously spread between them. They used their bodies to shield it from Severus, whose back faced them still. The flickering candlelight deepened the lines of concentration on their faces, the faint shimmer and squeeze of a charm encasing them in stolen privacy. The witch’s disturbance made her best friend grimace, scrambling into action after he caught sight of her over his shoulder.Hermione clutched her wand, her hand trembling faintly as she marched toward Harry, each step a sharp punctuation to her fury. Remus broke his charm’s hold as he straightened in his chair. The younger wizard flinched, his head snapping up to meet her fiery gaze, his hands continued to move to hide the map. Under his breath, he muttered the two-word chant to hide its contents. His shoulders hunched, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line.The moment he saw her wand, Harry reacted instinctively. Silently. His own wand flashed blue. With a quick motion, her wand soared through the air toward him. He caught it with a clumsy grasp, his posture stiffening as if bracing for the storm. “Here we go,” he muttered, his face pale, fumbling to fold the map. He shoved it behind him like a guilty child caught red-handed.Hermione’s brows drew together, her eyes narrowing as tension etched itself into every line of her face. Her lips pressed into a tight line, and she took a sharp breath through her nose. “Was that really necessary?” she snapped, her voice biting but tinged with disbelief.Harry exhaled, the sound heavy. His grip tightened on her wand as if it might vanish. His fingers flexed around the familiar wood, and his gaze darted nervously to Remus. “Well, you’re angry, and you had your wand out,” he explained, his tone defensive, though his words faltered under her glare. “You’re rather frightening when you’re in a mood. Force of habit…”The witch crossed her arms tightly over her chest, the fabric of her sleeves wrinkling under the tension. A sharp exhale escaped her lips, her eyes glinting with unspoken frustration. “Well, Cormac was on my heels. He wouldn’t leave me alone. I had to use a Confundus charm to get rid of him. He’s lucky that’s all I did. I don’t know why he’s so determined to get hexed. I think I shall actually enjoy it when it inevitably happens…”
Slackening her arms, she hung both at her sides. Her fingers curled into fists before straightening again, her movements tense. The glare she leveled at Harry was unyielding, her gaze a blazing intensity that seemed to push him back a step. “You know, I don’t need my wand to hex you, Harry.”Harry’s lips twitched with the faintest grimace, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably. “Oh, that I know,” he muttered, his voice low as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.Hermione extended her hand, her fingers splayed with rigid precision. Her stance widened slightly, her chin lifting in defiance. “Well, hand it over.”“Absolutely not,” Harry shot back, his voice quick and firm. “At least not yet.”Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward as though challenging him. “The wand is mine. And while the map is yours, you lent it to me for the whole school year.” Her voice dropped, each word deliberate and clipped. “I happen to need it later.”Remus cleared his throat, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the table. His calm voice cut through the rising tension, though his narrowed eyes flitted between Hermione and Severus. He tilted his head slightly, observing their standoff with a measured expression. “Why, precisely, do you need the map?”Hermione’s breath hitched, her scoff sharp as she tilted her head back in exasperation. Her lips parted briefly before pressing together again. “Well, that’s my business — and hardly the point. Harry stole that map from my bag! I ought to report you, you know!”Harry’s retreat was subtle, a measured shuffle backward toward the hearth. His movements brought him closer to Snape, who had folded The Prophet neatly on the side table and set his teacup there, too. His dark eyes watched them with quiet intensity. Snape’s fingers rested lightly on the armrest, but his posture was as straight as a statue.“There’s one map, Hermione — and two of us who need it,” Harry retorted, his voice lower now but no less determined. His grip on her wand tightened as he held the map behind him.“Why do you even need it, Harry?” Her question cut through his response, her tone as sharp as her narrowed gaze. She stepped forward, her hands flexing at her sides.Harry hesitated, his gaze darting to Remus for the briefest moment before returning to her. His jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard. “I’ll tell you when you tell us.”Severus cursed under his breath, pulling down each of his sleeves on his arms. Shaking his head, he snatched the map from Harry’s left hand. Holding it aloft between his fingers, his gaze flicked to Harry with a dangerous edge. The older wizard’s voice broke the charged silence, his tone laced with venomous amusement. His black eyes glittered with disdain as he stood with the precision of a predator.“A spare bit of parchment, indeed, Potter?” Snape fixed his glare on Remus before leaning into Harry again, seething, “All this time, you’ve had a map of Hogwarts? Another trinket from your bloody father, no doubt!”Harry’s lips parted, his throat working as though words failed him. His hands twitched at his sides, his expression tightening and pinching. “Do not talk about my father, Snape!”Snape’s attention shifted briefly to Hermione, his sneer softening as she stepped closer. Her hand darted out to snatch the map from him. Her movements were quick, decisive — as if attempting to seize control of the situation.“Thanks,” she muttered, expertly holding the thick parchment away from Harry as he tried to reclaim his map.
“He knows about it? The map?” Harry’s voice carried a sharp note of accusation as his eyes bore into Hermione, his brows furrowing deeply.“He knows of the map,” she corrected coolly, opening her beaded bag. The map vanished into its depths with a practiced motion. Her lips pressed together in a firm line. “I never got around to actually showing him, though. Not yet, at least…”Harry’s jaw tightened as he closed the distance between them in a few quick strides. His hand gripped her wrist, his voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “So you were planning on showing him?”“Never mind that, Harry. Just give my wand back!” Hermione’s voice cracked, frustration leaking into her words as she pulled her arm free. Her hand rubbed the spot where his grip lingered, her movements jerky and tense. “Give it back, and I’ll be on my way.”Remus’ sigh filled the room, his shoulders drooping slightly as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. His gaze lingered on Hermione, a flicker of concern crossing his features. “Hermione, does the reason why you require the map have anything to do with the fact that Albus Dumbledore now shows up on it?”“Remus!” Harry hissed.The room stilled. In an instant, Snape’s wand moved in a fluid, deliberate arc, the soft click of the door locking and the faint shimmer of a Muffliato charm sealing them in. He turned from the group, his posture stiff as he stared into the hearth. His grip on his wand tightened briefly before he tucked it away.“It’s time we start working together, Harry. Luna said as much when I initiated her and Neville into the Order. I agree with her.” The werewolf shrugged, shoving both hands in his trouser pockets. “Besides, we are running out of time to keep being at odds with our own allies.”Hermione’s breath faltered. Her fingers trembled as she pressed them to her lips, her eyes darting between Harry and Snape. Her voice barely escaped her lips. “I-I didn’t know he’s back…”Harry’s head shook vehemently. His hair fell over his eyes as he stared at her. He quickly shoved it back. “She’s lying, Remus.”Remus’ expression softened. He tilted his head slightly as if weighing his words. “Of course she is, Harry.” He reached into his pocket, offering chocolate that Hermione waved away with a quick shake of her head.“We know about the horcrux,” he continued, his voice even but his gaze steady on her. His hands rested loosely at his sides, though his fingers twitched slightly. “The one you cannot destroy. The one that showed you fragments of Snape’s past. The very one that permits you to speak Parseltongue.”Hermione clenched her fists, a poor attempt to stifle a gasp. Her wide eyes briefly darted to Snape. Searching. Her shoulders stiffened, and her knees threatened to buckle. “Who else have you told, Severus?”Snape turned slightly, his profile illuminated by the fire. His voice was cold, unyielding. “I only told Albus anything.”The doubt twisted in her gut, an unwelcome knot she couldn’t ignore. Every instinct in her gut told her he’d told someone else. She was sure of it. Her lips parted, words forming but faltering in the tense air. Her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms.“That remains to be seen.”Severus sighed, turning back to face the fire. “Believe what you wish…”The witch looked at Harry and Remus again, her jaw tightening as her gaze shifted between the two. Harry’s expression faltered, giving her pause. His glare, sharp and unwavering, remained fixed on Snape — until he caught the weight of Hermione’s stare. With a reluctant shake of his head, her best friend cleared his throat, his discomfort evident in the way his fingers drummed briefly against his leg.“Well? Let’s hear it, then. How do you know about all of that?” Hermione’s voice was clipped, her tone sharp as her gaze pinned Harry in place. She bit the inside of her cheek. She barely concealed her impatience.The werewolf rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowing as he chose his words carefully. “The day the Elder Wand went missing, Snape asked Harry to find you using his patronus.”When he hesitated, Hermione folded her arms over her chest. “Well, go on…”“Rather than abiding the…request to return to the school, he instead went to the Three Broomsticks. Found your room before Snape.”Hermione’s scoff was sharp and immediate. Her glare settled on Harry, her eyes narrowing into accusatory slits. “Spying on me, are you?”Harry’s face reddened as he stepped closer, his movements quick and deliberate. “Well, I was worried! You haven’t been exactly forthright about any of this.” His voice rose, the tension in the room thickening.“I have my reasons — you know I do!” Her hands shook as she swiped at her eyes, the heat of tears she refused to let fall clouding her vision. “Because you’ve been through enough, Harry! Everyone has.”Harry’s finger shot out, pointing toward Snape. His voice rose, the frustration spilling out. “I could say the same about him — and about you!”Snape’s cloak swirled as he turned fully, his voice like ice. “You will leave me and my past out of this conversation.” His hands folded behind his back, his posture rigid and unyielding.Hermione’s voice rose, trembling with barely contained frustration. Her hands flailed for a moment before she gripped the strap of her bag. “I never wanted to involve anyone! But Severus… Things changed.”“You’re my best friend, Hermione! It’s me who’s been with you since first year. Snape, though?” Harry’s voice softened, pleading. “How many times has he mocked you in front of the whole class? Ridiculed you! Humiliated you! Bullied you for simply being my friend? You know I respect him for everything he’s sacrificed, but that hardly washes away everything he’s done when he could have chosen differently!”From the other side of the staff room, Severus’ voice loomed like a shadow waiting to strike its prey. “That’s quite enough, Potter.”“Unlike the rest of you, I’m not going to hold things over people their whole lives. People change. I’ve forgiven him, and — despite quite a lot we’ve yet to iron out — I trust him.” Hermione shook her head, flattening her brows as she searched her best friend’s eyes. “And not because Albus trusted him. Not even because you said he was our ally all along — but because at the end of the day I know I can! He’s become my friend, and I won’t apologize for it.”Remus stiffened, looking at her as if she were an impossible Arithmancy problem. “Hermione, there are many things you do not know about—”Hermione glared at the werewolf. “I know everything I need to. Time will sort out the rest.”“Hermione—”“No, Harry!” The witch tightened her hands into fists. Her breath shuddered. “Severus is a loyal man of good character. You might not always see it, but it’s certainly there. I won’t pretend that he doesn’t do things that scare me — things that I don’t like or agree with. But I also know that I am not entertaining others’ opinions on the matter. He’s here. He’s helping me. End of discussion…”Silence reigned in the room, thick and gathering around her as if it meant to suffocate her. When she heard the dark wizard draw in his next breath, it was shaky. Quiet. Heavy. She felt the weight of his stare at her back. To better acclimate it, she swallowed and rubbed her arm.“I can help you.” Harry’s hands reached out slightly toward her, palms upturned. “Please, let us help, too.”Tears blurred her vision, her voice cracking as she let out a bitter laugh. Her grip on the bag tightened until her knuckles turned white. “I’ve got no choice, now do I? You can say you have something in common with Severus now. No one will let me have a say in bloody anything anymore! It’s not as if I broke into the Ministry and stole Severus’ memories alone successfully or anything.”Remus stilled, anchoring his sharp eyes on the witch. “You did what?”Hermione rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Never mind what I did.”“Harry, did you know about this?” Remus stepped closer to the Auror-in-training. “If the Ministry were to find out—”“They never will.” Harry sighed. “And no. I had no idea until the night of the dance.”Remus was about to say something, but the witch interrupted the DADA professor.“I expect spying and secret keeping from Severus. But you?” Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came. Eventually, she swallowed, brushing some hair over her shoulder. “You throw on your invisibility cloak and take whatever you want from — what did you say? Oh, yes! Your best friend! I’m not Draco, Harry! What you saw in that rented room was not for you to see.”The silence that followed was suffocating, the weight of unspoken words pressing heavy on the room. Harry said nothing. His bold, green eyes bore into the witch. An apology mixed with anguish within them.Remus’ gaze settled firmly on Hermione. His shoulders stiffened, and his fingers drummed lightly against his folded arms. “The Order—”A bitter chuckle escaped her lips, sharp and unrestrained. “The Order of the Phoenix is in shambles, Remus! No clear leadership since the battle. Splintered more than ever before. You Know Who dies and we all scatter—”Harry’s sharp tone cut her off, his eyes narrowing. “Say his name. Voldemort. Hermione, you—”Her fingers fidgeted with the fraying ends of her sleeves, her eyes avoiding Severus like a lifeline. Her words felt measured but heavy. “Not everyone appreciates hearing that name, do they?”Her shoulders dropped slightly as she forced her focus anywhere but on Snape. It wasn’t much — a meaningless effort, really. Yet, she would shield him from that name if it killed her. She would gladly do what she had to in order to draw the doubt and concern of others upon herself. No one would know it was for the Potions master’s benefit.It was a rather small price to pay — a fraction of her pride for a man who had endured far worse.“All summer long, you’ve never shied away from saying it,” Harry said, moving toward her. His hands reached her shoulders, resting there as he searched her gaze, his brows furrowed. “Are the nightmares really so bad? You know he’ll never come back, right? We’ll find Bellatrix—”Hermione’s arms folded tightly around her stomach. Her fingers gripped the fabric of her sleeves, knuckles paling. “You’re wrong…” Her voice wavered, but her posture remained resolute.“Hermione, we destroyed all of his horcruxes. I defeated him. Watched him die. Burned his body. There’s nothing left of him save a few pieces of splintered bones.”Thick, hot tears burned her eyes. Hermione wiped at them and cleared her throat. “Horcruxes are only one sort of dark magic, aren’t they?”Remus straightened, a sharp intake of breath breaking the tension. His focus shifted briefly to Severus before fixing on Hermione again, his expression growing more intense. “What’s happened? What else do you know?”The witch’s lips parted, her breath hitching as she hesitated. “I-It’s not happened yet. The book…the horcrux? I can do more than understand and speak Parseltongue. It’s given me the ability to…see the past…through touch I think. I’m not really quite certain how it’s possible, really.”Harry’s mouth opened as though to speak, but no sound came. The silence stretched, thick with tension, before he finally stammered, “W-What?”Hermione’s face twisted as though bracing against unseen pain. Her chin trembled faintly, but she kept her eyes fixed on Harry, determined to hold his gaze. She left out any mention of Severus’ gift, redirecting the weight of her revelation squarely onto herself.“There’s too much to say,” she continued, her voice firming. “We can speak about all the details later. The gist of it all… Bellatrix sent me two things. A book…about…dark, carnal rituals. I haven’t read much of it yet—”Harry groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. The frustration etched lines deep into his features. “You read it? You shouldn’t. It’s dark magic, Hermione!”Her brows flattened, her lips tightening into a thin line. She straightened, her posture defiant. “I think I’m well past all of that, Harry.” Her voice carried a note of finality. “What the war taught me… Life is not black and white. Dark magic is out there — whether we want it to be or not. The book, well… Bellatrix’s book? I think it might have answers. Ones we might use to, at the very least, come to better understand her plans. I can cross reference anything else I might find — find ways to foil them…if that’s remotely possible.”“Wait…” Remus’ gaze dropped briefly to the beaded bag at her side. His brows knitted together in thought. “Why would Bellatrix send you a book that might help us against her?”A low sigh escaped Severus as he stepped forward, his dark presence commanding attention with a single motion. “Bellatrix is not the Dark Lord. She commands a fraction of his authority and raw power. She is more deranged and depraved — that, I will give to her. But there are, I suspect, those still among the Death Eaters who might wish to appeal to Hermione. Possibly the Order itself…”Harry’s glare deepened, his body tense with barely restrained energy. “But why?”Severus shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his sneer barely concealed. “You’re the Auror-to-be, Potter. Among your many gifts, you ought to be capable of possessing the capability of assuming the mind of the very criminals you are meant to collect.”A step forward brought Harry closer to Severus, his fists tightening at his sides. Hermione’s quick movement placed her directly between them. Her back was to Severus, shielding him from Harry’s fiery stare. That she would go to Snape’s defense even against Harry made her gut and chest squeeze. It was instinct, and she did not know what to exactly make of it.“Harry, no—”But he ignored her anyway.“You know, we could work more productively together if you’d stop treating me like I’m my father. Look like him I do, but I am not him,” Harry spat, his voice cutting. His eyes flicked to Hermione, softening momentarily, before snapping back to Severus. “The map? I nicked it this morning — when I knew Hermione would be asleep.”Hermione gasped, the sound catching in her throat as fresh tears welled. Her lips parted, but no words came. That morning flashed in her mind — her room. Severus. In her small, cramped bed. Holding her. Hermione clinging onto him like he had the power to vanquish every monster in the world. Harry saw them. He’d gotten past her wards. Trespassed into what was a fragile, broken night of pain shared.
The realization twisted uncomfortably in her chest. Harry would misunderstand. Everyone would misunderstand. “You dare threaten me, Potter—” Severus’ voice, dark and dangerous and lethal, filled the room.A heavy step resonated as he moved closer. Severus.
Hermione turned, her hair whirling over her shoulders. Some of the ends hit the professor’s robes with the momentum. Her hand shot out, pressing firmly against his chest. The tension in his frame ebbed beneath her touch, his exhale shuddering with restraint. His gaze, hard and unreadable, softened slightly as it dropped to her hand before dragging up her body to meet her eyes. The heat of his attention burned against her skin, unspoken words hanging between them. This meant nothing. She would do well to remember that before she, too, misunderstood.Severus was not — very clearly and simply — used to physical touch. The witch willed her heart to stop thrashing at her ribcage. For a moment, she thought it would burst. The heat pinching lightly at her cheeks was also painfully unwelcome. Ever so slightly, her hand slipped lower on him. She knew he didn’t actually lean into her. It was absurd, her imagination. Cruel, even.
Because she wanted it to be real. More than anything.
It was a miracle she’d spent about six years fighting the urge to openly admire Ron — conceal and compartmentalize her feelings. It was about all she could do to ensure the older wizard wouldn’t get the wrong idea about her. He’d push her away if he ever found out just how this morning had changed things. Severus Snape loved Lily Evans. Not her memory — the woman. Completely.Friends.
The word, usually so bloody warm on her heart, plunged so deep within her chest. It dislodged any comfort — all hope — with which it had once filled her. An ache at the back of her throat tightened the muscles there, squeezing so that the air in her lungs trapped for a moment. Swallowing, Hermione gasped, the delicate, airy sound quiet.

Agonizing.
Remus cleared his throat, breaking the fragile silence. Hermione shook her head. Her hand fell from Snape’s chest, her fingers brushing against the stiff fabric of his robes. The lingering feel of the cool, worn material clung to her palm like a ghost. The witch quickly looked over to the werewolf.
Her Head of House.“Threaten you?” His brows furrowed, darting his gaze between the two of them. He squinted, and his mouth flattened into a thin, taut line. Finally, he asked, “What does that mean, Snape? Harry? Will any of you tell me what’s happened?”Severus’ jaw tightened, his expression darkening as he turned his attention to Remus. He stepped closer toward Lupin, the knuckles of his long, slender, and expert fingers trembling against Hermione’s hip.
A coincidence. Not a comfort…“It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, her voice firm as she stepped forward, breaking the charged moment. Her gaze fixed on Harry and Remus. “We’re…speaking of Bellatrix’s book. No more tangents — or questions we can answer later on.”Remus hesitated, his gaze heavy with unspoken questions. Eventually, he nodded, his features smoothing with reluctant acceptance. “All right.”Hermione’s breath hitched, ragged and uneven. It was as if the air itself fought against entering her lungs. Her fingers trembled as they pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The movement was jittery. Desperate. Her arms wrapped around her torso, squeezing tightly, determined to physically hold herself together while the memories tore at her mind. The horrors she’d seen and dreamed pressed against her skull. Too vivid. Too relentless. Her knees weakened, but she remained upright — stubbornly rooted to the spot.“The man I hear? He told me to touch it — the book. So I did,” she began, her voice thin and cracking under the strain. Her arms tightened as though bracing herself against an invisible impact. “I know I shouldn’t… Listen to him, I mean. We don’t even know who it is. But in the moment, it felt…like the right thing to do. Like I was meant to. I can’t explain it, really.”
Hermione’s gaze dropped to the floor, her fingers digging into her own arms. “I saw…You Know Who. He spoke of his long-term plans with Nagini. Severus has the memory. He’s watched it by now. Ask him for it. I won’t repeat what I saw or heard.”Remus stepped forward cautiously, his movements careful like he approached an unfamiliar Hippogriff. His hand hovered near her arm before settling gently, patting her as if the soft gesture might anchor her. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, wide and haunted and shadowed by a dread she could not escape.
“Minerva should know, Hermione,” he said, his tone low but firm, the weight of his words pressing between them. “Sneaking around her like this won’t be a viable option much longer. It’s best we tell her. Now. There are plenty among us who would not regard all this with as open a mind. She’ll help us to plan our answers. Help prepare the Order—”“No.”The word was barely audible. Raw. Fractured. Like it was unwillingly dragged from her throat. Tears welled, spilling over her lashes. They carved pale, glossy tracks down her flushed cheeks. Her hand shot to her mouth, muffling a strangled sob. She took a shaky step back, the motion stiff, almost stumbling.“This is all rather ridiculous. Nobody was supposed to know! Now, it’s Severus, you two, Draco and Narcissa, Albus, and Luna…”“Hermione,” Harry murmured, his voice low and tight with restrained emotion. His hands hovered, uncertain, before curling into fists at his sides. He stepped toward her, halting just out of reach. “If Bellatrix knows of a way to bring him back, you must know I’m in this with you.”Her back hit the wall, her palms flattening against it as though seeking stability. Her breathing came fast, shallow, her chest rising and falling in panicked waves. Her voice cracked, rising in pitch.“You don’t understand! Nobody does,” she choked, the words spilling from her in gasps. “I-I have to do this alone. I-I’m the one who found the book.”“You’re wrong, Hermione!” Harry’s voice surged, frustration twisting his tone into something sharp and jagged.Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing through the tears that clouded them. “No, I’m not. I’m expendable, Harry! Maybe that’s why the book chose me.”The declaration struck like a blow. Harry staggered back a step, his mouth falling open as though she had physically hit him. His hand shot into his hair and tugged at the strands with a roughness that bordered on pain. Tears pooled in his vivid green eyes, the sheen thick as one slipped free. They traced a slow path down his cheek until he wiped them away.“Expendable?” His voice volatile, rising in a broken crescendo. “You don’t really believe that, do you? After everything we’ve endured together? After everyone we’ve lost to get here? After all this time?”“Understand it or don’t, Harry. It makes little difference either way,” Her words lashed out like a whip, leaving no room for denial.
Harry let out a harsh, bitter laugh, the sound cracking and hollow. His arms dropped limply to his sides before he surged forward, his steps purposeful. His hands cupped her face, his touch firm but trembling. His gaze bore into hers, an unrelenting force.“Like hell it does!”Her lips trembled, words pouring from her in a torrent she couldn’t contain. “I have no one — no family, no home, and no clue what I’m supposed to do anymore. This book found me — chose me. But I can’t destroy it,” she whispered, her voice sounding so weak. “Perhaps destroying it with Bellatrix on the run isn’t what we should do…”Small.After a quiet moment, Hermione anchored her gaze in Harry’s. “I don’t know what I’ll have to do to ensure Bellatrix — any Death Eater — never touches it. I know I can do it, but who I’ll be at the end of it all… That I don’t know.”Harry brushed both of his thumbs on her cheeks, shaking his head. “Hermione, there is no world where you turn into a monster.”“Harry, I Obliviated my only family of my entire existence to keep them safe,” Hermione replied.
Swallowing, the witch shook her head with a sad sigh. Their faces faded into her mind like the soft pattering of the autumn rain on a quiet, cloudy day. Her mother’s light, blue eyes. Her father’s gentle smile. The way their laughter perfectly blended together to create her favorite sound in all the world. Something squeezed at her heart.“Tell me, what lengths do you think I’d go to in order to protect you? The whole of the magical world?”
Remus stepped closer, clearly seeking her attention. She did not give it to him. “Hermione—”“And what happens if there comes a day I can no longer clearly discern the difference between protecting you and hurting you?” Her eyes never left Harry’s. “Second year, Dumbledore told you that it was our choices that show what we truly are. Well, I know I’m capable of making choices, in the right circumstances, that would hurt you. Everyone.”“This is absurd, Hermione. You’ll never hurt anyone. Not like that.”The witch smiled, the effort sad. Pained. She searched Harry’s eyes. “If it came to it, could you kill me if I go mad?” she whispered. “Would you do it?”Harry stumbled away from her, glaring at her like she’d ripped his invisibility cloak to shreds. He struggled to breathe. Eventually, however, he glanced over at Severus and swallowed.
“Stop talking, Hermione.”Hermione shrugged, pinching her brows together. “Genuinely, I never meant to tell a soul…”Harry’s shoulders sagged, his chest heaving with the weight of her confession. His hand swiped at his face, brushing away tears as they fell. His voice softened, a hoarse whisper.
“I love Ginny. And Ron. I do. The life I’ve built, I’ll always treasure it — the people in it and those I’ve had to lose to get it. But I would walk away from everything. Right now. Tell me you wish to find answers on the run again. I’ll go with you.”“Harry—”“Snape can come, too. He’s important to you. I don’t understand it very much, nor do I like it. But I’d like to — in time. I’ll vouch for him with Shacklebolt. I’ll withdraw from the Auror training program this minute. He won’t know anything. I won’t tell him a damned thing about any of this.”
Harry sighed, his eyes searching her features. It was as if he begged her to listen to him.“We’ll leave — the three of us. I know you still keep everything we took with us last year in that bag. Just in case. We’ll find a way to destroy it — the book. We’ll use it — if we must. Together — no matter what happens. No matter the cost…”“You assume I’d ever ask you to do any of that!” Her voice rose, the anger in her tone matching the crackling fire in her gaze.
“You are the single most stubborn person I’ll ever know, Hermione!” Harry’s frustration erupted, his hands grabbing hers and holding them tightly. His voice trembled with raw conviction. “Listen to me, okay? I’m going to help you in this. That’s my choice! I choose you. Ginny and Ron… They’ll understand. In time. Maybe…”Her hands slipped from his grasp, her expression hardening into a mask of defiance. “Well, it’s not my choice! You forget that I can Obliviate this whole conversation from your memory… I-I’ll do it if I must!”“Not without your wand, you can’t!” Harry’s retort snapped out. Sharp. Defensive. Exasperated.Her fingers curled into the collar of his shirt, twisting the fabric with a ferocity that mirrored the storm raging inside her. The witch scoffed. She glared at him, dragging her unremarkable brown eyes from his feet to his eyes.“For the last bloody time, my wand is not yours to take or hold hostage. None of this concerns you or anyone else whatsoever!”
The witch gasped, choking on the air in her throat. Yes! She would figure out a way to tangle the unraveling, endless array that was now this mess. No one would get hurt if she worked alone. Telling Severus, clearly, hadn’t been the right call. It was a moment of weakness, really.A mistake that had led her to a remarkable man. She’d both resent and treasure such a decision for the remainder of her life…“I’m done with obeying and accommodating everyone else. Severus, the Ministry, and now you! This is my fight, and I’ll do it. Alone. That is my final decision. My choice, Harry! Mine!” she shouted, covering a hand over her heart.Before Harry could snap back a reply, a hand clamped around Hermione’s arm, the grip iron-tight. She stumbled slightly, her breath catching as Severus Snape yanked her toward him with a force that sent a jolt through her body. His towering figure cast a dark shadow over her. The sneer on his face was venomous, sharp enough to cut through steel. His robes flared slightly with his movement, dark as the storm swirling in his black eyes.“Enough, Hermione!” His words sliced the air, low and vibrating with anger barely held in check. “Fight me for making decisions with which you do not agree. Hate me for keeping secrets from you. Wish me dead for betraying your trust. But do not think for a fucking second that I will allow you to walk away from me — let you go at this alone.”Hermione’s head snapped back, her jaw tightening as the heat of her fury flushed her face. “Allow me? Let me?” she seethed, her voice trembling with rage. She pulled against his grip, her free hand balling into a trembling fist.Snape’s fingers tightened on her arm, the force enough to sting. His pale knuckles were stark against her lavender jumper sleeve. His upper lip curled, baring his teeth as if he were holding back something far more feral. His voice, when it came, was a guttural snarl. “Yes, Hermione. Let you. Allow you.” Each word dripped with control. Possession. Crippling fear.Severus’ tone was a razor-sharp challenge.Her breath hitched as a shudder rippled through her. Memories crashed over her like a tidal wave, unbidden and merciless. The sight of his body broken on the floor after Nagini’s attack burned behind her eyes. She remembered the dull pallor of his skin, the fragile rasp of his breath as his life ebbed away. That image tangled with the cold fury etched across his face now, a fusion of terror and anger that twisted in her chest, unbearable. She should have never placed him in so much danger. She looked down, her eyes narrowing on the ring that seemed to burn against her finger — a noose disguised as a band.“Take it off, Severus. The ring. Now!” Her voice cracked as she barked the command, raw and trembling. It was laced with a desperation she could not contain.Snape leaned in, his face inches from hers — so close she could feel his warm breath ghosting across her skin. Despite herself, she curled her toes at the invisible contact. His posture was rigid, his back curving to accommodate her short stature. The firelight contrasted his features, accentuating every line of loathing and resolve.
“No,” he slowly hissed. The word was more a threat than a refusal.“Ring?” Harry’s voice broke the tension, confusion etched into his face as his eyes darted between them. “What—”“Don’t think I won’t hex you, Snape!” Hermione snapped, her voice trembling with barely restrained fury. Her hand hovered in the air between them, shaking as though it carried the weight of every thought she couldn’t voice.Snape’s mouth twitched, the barest suggestion of a smirk twisting his lips. His head tilted, his eyes narrowing further, dark as obsidian. “You hex me? You, who has still yet to reclaim your wand? I’d like to see you try, Granger.” His voice was soft. Dangerously so. Each word curled like smoke — suffocating her in its challenge. “I know a thousand more curses — each fouler and darker than the last — than you could ever dream of learning in your precious, bloody books.”Hermione’s laugh broke through the room, brittle and harsh. The sound grated against the tension, her fury spilling over in jagged edges. “You won’t hurt me, Severus!” Her words were sharp, a declaration she threw at him like a gauntlet.Snape’s gaze bore into hers, unrelenting as his eyes flashed down to her chest. Those black depths settled briefly on the scar he’d given her the night he’d sleepwalked. His chest rose and fell with shallow, controlled breaths, but his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His lips thinned into a line. For a moment, his expression wavered, almost imperceptibly.
“Won’t I?” The words slipped out, low and venomous.“And those ‘bloody books’ have served me well enough over the years, haven’t they?” Hermione’s voice climbed, each syllable a dagger aimed straight at him.“And now it is a book that curses you!” Snape’s voice cracked through her words, rising with an edge of desperation that mirrored her own. His jaw tightened, and his hands shook briefly before steadying again. “You are in over your head. And now there’s a chance the Dark Lord will return. Again. You’re just as much a fool as Potter — arrogant, too — if you believe this is only about you.”Harry’s growl echoed through the room. His fists clenched at his sides, his body tense and bristling as his glare settled on Snape. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not standing—”“I’m doing this on my own. I can’t do that with this goddamn ring on!” Hermione’s voice shook, her words pouring out in a torrent of anger and desperation. Her hands trembled at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. “Take it off! You have no right to—”“Don’t I?” Snape’s voice lashed out, sharp and unyielding. His sneer deepened, his dark eyes narrowing further. “Remind me, Granger. Exactly who is the one begging whom for their friendship?”Tears streamed down her face, hot trails marking her cheeks as her shoulders shook. Her fists clenched tighter, her breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. The words spilled from her before she could stop them, her voice breaking.
“You are nothing to me, Severus! You have no say in what I do. I can take care of myself!”The silence that followed was deafening. Her words lingered in the air, jagged and raw, cutting through the space between them like a blade. Snape’s face twisted, his features breaking piece by piece. The corners of his mouth twitched, faltering as if unsure whether to hold their defiant sneer or collapse entirely. Fine lines around his eyes creased deeper, drawing his expression tight. Each muscle betrayed the weight pressing on him.
His brows sank low, pulling his face into an almost imperceptible grimace that seemed to war against itself. The professor’s jaw slackened, no longer clenched in its usual defiance. The tension seeped out as if the effort required to hold it firm had simply evaporated. A faint tremor rippled through his lips before they pressed together, uneven and trembling against the betrayal they couldn’t contain.The professor’s grip on her arm loosened, his hand falling away as though she had burned him. His gaze searched hers, dark and hollow, his throat bobbing as he swallowed against words he could not speak.The firelight caught the visible sheen glossing his eyes, a faint glimmer that only made the pain etched into his expression more unbearable. His lips parted slightly, his breath catching, before he stepped back. The movement was sharp. Deliberate.Final.Hermione felt her chest constrict as though her heart itself had been wrenched from her body. Her legs threatened to give way, the weight of his expression and his silence crushing her. She watched him turn, his cloak billowing in his haste as he strode from the room. The witch flinched as the door slammed behind him, the echo reverberating like the crack of a whip.Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, her hands gripping at the fabric of her lavender jumper. The cold stone floor seemed to pulse beneath her, each sob wracking her body as though the earth itself was trembling in sympathy. The sound of her anguish echoed in the silence — bouncing off unseen walls and growing louder in her ears. Her vision blurred, tears pooling.In an instant, the edges of the world turned murky — like shadows consumed the room around her. Then, the world folded inward.
. . .
It wasn’t an explosion of light or sound. Rather, it was a sudden, suffocating compression — like if an invisible force had squeezed her body until she could no longer feel its edges. Her chest clenched, her breath caught halfway between one sob and the next. Everything — the walls, the floor, the air itself — crumpled into nothingness. The weight of her grief was momentarily obliterated by the void that swallowed her whole.When the darkness dissipated, she wasn’t on the cold stone floor anymore.The Black Lake stretched out before her, its surface still and glasslike. It captured the faint light of a dusky sky. A gentle breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of water and damp earth. But the tranquility was distant, muted, as if she were peering through a fogged window.
Hermione tried to step forward, to feel the ground beneath her. But there was nothing — no limbs to move, no body to command.A faint glow caught her attention.Dully glowing a light green hue, she hovered just above the ground in a compacted ball that cast a faint light on the darkened grass. She didn’t have a form — just a sense of self. Fragmented. Weightless. The realization sent a ripple of something akin to panic through her…or at least, what remained of her. She couldn’t cry out, couldn’t scream. She could only float, a silent, glowing witness.Then, she saw them.The figures appeared near a tree away from the water’s edge, their forms hazy at first. Slowly, they solidified. The scene unfolded. She recognized most of the faces immediately, the clarity of the moment slicing through her disorientation like a blade.
Down by the lake, a younger girl with dark copper hair sat with her back to the group of friends storming closer to an obviously younger Severus. She wanted to turn away, to shield herself from whatever would come. This was not her memory to witness. It was rather a highly intimate invasion of privacy.
But the non-corporeal form she took offered her no means of escape — nor any opportunity to move.Suspended, she hovered there in her pale glow — relegated to the periphery. The voices began, faint at first, then rising in intensity. The tension in the air grew heavy, suffocating, pressing down on her nonexistent frame.
“All right, Snivellus?” James shouted.A younger, skinnier, and less weathered Severus reacted — so fast it was as though he had been expecting an attack. He dropped his bag and plunged his hand inside his robes. But his wand was only halfway into the air when James shouted, “Expelliarmus!”
Snape’s wand flew a bit of distance away – fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter. Instantly, Hermione found it so easy to hate the man she’d eventually come to know and care for in her time.
Right now, Sirius Black was cruel. Wretched. Relentless. Hateful.Severus dove for his wand, but James still held the advantage of this unfair duel — if one could even call this that.“Impedimenta!” James said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet.Students flocked to the commotion. Some lined the scene, while others rushed to get closer. To watch Severus’ humiliation. Only a few looked apprehensive. The vast majority were far more obviously entertained.Hermione desired nothing more than to disappear. To vomit. But she could do nothing in her current form.Snape lay on the ground, panting and looking quite exhausted. James and Sirius closed in on him — wands up. James glanced over his shoulder at the girls at the water’s edge as he went. Pettigrew also now stood, watching hungrily, edging around Remus to get a better view of the blatant bullying.“How’d the exam go, Snivelly?” James teased, his tone mocking. Arrogant. Bitter.“I was watching him. His nose was touching the parchment,” Sirius said, an overt viciousness dripping from the words spoken. “There’ll be great grease marks all over it. They won’t be able to read a word.”Several people watching laughed. Hermione’s heart squeezed. Peter sniggered, the sound shrill. Severus tried to recover; however, nobody present — even the couple with sympathy buried in their eyes — had canceled the jinx. Why? It still bound him – though he struggled against the magic to break free.“You — wait,” Severus panted. He stared up at James like he envisioned at least a hundred different ways he could kill him. “You — wait. . . .”“Wait for what?” Sirius coolly spat. “What’re you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?”Snape unleashed a deluge of various swear words and hexes. But the boy did not have his wand. It did not seem as though he was yet practiced in wandless magic. The witch could only watch the scene from afar. She could do nothing to help him — nor toss his wand to him.“Wash out your mouth.” James’ demented smirk made Hermione want to hex him across a thousand decades. He enjoyed doing this. “Scourgify!”Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape’s mouth at once. The froth covered the Slytherin student’s lips, gagging him. Choking him.
Finally.
“Leave him ALONE!”Both James and Sirius whirled around to the source of the voice. James’ free hand smoothed over his familiar, unruly hair.
The owner of that shout emerged through a space in the gathered crowd. Immediately, Hermione knew it to be Lily Evans. She was beautiful. She glowed. Those eyes washed a certain comfort over her, briefly diffusing some of the scene’s tension.
Lily…The object of Severus’ love. She’d been who he’d always adored — the reason Snape defected from the Death Eaters. Protected a boy who mirrored the man he rightfully loathed. When the witch returned to her own time, he would have some company to share in some of that effort.“All right, Evans?” James’ voice shifted. It was pleasant. Mature, even. What a complete, vile toad!“Leave him alone,” Lily repeated. The girl glared at James. Eventually, she asked, “What’s he done to you?”
Talking?

“Well,” James said, appearing to deliberate the point further, “it’s more the fact that he exists — if you know what I mean…”Every measure of warmth in the world ceased. How could this boy be Harry’s father? He’d insinuated Severus’ very existence was offensive. Unworthy of the same oxygen passing through the Gryffindor’s lungs. Why was dark magic strictly feared and punished? The world seemed fine with the darkest words and sentiments existing…
Did anyone know the true weight of words? The power they possessed?
Several students cackled — including Sirius and Peter, of course. Remus continued to do nothing, but he did not, at the very least, laugh. Neither did Lily.“You think you’re funny,” she said, her tone rather cold. “But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.”Why on earth had no one else intervened? All one had to do was counter-spell the hex to put it to an end.
Rage. That’s all Hermione felt right now. Talking. Lily talked, but did not help her supposed best friend further. Wasn’t Lily Evans at the top of her class? At least up there. Bright, in some way? She’d have known about the general counter-spell.Still, nothing. Nothing? “I will if you go out with me, Evans,” James said quickly. “Go on… Go out with me, and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.”
Behind James, the Impediment jinx wore off. Severus inched toward his fallen wand, spitting out soap suds as he crawled. Students framed the scene, most laughing. Had Hermione possessed a body, she’d grab her stomach. No. She’d jump into action.Lily simply stood there — speaking to a friend’s bully. All the while, she remained complicit in his prolonged humiliation. The laughing hadn’t stopped. Not for a minute.Severus Snape was alone.Even Hermione could do nothing but sit along the sidelines. The memory broke her heart, splintering it in a way she’d never known before. This was the same man — only a boy right now — who’d endured everything to keep their son breathing.
Year after year.“I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,” Lily said. This conversation was more important than a friend’s wellbeing.
The sight disgusted the witch. Over the years, everyone — every single bloody person — spoke of Lily Evans as the kindest, most loyal of people. They were all wrong. No. This was not a conversation. This was a punctuated choice.This was Lily Evans failing Severus Snape. The witch doubted if he saw it in such a way, though…“Bad luck, Prongs,” said Sirius briskly, turning back to Snape. “OY!”In the fray of it all, Snape reclaimed his wand and leveled it at James. Hermione waited for the boy to return every bit of kindness James Potter bestowed upon the Slytherin. Tenfold.A flash of light radiated between them. A gash slashed on the side of James’ face. Blood splattered his robes. Sectumsempra. In only what seemed to be his fifth year? Severus had always been a rather singular wizard, hadn’t he?
That he could invent spells so young… Hermione’s admiration was quite short-lived.James whirled about. A second flash of light later, Snape hung upside down in the air. His robes fell over his head, revealing skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.
Just then, Hermione materialized. The ball of a light green glow shifted in the environment. She wore her lavender jumper again. Her beaded bag hung across her chest, dangling at her hip. No one seemed to be able to see her whatsoever. In an instant, she glanced down at her body, seeing it go from barely solid to translucent. Like she was now a corporeal ghost.This was a memory. She could do nothing to change it. But that did not mean she had to stand by, silent. The witch gasped, choking on her breath as she rushed closer to Severus. He did not see her, of course. Hopefully, Severus in her time would see her presence — know she was there. Feel her beside him. Know that he was not alone.
Know that he never would be again.Hermione did not wish to intrude, but she had to do something — anything. She closed the distance between them, walking right through James. She crouched down. Snape’s clothes and hair stretched downward toward the ground. His eyes locked onto one person.
James.Still, she pinched her brows together and reached out to cup his cheek. As he fought against the hex, his head wiggled in and out of her transparent hand, which steadied where his cheek mostly would be. The ring he’d given her situated on the index finger — the very ring she’d asked the Snape of her time to remove.“You can’t see or hear me, Severus. I’m not sure if you remember this back in our time together. But know… You’re not alone. You were never really alone. Not anymore. I’m right beside you — even if you cannot always see me there. I’m going to chase you through time until we find each other. I promise.”Behind her the crowd erupted in cruel laughter. Hermione’s throat tightened. She stood, stepping to his side while swallowing. She wiped her slightly damp palms on her jeans.

How was this possible? What was happening? Was this a vision, or was this truly the past?
Sirius, James, and Peter howled with laughter. What came next… It severed every good opinion the witch might have ever had of Lily Evans Potter. It fractured her heart.The girl donning lovely, long dark copper hair looked furious for a moment. But — all of a sudden — her mouth twitched like she fought off a smile. Still, she demanded, “Let him down!”Tears stung Hermione’s eyes. This was the woman responsible for his defection?What more had Hermione expected?
Severus told her he’d lied to Lily about his cruel, defiled home life. Perhaps, she’d also lied to him.“Certainly,” James said, jerking his wand upward.
Severus fell in a crumpled heap on the ground. The layers of his Slytherin robes bunched awkwardly, exposing his pale, undefined stomach and chest. He tugged at them, quickly recovering only a few scraps of his dignity.People so often proved to her how easy it was to be cruel. Being truly kind required patience. An open mind. Hermione hadn’t always made the distinction. She’d been cruel in the past.But this?
This was a catastrophic failure. Lily Evans, Hogwarts staff, and his parents… All of them had failed Severus Snape. And now… So had Hermione. She’d said he was nothing to her — in the heat of the moment.
But still… Hermione resolved that never again would she fail him.Disentangling himself from his robes, the Slytherin student got quickly to his feet, wand up and ready. But Sirius said, “Petrificus Totalus!” Snape keeled over once more again, his body rigid as a board.“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now.It had taken her this long to do so? Hermione’s throat clenched, tightening so much that breathing felt impossible.
James and Sirius eyed her wand. It was James who said, “Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,”“Take the curse off him, then!”

She could have done it. Something. This entire time. ANYTHING!
James sighed. The bully regarded Severus, mourning his momentary defeat as he muttered the counter-curse. “There you go,” he said. Once more, Snape struggled to his feet again, “you’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus—”“I don’t need help from filthy little mudbloods like her!”Hermione gasped. The foul word used to have a much harder impact on her. It was offensive. Cruel. Dehumanizing. Etched into her skin — where now an ancient, dark wizard occupied within her.Of course, the witch knew what it meant — knew that their Dark Lord desired the extermination of all muggleborn witches and wizards. He’d have stripped them all of their magic — somehow.Hearing Severus Snape utter those two syllables hit her with the force of a battering ram to the heart. She swallowed, clenching her fists. Tears welled in her plain, brown eyes that no one would ever get lost in — never mourn nor miss.
The word fell away from her mind. The moment Hermione focused on Snape’s features, she fell to her knees, clasping her palm over her mouth. Exactly how he’d looked at her in the staff room was precisely how this younger version of the man now looked.

This was why he hated that word. Why he hated her saying it. This moment.

Lily blinked. “Fine,” she said coolly. “I won’t bother in future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.”
What?
The insult had come so quickly. That wasn’t something you’d just say in the heat of the moment. No. Rather, it was quite something you’d have festering and brewing in the back of your mind for a time — a pet peeve slowly growing into the most unforgivable insult. Ticking like a bomb that was ready to detonate.Too specific not to be personal. Planned. At the ready for the proper moment.Hermione’s tears thickened as they poured down her face. Shaking her head, she decided she rather hated James Potter — no matter how much he resembled the boy who she loved. Her brother. Her best friend. She no longer held any esteem for Lily Evans.
Regardless of a distinct lack of a full, clear picture from more perspectives, she decided that everyone must be wrong about the woman. When she returned to her own time, there was not a soul to whom she could confide any of this.Kind? She’d almost failed to contain her smile. She…“Apologize to Evans!” James roared, looking at Snape, his wand pointed right at him. Again.“I don’t want you to make him apologize,” Lily shouted, rounding on James. “You’re as bad as he is…”“What?” yelped James. “I’d NEVER call you a — you-know-what!”“Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can — I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.”Lily turned on her heel and hurried away. She left Severus behind — with him. Knowing precisely what would happen.“Evans!” James shouted after her. “Hey, EVANS!” But the girl didn’t look back. “What is it with her?” he ranted, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him.“Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,” Sirius said.The Slytherin boy looked as though the oxygen from his world evaporated. He looked…dead. Gone. Forgotten. Lost. Hermione frantically touched her body — well, tried to. She was still rather ghostlike. She wanted nothing more than to envelope this boy in her arms — promise him that they’d meet in the future.
Promise him she’d be a better friend to him. Try, at least. She’d devastated him, and he’d left her in the staff room. Wiping at her tears, she choked on her breath. Yes! She’d strive to be the friend he always deserved. She could give him that. She would give him that!
Hermione Granger would never need or push for more. No matter what she did or did not feel.Still. The memory persisted…“Right.” James looked furious. His features pinched and hazel eyes narrowed. “Right—”There was another flash of light. More laughter. Clapping. Celebration and merriment. Severus once more hung upside down in the air. “Who wants to see me take off Snivelly’s pants?”
The edges of existence pressed all around her. Instinctively, Hermione reached for her wand, feeling nothing. “Harry Potter!” she grumbled low under her breath. He’d had her wand before she came here. The witch stalked toward James until she stood almost nose-to-nose with him.“I swear if I ever meet you and I’m able to do so, James Potter, I will hex you into a new decade for what you’ve done,” Hermione promised. She curled her lip, glaring at the boy.Just then, the world itself flickered.
. . .
Hermione stumbled into being, the feel of the stone floor jarring her senses as her knees buckled. Her breath hitched as the world around her blurred before finally snapping back into focus. Everything felt more tangible. Solid now.The corridor stretched before her. Dark. Oppressive. Somehow, the air felt heavy — like it held secrets she wasn’t meant to uncover. Her heart thudded. Erratic. Clenching her fists she took a steadying breath.A flicker of light caught her eye. Two older students — prefects? Must not be too late, then. She did not recognize them from her own time. The witch must still be stuck in the past. They wore Ravenclaw robes. Their wands cast a faint glow. Still, they passed her without a glance.
The sight should have calmed her, but it didn’t. They didn’t see her. They didn’t stop.Her fingers scrambled for the clasp of her beaded bag, the polished surface of the stone beneath her feet grounding her just enough to focus. She pulled out the Marauder’s map, the parchment trembling as she unfurled it. Her voice cracked, frantic, as she muttered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."Lines spidered across the parchment, twisting and curving into the familiar layout of Hogwarts. Her eyes darted across the map, searching. Desperate. Three names jumped out at her: James Potter, Sirius Black, and Severus Snape. Her breath caught, her chest tightening as she tracked their movements.
The second-floor girls’ lavatory. James and Sirius’ dots danced erratically. Frantic. Severus’ dot remained close to where the sinks would be. However, he eventually went still.Hermione’s heart sank as her gut twisted. The other two dots shot out of the bathroom. Severus didn’t move. He was alone. Likely injured — if her hunch was correct. A two-on-one ‘duel’ with the Slytherin. The witch did not let the rage building in her like a drum deter her. She wanted to ensure he was all right.So she would.The witch’s hands trembled, nearly dropping the map. Her legs moved before her mind caught up, carrying her down the corridor. Her breaths came short, jagged. The map crinkled in her grip as she ran. Her feet pounded against the stone, her steps echoing like accusations.
Then it hit her.A scream—piercing, guttural, the kind that shattered something deep inside. It didn’t just echo. It consumed. The sound scraped along the walls, reverberating through her skull and tearing into her chest like jagged glass. Her breath caught, a sharp gasp that left her lungs aching. Her steps faltered. Her legs buckled beneath the weight of the cry, but she couldn’t stop.Wouldn’t. Not now.The scream clawed at her back, pushing her forward. Each step felt like dragging herself through quicksand, her pulse hammering in her ears and drowning out every rational thought. The closer she got, the louder it grew, splitting her mind into chaos and fear.Until the only thing that existed was that unrelenting, haunting sound.Without warning, the scream cut off. Dying. Severed like a thread snapped too tight. Silence roared in its place. Oppressive. Unnatural.Hermione's pulse surged, thundering in her ears. Her legs burned, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Each step slammed against the stone. Faster. Harder.
Their impact sliced through her knees — threatening to buckle. Each of her breaths came ragged, tearing through her chest like a knife as her blood ran cold. The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, a suffocating tunnel. But the witch forced herself forward, the ghost of that scream still slicing through her mind.Shoving the map back inside her bag, she skidded to a stop outside the lavatory. Her hands flew to the door handle. Cold metal bit into her palm as she twisted and shoved. The door groaned open, resisting for a split second before giving way. The hinges creaked as it swung, revealing only the darkness inside — a wet path under her shoes as water coated nearly the whole floorThe smell hit her first. Metallic. Thick. There was no light source in the bathroom, so she opened her bag, summoned the lantern that would be within it, and wordlessly commanded it to light.Hermione’s stomach twisted as the flickering light illuminated the tiles. Blood streaked the floor, pooling in dark rivers that shimmered like blackish-crimson ink.
Time stood frozen, her breath catching in her throat. Her gaze locked on the figure slumped under the broken sink. Water poured over him like a gentle, steady trickle, soaking his robes and carrying a fountain’s worth of blood. At first, she thought it came from the cut exposed on his torn trousers. It took a second longer to see that, on his left arm, half his sleeve ripped and pooled on the sopping ground beside him.
All that blood — it spewed from the long, deep, and vertical cut there.
"Severus!"The name tore from her lips, raw and desperate. She dropped to her knees, the slick tiles beneath her a mess of blood and shadow. Her hands hovered over him, trembling as she took in the gash on his arm. The wound ran deep, crimson spilling in waves. His wand lay discarded beside him, streaked with blood.Young Severus lay on the ground — unmoving and unresponsive to her attempts to appeal to any of his consciousness. With shaky hands, she found the pulse point at his throat, not feeling any sort of rhythm there. Not even a faint one.“No!” she whispered. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”
Each syllable increasingly deafened the room’s morose quiet. Hermione’s chest tightened. The witch’s breaths came in short, panicked bursts. She couldn’t think. Instinctively, she reached for her wand.
Her wand!
It wasn’t with her. Harry still had it — back in her own time. The realization sent a jolt through her, and her vision blurred as tears spilled over.
The witch leaned over, clasping the hilt of his wand in her palm. From the moment she touched it, an overwhelming sense of dread flooded her like static that clashed with her magic. She would not be able to use it.
It felt much too unstable. Unsuitable. Unsteady.By all accounts, this boy was dead. Gone.
But Hermione shook her head, unable to accept this end for someone as magnificent and special as Severus Snape. Every eighth of a second, her hands trembled. She could do nothing to quell the anguished motion.
A stubborn conviction roared to life within her — translating into pure adrenaline. She didn’t know from where it came, but the witch knew she could do it — save Severus Snape. Somehow, she would save him. She had to. Perhaps it was too late for him. Maybe this was simply a dream, and she’d wake up from it.But it felt too real — too consequential.
Swallowing, she parted her lips, her jittery fingers reaching inside her bag once more. The witch yanked bottles and vials out of it. They spilled out, clinking as they rolled across the filthy floor. The fleeting firelight from the lantern offered just enough light for her to recognize the two potions she sought. Dittany. Blood-Replenishing Potion. Her hands closed around the first bottle, shaking so violently that the liquid inside sloshed.“Severus, come back to me,” she whispered, her voice too thick and weak. The Dittany dripped over the long cut along his left arm, aging it enough for the blood seeping out to stop altogether. “Hear my voice, Severus. Do you hear me? I'm right here. I’m not going to let you die. You live, you hear me?”Snape’s lifeless body did not move. She pinched her brows, steadying herself with a succession of slow, deep breaths. Carefully, Hermione positioned his head back. Her hands moved with practiced precision — one atop the other, fingers interlocked as she pressed firmly against his sternum. Two inches deep. She repeated the motion thirty times. The rhythmic push of her palms was met with resistance. As she worked, she heard some of his ribs crack.
With this set of compressions complete, the witch pinched Severus’ nose shut and leaned down. Her breath caught — only for a moment as she felt the fragility of Snape’s life resting beneath her. She parted his lips just enough so she could slip her mouth over his and blow two puffs of her breath into him. One deep breath. Then another. She watched the faint rise of his chest. After the second breath, his limp, still body twitched with life. His chest rose and fell on its own accord."Severus!" Her voice cracked as she grasped his shoulders, shaking him gently.
The Slytherin’s head lolled to the side, his hair matted against his pale, sweat-slicked face. His lips parted some more, but no sound came. His fingers twitched faintly, curling against the tile in a feeble attempt at movement.Too fast. Too soon. Only a second ago, he’d been a boy without a pulse. Yet, it took only one set to resuscitate him?Hermione did not have the time to explore the trail of thought further. She had to administer the Blood-Replenishing Potion. She eased his head to rest in her lap and uncorked the bottle. The witch smoothed hair away from his face, her eyes bouncing to assess his every feature. She lined the first potion up with his lips.A faint sound drew her gaze, making her freeze. His chest rose and fell in uneven, shallow movements. His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. His lips moved, forming broken words."You’re...not Lil…y..."Her breath hitched, a sob tearing free as her tears blurred her vision. He was alive. When she exhaled, the witch smiled down at him. “Of course, I’m not Lily. But I am your friend. Please don’t speak. Just take this, Severus.” Her voice cracked, her words tumbling over one another as she leaned closer.“Dea…th, pea…ce, fin…ally,” he slowly mumbled — almost incoherently.Hermione rolled her eyes, unable to wipe at her tears with her blood-stained hands. “You’re not dying, Severus.”A sound she could only guess was supposed to be a hateful laugh rumbled at his throat. “Didn’t…do…t-this…right, then.”“Hate me for this later, I don’t care. You’ll be alive to despise me, at least.”“Plea…se, Death. Ta…ke me. Please.”Tears stung her eyes. He wanted — so desperately — to die right now. Denying him felt cruel. Especially given all that would come. But she wouldn’t give up on this man – just a boy in her arms right now.Swallowing, the witch muttered, “Call me whatever you wish, but you’re not going to die, Severus. Drink.”
She eased the bottle up to his mouth. Some of the potion dribbled down his chin, staining his collar in dark streaks. He swallowed faintly, his throat working with effort. A faint cough rattled through him, his chest shuddering with the movement. Unstopping the second potion, she repeated the efforts two more times.
“We’re together now. You’ll be okay.”“I’m…rea…dy…to die. Take…it…my p…ain,” Severus muttered.Hermione cupped his cheek, leaning down to brush her lips on his face: his forehead, both eyelids, the tip and bridge of his large, long nose, and his cheeks. A sad laugh tickled her throat. Her tears splashed on his cheeks. His face squeezed, convulsing as if the pain were too much for a single person to bear. She pinched her brows together and swallowed, hoping to provide him nothing if not some meaningless comfort.“We find each other. In the future. I wish I could spare you from what’s to come. But I can’t. All I can do is ask this: Please hold on. For me. To Lily, I mean.”“Li…ly?”“Yes. Hold onto…to her. She saves you, you know? And your love saves us all. It’s cruel, but it’s what happens. It’s what has to happen. I’m so sorry...”“Lo…ve…”“Yes, Severus. Love. You love her. She saves you — from him,” she whispered. Voldemort flashed in her mind.Hermione’s throat tightened, and she choked on her next breath. Deep in her chest, a white-hot burning spread over her like a wildfire soaked in petrol. Shaking her head, she sniffled, stroking the side of his face with her hand.
“There will come a day when all seems to be lost. But know this: You are never alone. I’m right beside you, Severus. Every step of the way… There is no place where you go that I will not follow. Every mistake. Every choice. Every pain — I am there. I share it with you. It can all be ours if you want it to be. Okay?”“Tha…nk you, D-D…eath.”“There is no world without you, Severus Snape. You are my dearest friend, Severus, and I love you. I don’t know if that will ever mean much to you, but it’s true all the same.”
Clearing her throat, the witch brushed her fingers along the thin line of his bottom lip, sparks tickling her skin there. Pain and peace coalesced together, rooting her to this wizard like tendrils that stretched across time itself.
Platonic love, of course, was what she meant.
The gravity he offered her could never be anything more. She’d explored the depths of love with Harry. With Ron. Her best friends. Hermione, despite all the secrets, knew Severus was among those few she loved most.
How she felt did not matter. Not when she could have lost this man before ever having even known him. Met him. Cherished him. The longer she stared down at him, the more any of the unwavering pain and sharpened agony eased at her gut.
Until only that strange, bittersweet peace remained. Severus Snape loved Lily Evans. She was — had always been and always would be — his strength.That was okay. It was. It would be.Swallowing, she sighed. “They already misunderstand us, but they don’t matter. Only you living matters. You belong with us — the living. Promise me, Severus. You won’t try this again. I could not bear it if I did not reach you in time…”The boy moved — the motion appearing as though he nodded.“No. That’s not good enough...” She shook her head. “Give me your word, Severus. Promise me.”“I pr-pro…mise.”“Thank you.” Hermione smiled. “Rest, now.”Severus’ head sagged back against her, leaving the witch to the solitude of the lavatory. Footsteps — several pairs — pounded in the surrounding corridors outside. Help was coming.
For the moment, he was safe.
Hermione pinched her brows together and eased his head from her lap. She took a moment to grab the remaining potions littering the wet stone floor, carefully dropping them back inside the bag. She’d reorganize everything later on.The young boy before her dazzled her. She committed each detail of him to memory, her gaze dancing over him with a warmth and peace she hadn’t ever known — at least, not that she remembered. She smoothed a hand over his long, wet black hair. Hermione smiled again, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.Against his cool skin, she whispered, “Severus Snape, you are the most beautiful man I know.”With a slow blink, the world ripped apart around her.
. . .
Hermione’s knuckles brushed the door frame as she halted before it, her breathing uneven from her rushed descent. A faint smear of ash clung to the sleeve of her lavender jumper, a reminder of her hurried flight through the Floo Network and her refusal to let even seconds go to waste. Her wand rested heavily in her grip, warm and familiar after she’d snatched it back from Harry, who she'd stunned to buy time — a bold, desperate act she would reckon with later. Remus, thankfully, did not follow her.For now, all that mattered was one single person. She had to see Severus.She knocked. The sharp sound barely echoed before it was swallowed by the oppressive stillness of the professor's private den. Her pulse hammered in her ears as she waited, counting each breath. Nothing stirred. She tightened her hold on her wand and, with a whispered charm, unlocked the door.The room beyond was a wreckage of fury and despair. Books lay torn from their shelves, their spines bent at unnatural angles. Broken glass crunched beneath her boots. Feathers from obliterated pillows floated lazily in the air, ghostlike remnants of an invisible storm. Only the bed remained untouched — a solitary, defiant island amidst the chaos.Severus sat against it, one leg drawn up with his arm draped across the knee, the other stretched out before him. His head hung low, dark strands of hair shielding his face, but the glint of tears on his cheeks betrayed him. He seemed carved from stone, unmoving, as though he had anchored himself to the ruins around him. The sight stole the breath from her lungs.Her boots scraped softly against the floor as she stepped inside. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, her features contorting with restrained emotion. The door closed behind her with a faint click. When he finally noticed her presence, Severus drew in a sharp breath and wiped at his face with a furious swipe of his hand, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.She approached him slowly, her steps measured, hesitant. He didn’t look at her—not fully. His eyes, dark and distant, skittered over her as if afraid to meet her gaze. Hermione lowered herself onto the floor, her knees brushing scattered parchment. She left a careful distance between them, enough space to offer him an unspoken choice. But Severus reached across the gap, his hand a firm weight on her far hip. With a gentle but insistent tug, he pulled her closer until their thighs pressed together.The contact stole a quiet gasp from her lips. Her breath hitched as his nose brushed hers, his hair trailing against her throat. Her pulse quickened, echoing in the stillness of the room. His hand fell away, retreating, though the warmth of his touch lingered.“Never mind the mess, Hermione,” he murmured. His voice, low and hoarse, wove through the tension like a thread pulling them taut.“It’s hard to,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She shifted, folding her legs beneath her and unintentionally resting her knee against his thigh. He tensed, the smallest flinch betraying him. “I don’t know how to begin to apologize, Severus.”For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze pinned her in place, unguarded and piercing. “You saved me, Hermione. You were there with me. I always thought you were Death herself — a mere figment of my deluded imagination. I couldn’t see you then — I was too delirious from the blood loss. But now?”She shook her head, determined not to let him deflect. “You are everything to me, Severus. It’s happening so fast, but… I’m sorry I said what I did. You know I didn’t mean it, but I don’t think there’s any apology that can undo what I said.”His eyes lingered on her, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen before. Slowly, he leaned back against the mattress, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling. Silence stretched between them, heavy and fragile. Then, without a word, he reached for her, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to her forehead. His lips, chapped and warm, lingered for a moment before pulling away.“Hermione, please don’t apologize. Don’t cry. Never for me.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, catching the tears she hadn’t realized had fallen. “I’ve forgiven you already. Once again, I find myself most unable to contain my thoughts with you… You bore witness to two of my greatest humiliations. I’d resolved to hate you. I should hate you, but I find myself most unwilling to do so.”The image of Lily poorly containing a smile at Severus’ humiliation flashed through Hermione’s mind. Her lips pressed into a tight line, her hand curling into a fist on her lap. Heat crept up her neck, her jaw tightening as her teeth clenched together.The witch forced her gaze downward, her lashes trembling as if to shield the storm behind her eyes. After a long moment, she exhaled sharply through her nose and smoothed her palms over her robes. Whatever churned inside her, she buried it deep, locking it away where it could not surface. She would never dare besmirch Lily or her memory in front of this man.Instead, she cleared her throat and offered Severus a small, sad smile. Her hand found his leg, and she squeezed gently. He shifted under her touch, a faint grimace crossing his features. She began to withdraw, her fingers hesitating in the air. His hand shot out, catching hers before it could slip away. Gently but firmly, he guided it back, anchoring her touch to him once more.“This probably makes me a horrible friend,” she began hesitantly.A corner of his mouth lifted in a fleeting smirk. “Hermione, you will never be a bad friend.”She threaded her fingers through his, her touch hesitant but firm. He didn’t pull away. “Well, wait until you hear it. It’s rather awful, but I don’t feel the least bit sorry for it.”“Careful,” he murmured, his voice laced with a quiet humor. “Lupin and Potter may start to believe I’m influencing you.”She shook her head, biting back a nervous smile. “Perhaps you are, but I still feel this way regardless.”“Let’s hear it, then…”“Should you ever need some private company in hating James Potter, count me in. Just…don’t tell Harry. Let’s keep it between us. Okay?”“Keeping more secrets, are we?” Exhaustion clung to his voice, but his lips twitched with a faint amusement. After a moment, his expression sobered, a frown pulling at his features. “I suppose I ought to rage about now—given you’re probing my past the way you’ve just done. You’ve seen what I’ve always considered to be my worst memory.”Her brows pinched together, and she opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “You are the only one I wish to know me, Hermione. The only one worthy of such a feat. I’m done fighting this — being your friend. I accept it — you.”The room fell silent again — except for the faint rustle of torn and crinkled parchment shifting beneath them. Hermione’s lips curved upward, a small, tender smile lighting her face. The expression drew a faint smirk from Severus, the corners of his mouth lifting as if against his will.“Last night…or this morning—” Hermione began, her voice trailing off, teasing yet hesitant.Severus released a quiet sigh, tilting his head just slightly. “I’d like to propose something.”Twisting to face him more fully, Hermione leaned the side of her head against the edge of the mattress. Her body shifted fluidly, her arms curling protectively around her knees. “Tell me.”His hand lifted, brushing away a stray feather caught in her hair. The gesture lingered, his fingers grazing the length of her curl before dropping just below her small breast. The witch fidgeted, hoping it hid her shiver well enough. “Sleep here. With me. Each night.”Her breath caught, though her expression remained neutral, her lips parted in muted surprise.Severus’ gaze did not falter. “The things I see in my sleep — you take them all away. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to ask, but I need my mind sharp for what’s to come. I need the peace and quiet your presence beside me provides. Would you do that? For me?”Hermione’s thumb traced the back of her hand absently. Her gaze darted to his face, studying the faint lines of tension across his brow. “Actually, I was going to suggest the same thing. At the rate I take my Dreamless Sleep, I’ll be addicted to it well before Christmas.”A beat of silence passed before Snape responded, his expression unreadable. “You won’t get addicted — at least, not with my brew.” It felt like a deliberate thing for him to say — almost like a way out for her…should she truly not wish to sleep beside him each night.Her eyes narrowed slightly, an unspoken curiosity lighting them. She swept her thumb lightly across the back of his hand. “And what is different about your brew, I wonder?”For a moment, a fleeting sheepishness crossed his face. The slight tug of his lips, barely perceptible, was almost boyish. “I’ll incorporate the general techniques and alterations to avoid addictive side-effects in my plans for your apprenticeship. If you wish, of course.”“The Half-Blood Prince himself teaching me about the secrets of Potions. How could I refuse?” she mused, a playful tilt to her voice. Her gaze softened as she added, “Besides, anything is better than grading papers you always reject and regrade. You know, you don’t regrade even a third as much of Malfoy’s piles. Do you know how impossible you are?”“Nobody should know that better than you, Hermione,” he replied, his voice deep and velvety. It made her squeeze her legs together a bit tighter. “Rather than grading my classes’ assignments for their technical points, you ought to broaden your mind — seek out holes in arguments, look for alternatives to the theories my students regurgitate. And Draco…I taught him early on how I grade — his father’s request, of course. I couldn’t refuse. Albus wished for me to keep a closer watch on his father.”Hermione’s gaze swept the room, taking in the scattered remnants of his earlier anguish. “Everyone and their cheating in Potions…”“An advantage isn’t necessarily cheating,” Severus replied smoothly. For added emphasis, he lifted his brow in challenge. She swore he leaned in slightly closer to her — but that was impossible.Her eyes rolled in exaggerated exasperation. “Such a Slytherin thing to say…”Severus’ smirk returned, this time accompanied by a gentle bump of his shoulder against hers. “You manage to keep up. It’s always been rather infuriating, really. Your persistence… You’re remarkable, Hermione. For far more than you give yourself credit.”Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. She blinked rapidly, narrowing her eyes at him and pinching her brows as if trying to decipher his words. “Did…Did you actually just say that?”“Oh, come now. You did save my life, Hermione,” Severus replied, his gaze unwavering. “Perhaps it’s time I ease up on you a bit — especially when we’re alone…”The final word lingered in the air, leaving Hermione to shift uneasily. A faint flush crept along her cheeks as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “People might misunderstand us…if word got around that we share a bed. It happens all the time — with me and Harry. We’ll scream into a void that we’re simply friends until we’re blue in the face, but no one ever truly listens…”Severus’ cheek rested lightly against the top of her head. His voice, low and certain, broke the quiet. “Let them. We’ll know the truth. Nobody is firing me for unsubstantiated rumors born from the mouths of the ignorant. Besides, you’re more than of-age. And that you still attend Hogwarts is more of a formality than anything.”Her fingers curled against her knee. “Are you sure, Severus? I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you.”“You’re never any trouble, Hermione. But don’t expect any favor in class. Friends or not, you’ll find I’m quite adept at compartmentalizing things.”A small, amused smile tugged at her lips. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” The silence returned, though it carried an unfamiliar comfort. Finally, Hermione broke it. “Ought we start Occlumency lessons tonight?”Severus shifted slightly, leaning back against the bed frame. “We keep delaying your lessons and training, but I am far too drained for all that. We’ll begin tomorrow — once I’m better rested and you’re properly recovered from journeying through my past.”Hermione nodded, a slow and thoughtful motion. “Sounds good…” Her brow furrowed suddenly. “Wait. You said lessons and training…. What training?”A deep sigh escaped Severus, his hand brushing over his face. “It’s part of Malfoy’s vow to me. You’re going to duel with him. He’s going to help you grow more confident on a broom, too. In return, you’ll show him and his mother how to conjure a patronus — though, personally, I doubt either of them will ever achieve it.”The witch tightened her hand in his. “It’s really all happening, isn’t it? Bellatrix is out there. You Know Who may return. And who even knows who occupies my mind…”“Potter had seven years to prepare to face the Dark Lord. You’ll have no such luxury. If we’re lucky, I’d wager you have months at most.”Hermione chuckled softly, shaking her head as she rolled her eyes — willing the tears away. Clearing her throat, she said, “Severus, I’m terrified.”Severus pinched his brows, his glossy eyes dancing all over her face. He readjusted his grip in her hand. “If anyone can do this, it’s you. And as I’ve said already, I’ll not let you do this alone. You have me until the end, Hermione.”The weight of his words settled over her, and she stared at him, wide-eyed. She lifted her free hand and brushed some hair back that fell in front of his eyes. “How or when will you know I am ready? My training, I mean…”His hand lifted, cupping her cheek with deliberate care. His thumb now grazed the high bone, lingering before falling. “When you can face me properly in a duel,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with dread. “That — and when you can hold the Cruciatus curse on me for at least fifteen seconds. I’ve found that’s the best measure of time to be able to properly—”“No!” Hermione’s voice rose, though it remained hushed. Tears welled in her eyes, her head shaking firmly. “The thought of casting it alone is unthinkable! But to — No! I will never hurt you like that. You can’t ask me to do that!”Severus’ lips twitched, the faintest hint of pain darkening his expression. “You must, Hermione. You don’t know Bellatrix — haven’t seen her like I have. She left you with only a scar. Nightmares. Her other victims? They lost their minds, their will, their limbs, and far, far worse.”Hermione’s voice broke. “Severus, I won’t—”He pulled her close, silencing her with the press of his lips to her forehead. A quick succession of several brief kisses followed before he leaned his head against hers. “Hermione, I’m not so proud to admit that I alone am not enough to protect you. There may come a time when we’ll have to part ways — however briefly. Draco will do what he must to keep you safe, but the others in the Order? They’ll die for you sooner than utter the charms necessary to live out their usefulness. I need to know that you’re prepared to save yourself using any means necessary.”Her tears fell freely, and his hands cupped her face. His thumbs brushed them away. Snape’s eyes closed, his brows pinched together as he whispered, “Say that you trust me, Hermione. Please…”“I-I trust you, Severus,” she stammered, her voice trembling.He nodded, his lips pressing briefly to the tip of her nose. “We’re in this together, you said. I won’t again act on your behalf — at least not for big decisions. It’s you and me in all of this. Telling Albus deeply hurt you. I haven’t slept well the last few weeks. I thought… No. We’ll get to all that starting tomorrow. Tonight, we rest. It is quite possibly the most important thing we can do right now…”Hermione nodded again, her movements subdued but resolute.“Did you have dinner?” he asked. When she shook her head, he sighed, leaning away. “I’ll have it delivered here, then. Do what you must to get ready for bed. Meet me here in — how long do you require? Is an hour too soon?”“An hour?” Hermione repeated with an amused quirk of her brow. “Severus, you severely overestimate my so-called beauty routine.” A crooked smirk tugged at her lips. “Give me no longer than twenty minutes. I could use a decent soak about now…”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day 41

Sunday, October 11, 1998

. . .
Severus
. . .
“Promise me you won’t stop. Not unless I truly can’t go on,” she said, her tone unyielding. Her gaze locked with his, unwavering, her brows knitting together with a force of will that almost made him falter. Despite the confidence punctuating her words and posture, she gripped the arms of the chair she occupied.Severus stood motionless, his dark eyes narrowing as he searched her face. He didn’t speak immediately, but when he did, his voice was clipped. “As you wish.” He didn’t break her gaze. Instead, his wand moved with precision, the tip hovering just above his temple as he drew out a gossamer thread of silvery memory. The light from the strand caught the hollows of his face, throwing sharp shadows across his features as he turned toward the Pensieve.The device hovered nearby, its swirling contents reflecting the dim light of the room. He placed the strand within it, watching as it was absorbed into the swirling silver surface. A flicker of unease crossed his face before he masked it once more.Minerva had protested lending them the Pensieve, her lips pressed into a thin line as she demanded an explanation. It had fallen to Lupin and Potter to placate her, Severus’ patience already worn thin by the endless briefings required for every new ally in their ever-expanding fold. Time was slipping through their fingers like sand, and they could scarcely afford such interruptions.Hours passed in silence so heavy it seemed to press against their lungs. The air between them crackled with the faint residue of magic, an invisible tether tying them together. Hermione’s strategy was relentless, her thoughts tumbling over one another like storm-tossed waves. Fragments of memories, jumbled thoughts, books, theories, and half-formed ideas surged forward, a chaotic barrage designed to distract and disorient. It was brilliant — but it wasn’t Occlumency. It was a smokescreen, a delay of the inevitable.Severus’ lips pressed into a thin line as he pressed forward, his mind cutting through the chaos like a blade. The flood of disorganized memories subsided, laying her mental defenses bare before him. His presence moved through her thoughts with surgical precision, unfolding each layer until he reached the core of her mind. However, he ripped himself from her mind before he dared venture forth.The physical toll on her was evident. Hermione’s body trembled, her arms shaking under the strain as she clutched the chair's armrests for support. Beads of sweat rolled down her temples, tracing their way along her jawline and disappearing into the fabric of her camisole, now plastered and damp against her skin.Hermione's chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven breaths. Her chin dipped low before she forced herself upright again. The witch would not last much longer. Not when she'd expended too much energy in her many attempts to divert him in her mind.“Severus,” she murmured, her voice barely audible but weighted with determination.His head snapped toward her, his dark eyes narrowing. Revulsion coiled in his stomach, a sharp pang of self-loathing as he took in the sight of her. She was reduced to a quivering, sweat-soaked shadow of herself, her strength wrung out by his hand. But it wasn’t her resolve that sickened him — it was his own role in this. He had done this to her.“Again.”
The single word, though hoarse, carried an unyielding edge that cut through his guilt like a knife. His jaw tightened, the muscle in his cheek jumping as he fought against the urge to stop. To tell her it was enough. But the look in her eyes — blazing with defiance and something deeper, something raw — stayed his hand. She would not forgive mercy.His wand lifted, the tip steady despite the turmoil roiling within him. The word escaped his lips like a curse. “Legilimens.”The world around him shifted, and suddenly, he was standing in the Forest of Dean. Snow blanketed the ground in a pristine layer, muffling the sound of his footsteps. The trees loomed tall and sparse, their skeletal branches reaching skyward like supplicants. A river burbled faintly in the distance, its sound haunting in the otherwise profound silence. The air carried whispers, faint and fleeting, like voices just out of reach.Hermione stood before him, her form more solid here, though her face betrayed the weariness she felt. Her eyes darted toward the edges of the campsite, where the faint hum of protective wards lingered. She rubbed her elbow absentmindedly, her other hand brushing a stray curl behind her ear.“Hermione, we’re in the center of your mind. It’s far too open,” Severus said, his voice low and steady.Her fingers tightened on her arm, her brows furrowing as she glanced toward the wards. “The wards are up, at least...” she said, her voice trailing off.He stepped closer, his boots crunching softly in the snow. “A start, but nothing I could not handle if I desired to harm you. There are no walls — nothing to contain threats.”She bit her lip, her teeth pressing into the soft flesh until it turned white. “Why here, then? Why can’t I reimagine all of this to, say, Hogwarts Castle at will?”“For starters, I linger here. To do so would require you to gain control of my intrusion. More importantly, your mind’s core reflects your spirit,” he said, his tone tinged with something almost imperceptible: regret. “Occluding requires you to control your emotions. That yours is the Forest of Dean suggests you feel detached. Something you need — it’s missing.”Her shoulders sagged slightly, her arms folding over her chest as if to shield herself from the truth of his words. She swayed on her feet, the snow shifting beneath her as the memories around them whispered louder, beckoning. Familiar voices called out, fragments of conversations lingering in the air. Weasley. Potter. Minerva. Longbottom. Lovegood.
Each was a trail waiting to be chased, but Severus rooted himself beside her. This mind was not Potter’s. Nor his enemy’s. He had no point to prove, no superiority to exact, and no desire to exploit such a sacred place.Hermione’s lips pressed together, her gaze distant. “I wouldn’t doubt if it was Ronald. Feel however you will about him, but I miss him. He can be a prat, but he’s my friend. He’s grieving, and he’s alone.”Severus’ expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. “I do not wish to speak of Weasley, Hermione.”The witch nodded, brushing her hair behind her ears again. The movement was quick. Nervous. Beguiling. The air between them grew heavy once more, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down like a physical force.Severus’ shadow stretched long against the snow as he stepped forward. “We’ve made sufficient progress for tonight,” he said, his tone firm.“No,” she breathed, her hand darting out to brush against his wrist. The contact froze him in place, the connection between them pulsing unfamiliar, welcome warmth.
When her eyes met his — wide and unguarded, the professor saw her laid bare. The air between them thrummed with shared despair, an invisible thread tying them together. And still, she refused to let go.The forest seemed alive with tension, its canopy whispering secrets that neither could ignore. Hermione’s hand crept into his, her grip trembling, knuckles brushing his as though testing if he were truly there. Snape’s fingers curled around hers, the cool firmness of his grasp belying the slight tremor that betrayed his calm exterior. His dark eyes darted toward the shadows beyond the trees, narrowing as his jaw tensed.A hiss wound its way through the oppressive stillness, a sound too deliberate to be mistaken for mere wind. It lingered in the air, each sibilant note dragging like a blade against the older wizard’s nerves. Snape’s voice cut through the unease, though it carried a faint edge. “What’s he saying?”Hermione tilted her head, the motion small. Hesitant — as if even acknowledging the sound gave it strength. A thick, coiled, and slightly frizzy curl brushed his shoulder as the wind strengthened. For a moment, she seemed to draw steadiness from the contact.
When she spoke, her voice was faint, a whisper caught between defiance and weariness. “He says that I am unwelcome...” Her breath hitched, a small, audible break in her composure. However, she kept her gaze fixed ahead.Severus stepped forward, his shoulder partially obscuring her from the entity lingering around them. His lips pressed into a hard line. The sneer that followed was subtle, pulling at the corner of his mouth like a reflex. The professor aimed his disdain at the unseen threat.
“May I suggest you remind him within whose mind he dwells?” He leaned slightly forward, his tone slicing through the tension with icy precision. “You must keep him at bay, Hermione.”The witch’s hand flew up, colliding with his chest in a movement that felt reflexive rather than hostile. Her palm lingered for a fraction of a second before dropping back, her frustration plain in the furrow of her brow and the way her lips tightened.
“I know that, Severus,” she snapped, her voice strained and carrying a raw edge that unnerved him. She stayed rooted in place, her shoulders squaring against some unseen weight pressing on her. “He’s never felt so close. I can’t stop. Not yet. I still know nothing about him.”Those words gripped him, hanging between them. Snape’s breath hitched. A memory surged forward unbidden — her crumpled form in his classroom, drained of every ounce of her energy save for the faint rise and fall of her chest. His throat tightened. Unconsciously, his fingers moved, capturing hers again in a grip that spoke of silent resolve.“Hermione, you’re at your end. Outside here, you can barely string a coherent sentence together. I’m afraid—”A single step forward toward him cut him off. The witch trembled. Her fingers brushed the edge of his cloak, catching slightly before releasing. The touch was fleeting. Insistent.
“Just a few more minutes. Please?” Her voice cracked, the plea almost breaking apart as her eyes met his. “What if you leave, and something happens?”Snape’s chest tightened, his breath drawing in slow and measured as he weighed her words. Quite without his permission, his hand rose to her cheek. The tentative, needy touch suggested she might dissolve under his fingers. The chill of a cursed winter chilled her smooth, unblemished skin, and her jaw set at his touch.
In the past, any attempt he’d made to touch Lily had always been met with the awkwardness of youth and the uncertainty of intention. She probably always suspected Severus’ clearly unwanted feelings — sentiments and a devotion that now felt so hollow compared to everything he saw so plainly in Hermione’s painfully expressive face.
He could feel the faint quiver beneath her compromised composure. He could see the flush color her skin — its hue a maddeningly faint dusty rose. And yes. He could even make out a youthful awkwardness and endearing uncertainty. However, a bold mix of wanting and hunger that mirrored his own pooled in her eyes.So he leaned in. His lips brushed her forehead in a gesture so tender and brief it might have gone unnoticed. It was all he could do — all he could give to her.
The witch’s breath caught. Her body stiffened as though bracing for something. There was conflict in her eyes — so clear to him that he ached to push just a little further whilst inside her mind to know it. Discover it. Yet, she didn’t pull away. She never did. His thumb moved. Almost of its own accord. It traced the curve of her high cheekbone in a motion as equally fleeting.When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of unspoken truths. “You know I cannot linger here for much longer.” His gaze lingered on hers, searching for something beneath the shadows that had taken root in her eyes. “I know what this strain will do to you. I have seen the Dark Lord fracture the wills of his victims.”Slowly, her hand moved. It slipped from his cloak to rest lightly against his waist. Her fingers hesitated, pressing gently into the thick fabric of his frock coat — as if testing the boundary between them. Pinching her brows together, she bit her lip as she brushed a thick section of his black hair from his face. When his soft, dark gaze tangled with hers again without barriers between them, she visibly relaxed. Her small smile melted something frozen deep within him.
“Tell me what I’m missing, Severus,” she whispered, her voice soft but trembling with something too raw to name. “There must be something more we can do while you’re here. Right?”Her words struck him like a blow, unraveling the composure he clung to. His throat worked against the sudden tightness there, his breath faltering before he could speak. “I won’t do it — not without your explicit consent,” he muttered, the roughness in his voice betraying him. “I will never harm you, Hermione. But there are risks — always risks.”“Do it, Severus,” Hermione said without hesitation, her voice soft. Those brown eyes searched his black gaze, ensnaring him in their assurance and vulnerability. “I trust you,” she whispered with a conviction so solid he choked on his own breath.
Severus nodded slowly. His expression shifted. Regret and determination warred across his face. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling, close and unguarded. His hand slipped to her back, his fingers pressing lightly against the curve there as though anchoring her to him.“Is there no possibility of me convincing you otherwise?” he whispered, the question brittle and laced with desperation. Her nose brushed his, a barely-there touch that sent a bolt of need through him.
“No,” she whispered, her breath shuddering against his lips.The professor nodded, clearing his throat and withdrawing from her — just slightly. “Picture all the memories and thoughts you’d prefer I never know. Ensure they are as solid here as you and I,” Severus said, his voice low and steady, though the faintest tremor betrayed him.“Okay,” she whispered. Hermione closed her eyes briefly. Her breath shuddered, her chest rising and falling unevenly before her gaze met his again, heavier now. “What next?”His throat tightened as he stared at her, the words catching before they emerged. “Where may I find them?” His voice was soft, but the weight behind it was unrelenting.“Severus—”
The witch’s voice cracked, the three syllables of his name on her enticing lips raw and broken. Her gaze darted to the northwest. The tent loomed faintly in the distance of the small campsite. When he stepped toward it, her body shifted sharply. Leaning back, she used her whole body weight to hold him in place. Her trainers crunched the snow as he began dragging her toward the flimsy dwelling.“You can’t, Severus.” With a forceful grip, she clutched his cloak with a force that betrayed her fear. “You won’t like what you’ll find!”Snape turned abruptly. She gasped, somewhat stumbling over herself. He caught her, steadying her before moving his hands to her face — cupping it with a deliberate gentleness that belied the storm raging behind his dark eyes. Her wild curls framed her face, tangling around his fingers as her eyes shone with unshed tears. Her breath hitched, and her lips trembled as she met his glare.
“Unless you successfully Occlude — to keep me out of that tent, Hermione, I will have unfettered access to your every memory and thought.”“I know!” she cried, her voice breaking as tears spilled freely. “But I don’t know how to do that yet, Severus! There must be a way — a technique, something I can learn!”The growl rumbled low in Severus’s chest, raw and guttural, as he wrenched his arm free of her grasp. The sound seemed to ripple through the air, sharp and charged, as if it alone could stop her. Hermione staggered back, her feet scrambling against the forest floor, snow-covered leaves and twigs crunching beneath her frantic steps. She stumbled, her back striking the rough bark of a tree with a muted thud that left her gasping, her chest heaving as if the wind had been knocked out of her.Severus closed the space between them in an instant, his movements deliberate and predatory. His breath came in shallow bursts, his dark eyes locked on hers, the storm within them raging unchecked. He braced his weight against her, his body a wall pinning her in place. One hand shot up, capturing both of her wrists and pressing them firmly against the tree trunk above her head. His other hand hovered for a moment before settling gently, almost reverently, at the curve of her throat. The pads of his fingers rested just above her pulse, feeling the rapid, frantic beat that betrayed her resolve.Hermione’s eyes burned with defiance, her gaze fixed on his with a fire that refused to be extinguished. She squirmed against him, her body twisting as she tried to shift his hold, but her movements only seemed to draw them closer, the space between them evaporating. Her breaths came fast and shallow, her lips parting slightly as she gasped against the pressure of his presence.Severus groaned, the sound escaping unbidden, rough and broken. The heat of her body seeped through the fabric of his robes, her form pressed so completely against him that he could feel every tremor, every shiver that rippled through her. Gooseflesh spread across his skin, an electric current sparking beneath the surface, stealing the breath from his lungs. She was intoxicating. Overwhelming. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to feel it.But then reality surged back, a cold tide extinguishing the fire that threatened to consume him. He released her wrists slowly, his grip loosening with deliberate care, his hand sliding down until her arms fell free. He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the thick silence that surrounded them, and took a half step back, though his body still hovered close enough that her presence filled every inch of his awareness.
Severus would save her. He would make every sacrifice — give her everything she needed so she was ready — to ensure it. Always.
Hermione’s arms dropped to her sides, her fingers twitching as though unsure whether to reach for him or push him away. Her breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the flush on her cheeks deepening as she stared up at him, her expression a chaotic mix of defiance, confusion, and something unspoken.Severus’ hand lingered at her throat for a fraction longer — as if reluctant to dismiss their physical contact. His thumb brushed the hollow there in a fleeting, almost subconscious motion. Then he let it fall away, his fingers clenching briefly at his side. His voice, when it came, was low and measured, but there was an edge to it, a tremor that betrayed the depths of his resolve.“Occlumency, Hermione,” he began, each syllable weighted with meaning, “is not something you can acquire through study alone." Her lips parted, a response forming, but he spoke again before she could interject, his voice softening, though the intensity in his gaze did not waver. "It is not a potion recipe or a spell to memorize. It is an art — rooted in instinct and refined through relentless practice.”“I know that—”Shaking his head slowly, Severus’ dark eyes searched hers. His hands, pale and precise, cupped her face. The roughened edges of his practiced fingers brushed against her skin. Her breath stilled, caught between his palms. Her chest rose with the tension that hung heavy in the space between them. A faint blush spread across her cheeks again, warming the cold nipping at his bare hands.Touching her felt as necessary as breathing. It toppled every single shield Snape erected. Nothing could satisfy the ravenous need swirling beneath his mostly neutral expression. He would either touch her in such a way — or he would snog her senseless. One of those options resulted in disastrous consequences.
Severus swallowed. He had to contain himself — beat himself into a bitter submission. Despite her effect on him now, he was, indeed, not a randy schoolboy.“I want you to let go of everything you know about learning magic — just for a moment. Just listen to me, all right?” His voice was quiet but firm, each word deliberate. The sharp edge of his tone softened just enough to draw her closer without relinquishing control.Her lips parted as if to speak, but the words faltered before they could take shape. Instead, she nodded, her movements slow and weighted. Mint and winter lingered in the air, brushing his skin with a warmth he did not dare acknowledge.“Unsupported flight,” he began. “Very, very few possess the talent to properly conceptualize it. Even fewer have the control required to attempt it. The Dark Lord aside, only two wizards in our time have ever achieved it: myself and Quirinus Quirrell.”Her brows furrowed at the name, a flicker of distaste crossing her face. Her fingers moved instinctively, clutching the fabric of his frock coat near his stomach. The pressure was faint, but it was a tether he struggled to ignore. His pulse quickened, but he forced his expression to remain composed, his breathing steady despite the unease stirring within.“Though,” he continued, his voice dropping into a softer derision, “I doubt he’d ever have accomplished such a feat without being possessed.”The corner of her mouth tightened. Her hand drifted lower, brushing against his left forearm. Her thumb paused over his Dark Mark, though all he could think about was the scar that foul brand hid — his only attempt at self-slaughter. It was proof — tangible and solid evidence — that everything she’d said to him was real. True.
Severus Snape had never been alone — not for a single second of his miserable life. His mind wandered. What other moments of his past had they shared? The gentle touch lingered. Beneath her hand, the scar pulsed with a memory that they couldn't ignore. Yet neither made any effort to speak it into existence.
“You are my dearest friend, Severus, and I love you.”

Her voice echoed in his mind, the words unyielding in their simplicity. He had replayed them countless times, each repetition leaving an indelible mark he refused to acknowledge. They had stilled the chaos within him then. Now, they lingered like an unanswered question.‘Dearest,’ she’d told him. Not dear. The implication of that distinction made it hard for him to steady his gaze — now softer than it had likely ever been — in hers. In the span of a single second, a lifetime of moments stolen from a future he would not indulge hit him like a battering ram pulverizing his chest.
Smiles. Kisses. Words. Sentiments.All of it aimed squarely at Severus until it was all he could do but feel the weight of everything at once within him. That she would never know any of it dissolved his already fraying control. Each of his features twitched despite himself. The walls of his throat squeezed until breathing was simply an impossible feat.Hermione’s inquisitive and exploratory gaze softened, the line of her shoulders easing as her lips parted once more. Yet, no sound followed. She remained silent, her hand still resting against his arm, grounding him in ways he wished it wouldn’t. His dark eyes flicked between hers, searching for some trace of hesitation. All he found was resolve.
Cruel.
That was all this was. He’d endured horrors most could never dream of. Stood firm where most would fall. For all his dark accomplishments and achieved power, he’d never truly know her. He didn’t want fallacies. He just wanted her. Only her. To have her in the exquisite, exact way she—“He taught you how to do it, didn’t he?” she asked. Her voice was soft, threaded with wonder and quiet admiration. Snape pinched his brows together, momentarily disarmed by her question. His stare dipped to her lips as they parted to continue speaking. “Out of everyone, he trusted you. You fooled the greatest dark wizard of our time, Severus.”The weight of her words settled between them, heavier than he anticipated. The very thought of the Dark Lord settled over the wayward need that still choked him like a chilled, acidic balm. Swallowing, he gave her what he hoped would be a curt nod in reply, his lips pressing into a thin line. She spoke as if his actions had been noble — as if his deceit had been a grand gesture of salvation. The older wizard could not reconcile her view with his own reality.
Her faith in him was unfailing. Wholly undeserved. She should not let him touch her, yet she did.
“I meant what I said — back in your fifth year,” she whispered. The faintest tremor laced her words, though her expression remained steady. “Lily saved you, and your love saved us all. I’m not exonerating you of your choices. But you — the man I’ve seen and know — are good, Severus Snape. I’m sorry no one else sees it.”Her words cut him open. The name — Lily — slammed into him with a force that shattered the brittle shell he’d built to keep Hermione at a safe distance. It — she — was unwelcome.
But he had started all this.
He alone had thrust Lily’s memory into the space between them, desperate to widen the chasm forming under the weight of his own longing. There was a certain harshness in the witch’s eyes as she looked up at him — a sharpness he wished he could dull once more. It felt hostile…though not precisely targeted at him.
Hermione Granger believed the lie — that it had been Lily Evans who saved Severus Snape. A fool he’d made of the Dark Lord in the end. Bile burned his throat — that he would play any part in doing the same to this witch…
But what choice did he have?
The plan — deny, Occlude, protect — had turned into a noose. He could feel it tightening with every moment she spent touching him and looking at him as if he were worth saving. Befriending.“That you see it is enough, Hermione,” he said finally, his voice low and strained. The words were a bitter mockery of the truth he couldn’t admit. His hands fell away, trembling slightly as he forced himself to step back. His chest felt hollow, emptied of the hope she threatened to ignite in him.
He couldn’t afford it. He would not risk it. Lily Evans had been a stormcloud, thick and suffocating, her memory an anchor that had equally grounded and destroyed him. But Hermione? She was the sun. Her presence burned, illuminating every dark corner of him he wished would remain buried. She brought warmth where he’d only known cold.The vision haunted him. The forest. The purest white snow falling around them. Hermione’s body, broken and lifeless, her very breath stolen should he ever utter those dangerous words.
Severus did not know why she died. He did not know why she ended up alone in the forest. He did not know when it would happen. He just knew that it would, and he couldn’t allow it. No matter the cost to himself. He had already seen what his selfishness could do.He would not — could not — allow her to pay the price.The dark wizard’s weakness would kill her. He’d done very little to discourage her own interest in him. He would have to find a way to remain close to her without giving her further reason to indulge this.He had silence to fill.The crisp air pressed against Severus Snape’s skin. His throat worked in a harsh swallow as though to suppress something threatening to rise. The wizard stepped away from her.“Occlumency is no different a skill in concept than unsupported flight, Hermione. You either possess the natural proclivity for it, or you do not. One may exercise their ability to achieve middling success with it,” the professor lectured, earning himself a visible frown from the witch before him.
Severus straightened his spine — standing at his full height. His shoulders squared as the wind tugged insistently at his robes. His gaze, cold and precise, lingered on Hermione. “However, success is not mastery. The mind is a fortress — either a dilapidated ruin with collapsed walls or a fortified stronghold complete with stocked ramparts and readied battlements.”The Potions master narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin, allowing a fresh quiet linger between them. It was a test, and he knew his mental shields were intact once more.When he spoke again, his tone was quieter but retained its edge. “In order to achieve the latter, you must train to resist intrusion: to guard the gates of your mind with unwavering resolve. Otherwise, all the knowledge in the world will not protect you from someone stronger. Someone more prepared.”Hermione’s lips pressed into a taut line. Her fingers fumbled with the ends of her long sleeves, twisting and pulling the fabric until her knuckles turned pale. Her eyes flickered briefly toward him, then away, a frown creasing her forehead.
“So let’s hear it, then. What did I do wrong?”“You expended much of your energy trying to overwhelm me with the clutter compacted in your mind,” he continued, his voice a measured murmur. “For your first attempt, the miscalculated effort was an adequate enough strategy. A promising start, really. It’s not Occluding, but it shows you have a measure of control already — that’s more than I could ever say for Potter…”The young witch swallowed, picking at her thumbnail as she stared up at him, her brows flattening like she searched for falsehoods in his thin compliment. “Really?”Severus nodded. “Had I been a lesser wizard, your overwhelming obstinacy would have certainly flung me from your mind.” Despite himself, he stepped closer toward her. He was careful to ensure he did not touch her, though. “But, alas, I am not a lesser wizard. Nor is Bellatrix Lestrange a lesser witch.”Leaning back against the rough bark of the tree, Hermione exhaled, the sound weary and heavy. Her eyes dropped to the ground as she whispered, “Next time, then...”Her words lingered between them, faint and brittle. Severus drew back slightly, his expression unreadable. “We’ll end here—”The wind shifted, carrying a low, serpentine whisper through the camp. Severus stilled. His head turned sharply, every muscle in his body taut as his gaze fixed in the direction of the sound.Hermione’s hand darted forward, grabbing at his cloak. Her grip tightened, pulling the fabric until it bunched awkwardly in her fingers. A shallow breath hitched in her chest as the whispers seemed to press closer.“Stay close, Hermione...”Without warning, her legs buckled, and she crumpled toward the frost-covered ground. His arms shot out, catching her with a jarring swiftness that left his fingers trembling against her weight. Dropping to his knees, he eased her down, cradling her limp form against him. A line of tension drew his shoulders high and rigid as though the weight of her fall had transferred into him.“Hermione!”Loose curls clung to her dampening forehead. Snape brushed them away with quick, restless motions. His dark eyes darted over her face, searching — cataloging every detail as though the answers to her collapse might be found somewhere there.Her features twisted slightly, her brows knitting together as a faint wince pulled at the corners of her mouth. A shallow, uneven gasp escaped her lips. Her hand rose weakly to her temple, trembling as though it bore the weight of an invisible burden. Sucking in air through the spaces between her teeth, the witch whimpered as her body started trembling, the sound almost entirely inaudible. All around them, Severus’ ears burned with the hiss of Parseltongue slithering about the area.“H-He wants…to speak…with…you,” she rasped, the words breaking like brittle glass. Her unfocused gaze wavered before finding his, though the effort seemed monumental. “Do...Do…you hear…him?”His breath hitched, the sound ragged as though dragged from his chest. His jaw worked, tightening as his eyes darkened. “I hear him,” he managed, though his voice was uneven. The whispers pressed closer, curling in the air like smoke, unintelligible and invasive. His fingers, pale and rigid, frantically smoothed the damp strands of her hair. “I don’t understand, though.”
The dark wizard leaned forward, repeatedly pressing his lips to her forehead — entirely forgetting about his resolve to reinforce their distance. Her eyelids fluttered, the faint motion jarring as her body sagged heavier against him. The taut lines of her shoulders slackened, her weight pulling against his arms.“Stay with me, Hermione!” he commanded, his voice cutting through the rustling air. “Resist him! You must resist this…”Severus’ breath quickened. His hand shifted to her face, his thumb brushing the hollow of her cheek in repeated strokes, as if the motion could rouse her.Hermione’s lips parted — the effort so imperceptible it may not have occurred at all. Her words came in broken fragments. She shivered against him.“I’m…so…ti…red.”Snape’s arms tightened around her, his fingers digging into the fabric of her thick jumper. His jaw clenched so hard that a faint tremor worked through the muscle. Leaning closer, he angled his head to better catch her faint breaths, his own coming shallow and sharp. His dark eyes, wide and filled with a volatile mix of urgency and dread, darted to the encroaching shadows as the whispers swelled around them, needling through the cold air.“Hermione!”The roar tore from Severus Snape’s throat, louder and rawer than he intended. Trembling fingers tapped her cheek, each movement frantic. Her lashes fluttered weakly, uneven and sluggish, while her eyes refused to focus. A shallow breath passed through her lips — too faint, too fragile.When her gaze lifted to his, the honey-brown warmth that steadied him was gone. In its place glowed an unnatural light green, the sickly hue of something he wished he could forget. His fingers hovered at her temple, curling as though to ward off the impossible truth of what he saw.“Good, you’ve weakened the rotspawn,” a voice sneered, slipping from her lips with a mocking tone that did not belong to her. The laugh that followed was sharp and cold, twisting her features into something unrecognizable. “We may finally speak.”Words jammed against Severus’ throat, a sharp retort tempered by the iron grip of fear. His jaw tightened, and he forced the command out. “Bring her back!”“My magic remains weak. That she returns is…inevitable. Never have I reduced my existence down to…this!” The stranger’s expression twisted further, Hermione’s delicate face contorted in disdain. “You will listen. You will not speak. The longer I inhabit her mind, the more likely I am to kill her in this weak condition. And, unfortunately, we need this rotspawn for what’s to come.”Every muscle in his body locked as he nodded sharply, his hands curling into fists against the fabric of her jumper. No time remained for condemnation — for reacting to the venom in the stranger’s words.The stranger sighed, a sound that grated against his ears. “The Severed’s crown, nectar or bane, A twice-born life, entwined in pain. Where shadows writhe, the Prince does dwell, Through rotted ink, his will compels. Breach the bind with whispered rife, But beware — the price is life.”“Wh-What the fuck does that mean?” Severus leaned closer, the question rasping from him as his hands brushed against her cheek. The cold pallor of her skin sent a spike through his chest.The stranger smiled cruelly, an expression that warped her familiar features. “That is for you to again determine. You were the one who commanded the book. I simply stole it.”Protests barely formed before the stranger blinked, and her body went slack in his arms. The unnatural glow vanished, leaving the warm brown of her eyes dim and vacant before they closed entirely. Her chest hitched once, then stilled.“Hermione, please look at me,” he whispered, leaning close, his voice uneven. Trembling hands smoothed curls away from her face, quick and unsure.Another tap to her cheek, more insistent this time, accompanied by the desperate movement of his thumb tracing her jawline. A faint sound slipped from her lips, a moan so soft and weak.“Stay with me,” he urged, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. His hands worked tirelessly, brushing away hair and dampness. “Focus on my voice. Follow it, and find me. Can you do that for me?”A shallow breath escaped her lips, her mouth parting slightly. He caught the sound, his palm pressing against her cheek. His fingers trembled against her skin.Without thinking, Severus leaned down, his lips brushing against hers for the first time. The wintery air squeezed around them. A piece of his soul — a fragment that had either always been lost or had simply ceased to exist until this moment — sang like a resonance with the power to heal him. Completely. His eyes squeezed shut.A shiver rocked his frame as he pulled back, searching her face for a response. "Please, Hermione..."Each motion of his hands grew more urgent as he combed through her hair, smoothed her brow, and pressed kisses to her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. “Come back to me, Hermione,” he whispered, his voice cracking with each plea. “Follow my voice… Come back.”Her stillness stretched — more acute and painful than any of the Dark Lord’s punishments or the wizard’s own guilt. Then, her breath hitched. It was faint but enough to break the silence. Her eyes fluttered beneath her lids. The motion yanked a sharp exhale from his chest. His knuckles brushed her cheek again, relief flooding him as her lashes lifted to reveal the dazed brown of her gaze.“What happ...ened?” Her voice emerged soft, unfocused, but hers.Shaking his head, Severus pulled her closer. Fitting her forehead against his throat, the jagged scar. The feel of her breath against his skin was a chilling, welcome reminder of the life pulsing in his arms. Against him. A fleeting pressure brushed the scar that marred his neck — her lips.
Weak yet present.Tightening his arms around her, he murmured, “I thought I lost you. I spoke with him. He is no friend, but I don’t believe he intends to hurt you. At least, not for the time being. I have to leave before I cause any further damage, but we’ll speak of all of it later. All right?”Her hand curled weakly into the fabric of his robes. “I like having you here. I don’t feel so alone…”Lips brushing her temple, he let his breath steady. “You’re never alone. We’re together now, remember? Here or elsewhere.”“Until the end?” Hermione’s voice was only a whisper — fragile but firm. Alive.Severus nodded, the motion steady. “Until the end.”Her forehead shifted against his neck, her shallow breaths warm against his skin. “Promise me you won’t fall asleep. Stay awake…until I tell you otherwise. I’ll need you conscious to swallow a few potions once I’m out. I’ve got you, Hermione.”“I promise, Severus…” Her fingers tightened faintly on his robes, the fragile connection grounding them both.
With careful, meticulous precision, the Potions master extracted himself from her mind.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Day 42

Monday, October 12, 1998

. . .

Hermione

. . .

The insufferable weight of her body pinned her to the bed. Hermione’s limbs trembled with the effort of simply breathing. Blinking. Each involuntary twitch of her tingly fingers felt like someone struck her body with a hammer.

The room was quiet — too quiet. Memories sang in her ears like a faint, fractured lullaby. Images flared behind her closed eyes. Which ones were, indeed, real and which were merely dreams were impossible to discern. As her mind slowly sharpened, the witch made a mental inventory of what details stood out in an effort to try to distinguish what was real.

Severus had cradled her body. She remembered the way his arms fit around her, working so delicately so he’d not break her further. The fragments fit together quite like a muggle puzzle. She still missed crucial pieces to see the complete picture, but she now had enough to see some of the smaller details.

The gentle tilt of his soothing voice. The way he lowered her onto the bed with deliberate care. The words of comfort whispered as she yelped when her body made contact with the soft, thin mattress. The tightness in his jaw as she sobbed his name.

The light pressure of his wand hovering over her, a welcome warmth radiating from the spells he cast. Faint sensations followed — a cool dampness against her skin, the bitter tang of several potions on her lips.

The sound of fabric shifting. The quiet rhythm of his breath. He had stripped himself of his usual teaching robes. A muted grey, long nightshirt blended into the dim light as he stepped into black pyjama pants. The way the fabric whispered against his skin as he pulled it into place over his body had quelled some of the pain like a peaceful balm.

When the bed dipped under his weight, warmth replaced the chill that had seeped into her from all sides. She could faintly recall her hand brushing against his, the way her fingers curled instinctively between his. He hadn’t pulled away.

Instead, his hand had settled low against her abdomen, the weight of it grounding her. Rather than pull her back against him, the professor had eased into her — pressing every inch of his body along the length of hers. His leg tangled with hers, an anchor in the quiet darkness that seemed to feed on her very soul.

Lips brushed her temple, light as a whisper. The cool thumb at her stomach stroked just under her belly button. The touch had likely been rather fleeting; however, in her state of delirium, it had felt like forever. From there, it hadn’t taken long for her to fall asleep.

The world went black — until a chilling laughter and her parents’ screams erupted within it.

Her tears came then, her breath hitching in uneven sobs. The pressure of an arm tightening around her. The murmur of words she couldn’t quite grasp. The exploratory lips brushing a slow path from her chin to her temple. The kiss at the hollow of her throat, her eye, her nose, and her cheek. The promise that no one would touch her so long as she remained in his arms.

Throughout the night, these had been only some of the things that reached through the fog of her nightmares. The cadence of his deep, low voice was the thread that pulled her back each time she slipped too far into the dark.

And then, a dream. A rather pleasant, yet impossible one.

The faintest touch of Severus’ lips against hers — so soft it could have been the brush of air. It was there and gone in an instant, but it left her breathless. Still. Even conscious. The memory of such a dream clung to her, a bittersweet ache gnawing at her gut that she just couldn’t shake. It had been the only moment of peace she’d felt.

A peace that was not real...

Now, all trace of the warmth was gone. The bed beside her was cold, the space empty. Her hand reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing against the lifeless sheets. The chill seeped into her skin, and a hollow ache settled in her chest.

Hermione turned her head sluggishly, the motion sending a dull throb through her neck. Sighing proved a rather trying effort. The chair in the corner caught her eye.

Severus sat there, stiff and rigid. He wore all of his usual teaching robes save for his cloak. A newspaper suspended open before him, the sharp creases betraying his restless grip. Over the top of it, she noticed his hair looked damp — like he’d recently showered. She tried to push herself up, her muscles protesting with every inch. A sharp voice sliced through the quiet.

“Don’t move.”

The command froze her mid-motion. Her gaze snapped to him. His eyes flickered toward her, dark and unreadable, before retreating behind the newspaper. She swallowed hard, her voice cracking as she managed, “Good morning.”

“Morning it quite is, Granger. A good one, however, remains to be seen,” he replied. The words were clipped, devoid of anything resembling warmth. His tone was like a knife—sharp, cutting, and final.

The witch pinched her brows together and frowned. “Granger, is it?”

“That

is

your name, is it not?”

Her fingers curled into the sheets, the fabric twisting under her grip. The tension in the room pressed against her chest. She needed to say something, anything, to break it.

“What happened last night?” Her voice wavered, barely more than a whisper.

The paper lowered slightly. His eyes — cold and assessing — met hers for a fleeting moment. “We will discuss it when you’ve properly rested, which you’ll do today.”

The dismissal stung.

Hermione’s breath hitched, her body shrinking into itself. Her fingers loosened their grip on the sheets, trembling slightly. She tried again, her voice fragile. “Who is the new object of my every desire this issue?”

The paper rustled. Snape sighed. “Skeeter suspects you’ve entered into another torrid love affair with none other than Weasley himself,” he spat. Narrowing his eyes, he glared at the paper. “Your soft-headed friend, apparently, proclaimed his love for you at the Leaky Cauldron yesterday. No word on precisely if you return his sentiments, however.”

“Me? With Ronald?”

Severus frowned as his eyes scanned the contents of the page he read. “It wouldn’t be the first time you lowered your standards in acceptable companionship for him.”

“Acceptable companionship?” she repeated. She scoffed and slowly struggled to sit up. “Ron Weasley is perfectly acceptable. You’d do well to remember that he’s saved my life, too!”

Snape cooly lifted his brow, refusing to look at her. The walls of her throat constricted. “Then I extend you both my

deepest

congratulations, Granger.”

Tears glittered in her eyes as the soft firelight in his small hearth glowed about the room in slow, flickering motions. “What’s gotten into you?”

No response.

Her words vanished into the void between them. The silence wrapped around her like a vice, squeezing until she couldn’t bear it any longer. “Please look at me, Severus...”

With a hesitant shift of his finger, the top half of the paper folded down, revealing his once obscured face. His eyes were sharp, glittering with disdain. The intensity of his glare made her stomach twist. Her arms crossed over her middle instinctively, a feeble attempt to shield herself from the weight of his judgment.

“You should sleep,” he said flatly.

“But what about—” she started, her voice rising — silenced only by his raised hand.

“In your bag, within the pages of your horcrux, you’ll find a small bit of parchment. I’ve written down every meaningful word that foul stranger said whilst you were incapacitated.”

His tone was cold, calculated, and unyielding.

Before she could respond, he stood, his movements abrupt. Almost desperate. Crossing the room in measured strides, he stopped beside the bed. His hand reached for the vial on the bedside table. The faint glint of the potion’s purple contents reflected the dim light. Dreamless Sleep. He unstopped it with a flick of his thumb and held it out to her. “Drink. I’ll not leave until I see that you do.”

Her throat tightened. Her glare met his, fiery and defiant. “Please, Severus, talk to me. What happened?”

His sigh was barely audible, a soft, resigned sound that spoke volumes. He knelt beside the bed, pressing the vial into her hand. His fingers brushed hers, but the touch was impersonal, almost clinical.

“Drink this, and I shall give you a quick answer.”

The witch stared at him, her eyes searching his face for something — anything — that might betray what he was feeling. But his expression remained impassive. Her exhaustion won out. She tilted her head back, swallowing the potion in one bitter gulp. She saw him swallow, his eyes heavy as they dipped to her mouth. Her sleeve brushed her lips as she wiped the residue away. Her gaze burned into him.

“Well?”

But he didn’t answer.

The silence stretched, unbearable and heavy. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his gaze flickered away. The seconds dragged on, and her chest tightened. Tears welled in her eyes, her vision blurring as she clutched the rough fabric of his coat. “Severus! Answer me right now…”

Her voice cracked, the plea breaking into the thick silence. But the potion’s effects pulled at her, her body swaying as her strength gave out. Before she could fall back onto the mattress, his arms caught her, holding her close. Her head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat the last sound she coherently registered. His hand smoothed back her hair, the gesture achingly tender.

“Forgive me, Hermione.” The soft, broken whisper rasped at her ear. The words sounded echoey and distant — far from where the potion took her now. “Please, forgive me...”

His lips ghosted over her forehead, the faint pressure lingering for a moment before fading. The warmth of his touch was the last thing she felt before the potion finally claimed her, pulling her into a deep, hollow, and, indeed, dreamless sleep.

. . .

Day 44

Wednesday, October 14, 1998

. . .

Hermione

. . .

The soft clink of glass vials and the faint scent of Polyjuice brews in progress lingered in the air as the Potions lesson nearly drew to a close. Hermione sat at her and Draco's station. She wiped at an invisible smudge on the clean marble, her shoulders stiff and her gaze flitting toward the front of the classroom where Severus Snape loomed. He hunched over a parchment, his quill scratching in sharp, deliberate strokes. The feather danced above his tense hand. His face remained as still as a carved statue, betraying no hint of thought.

Beside her, Draco Malfoy moved with exaggerated nonchalance, his movements fluid but purposeful. The Slytherin wrapped up the next part of their brew shortly after her. Now, he worked to clean his own station. Leaning closer, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

“What’s with you and Snape? You’ve been chummy enough lately… Now you barely look at him. Trouble in paradise?”

Hermione’s head tilted slightly, her eyes darting to him for the briefest moment. Her lips parted, but no sound came. A flicker of something unreadable crossed her face, and she pressed her lips together, inhaling through her nose.

Finally, she spoke, her voice rather quiet and flat as her eyes dropped to her Advanced Potions text. “He’s in a mood, and I’m too tired to indulge it.” Her fingers idly smoothed the corner of the page, though her focus remained far from the text.

Draco’s brow lifted, a smirk creeping onto his lips. He adjusted his stance, resting his weight on one foot as if settling in for a long discussion. “What’s happened?” His voice dipped lower, deliberate and pressing.

Her jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath her skin. Without looking up, she shook her head, her fingers still fidgeting with the corner of the page. “It’s none of your business.”

A sharp scoff broke from Draco. He shifted his gaze to Snape, narrowing his silver eyes in faint disdain. The professor remained wholly absorbed in his parchment, seemingly oblivious.

Draco leaned closer to the witch again, his voice a venomous whisper. “None of my business?” His lips twisted into a grimace, his knuckles whitening against the edge of the workstation. “I made the vow with him. I can literally die, you know! You’ve been ‘too busy’ this week to even begin dueling and flying lessons — and I’d stake my life that it’s something to do with that old man.”

Hermione’s head snapped up, her frizzy curls bouncing slightly with the movement. Her eyes locked onto his, narrowed and sharp. She glanced around the room, her gaze skimming the other students. Satisfied they weren’t overheard, she leaned closer, her voice low but cutting. “Fine. Meet me in the library. After dinner. I could use another minimally competent brain, anyway — at least while I’ve sworn off speaking to Sev—Professor Snape.”

Draco’s smirk deepened, his expression far too satisfied. He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Refusing to speak with him, eh? I should like to hear

that

story…”

“Well, you won’t,” she snapped, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. Her fingers lingered near her temple, rubbing lightly as if soothing an ache.

“Miss Granger. Mr. Malfoy. Quiet.” Snape’s voice cut through the air, smooth and sharp. He didn’t lift his head, but the weight of his words hung heavily over them.

Hermione’s hand dropped to the desk, her fingers curling into a fist before relaxing. She exhaled through her nose, her lips pressing into a thin line. Turning to Draco, she fixed him with a steely glare. “Forget the library. Room of Requirement. We can start with dueling. After dinner, of course.”

“Miss Granger,” Snape’s voice rose, icier now. He finally looked up, his dark eyes drilling into hers with an intensity that sent a ripple of tension through the room. “Since you are so clearly incapable of abstaining from the simple act of speaking when instructed otherwise, I have no further choice but to issue you detention.” His lip curled, a shadow of a sneer crossing his face. “Stay after class so we may discuss the details.”

Hermione’s spine straightened, and she met his gaze head-on. Her brow furrowed slightly, and her lips curled into something resembling a challenging smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Certainly, sir,” she said, her tone steady, overly pleasant.

The witch’s gaze snapped back to her text. Fresh, faint penmanship etched in the margin of the page — once again crudely covering the vital instructions of their current brew. She slammed the textbook shut, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet room. The glare she wore could melt the ice caps — at least, she’d love to believe.

Rather than read what message with which Snape had marred the pristine page, Hermione simply shoved the book into her beaded bag. The book dropped deeper inside than she’d like. Digging deeper, her hand brushed against the cold texture of the horcrux. She lifted it closer to the mouth of the bag, letting it linger there for a moment before pulling out a folded piece of parchment nestled between its pages.

Her eyes flicked over the cryptic lines:

The Severed’s crown, nectar or bane,

A twice-born life, entwined in pain.

Where shadows writhe, the Prince does dwell,

Through rotted ink, his will compels.

Breach the bind with whispered rife,

But beware — the price is life.

Aside from the line breaks, two words were capitalized: Severed’s and Prince. Traditionally speaking, that would represent two different entities. In this instance, she was sure ‘Prince’ referred to Severus. That was where the obvious clues ended.

A sharp pinch prodded at her forehead. She lifted her gaze and glared at Severus, who sneered at her. The urge to stand and let loose a book to his chest overwhelmed her. However, she remained composed.

Hermione held his eye contact.

“Get out.”

“Make me,”

Severus challenged.

The witch gladly accepted it. Rather quickly, she envisioned Grimmauld Place: Harry and Ginny’s room, Hermione clasping the door handle and opening the door, seeing a very naked Harry stumble from the bed as he raced to find his trousers.

Within a few seconds, Severus’ intrusion came to an end. It wasn’t Occlumency, but it

was

satisfying.

Without further distraction, her fingers trembled as she tucked the parchment back into the cursed book. The bell rang, its sharp chime jolting her from her thoughts. She drew her hand out of the bag, gripping the edge of the desk as she remained seated.

A hand cupped her shoulder. When Hermione glanced up, she saw Michael Corner grimacing down at her. “Tough luck, today, Hermione.”

“Nothing unusual, really. What more could we expect from the Head of Slytherin House, right?” she replied, a false pleasantness reinforcing her words.

The boy smirked slightly. His long brown hair fell in layers to nearly his shoulders. He wasn’t terrible looking. The witch supposed he had nice enough eyes. He’d certainly grown up the last year or so — they all had, really.

Severus dropped the parchment he held back onto his desk. “Mr. Corner, I’ve been led to believe that Ravenclaws possess a minimum capacity for understanding,” he retorted, his voice tight, deep, and dripping with warning. “It would seem you’re an exception to that quaint house trait. I’ve dismissed you. See yourself out at once,” Severus seethed.

Hermione noticed Michael’s face blanch. The Ravenclaw withdrew his hand from her shoulder. “See you later?”

Hermione shrugged. “Sure,” she said, wishing she’d not promised him a few study sessions during their date.

Without another word, Michael rushed out of the Potions class. That left one final student.

Draco passed her with a smug tilt of his head, his bag slung over one shoulder. “See ya, Granger,” he drawled, his tone full of mock cheer.

Her reply was curt, her voice clipped. “Malfoy.”

The heavy door groaned shut behind the last departing student. Severus flicked his wand, and the metallic clang of the latch echoed in the quiet dungeon. Hermione sighed, her shoulders sagging as she reached into her bag and retrieved a worn copy of Magia Carnalis: Profanum Arcanum. The book landed on the desk with a muted thud. Flipping to her marked page, she hunched over, eyes scanning the Latin script. Her finger traced the faint lines of text, pausing now and then as she deciphered the dense language.

Behind her, the scrape of Snape’s chair against the stone floor shattered the stillness. The sound seemed to grow louder with each inch it moved. Heavy footsteps followed until they stopped just behind her. “Why are you reading that book?” he asked, his voice low and clipped.

She didn’t look up. Her fingers stilled for a moment on the page before resuming their slow trail. “Because it may hold some answers, Professor Snape,” she said, her tone steady but distant. The formal title hung in the air between them like a barrier. The witch continued reading until a shadow fell over her book. In one swift motion, Severus plucked it from her hands.

“Are we in third year, sir? Give me the book!” she snapped, standing abruptly and reaching for it. Her eyes burned as they locked onto his, her fingers trembling at her sides.

Snape’s expression twisted, his lips curling into a sneer that didn’t quite mask the storm brewing beneath. Holding the book high, his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Do not call me that, Hermione.”

Her hands balled into fists, nails biting into her palms. She took a step forward, her breath quickening as she glared up at him. “You started it!” Her voice cracked with raw frustration. “We share a painfully wonderful weekend and build an adequate understanding together… Yet you call me Granger like it all means precisely nothing to you. You say you’re done fighting being my friend… Yet you won’t tell me a single thing about what happened in my mind beyond what appears to be another bloody vague prophecy.”

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trembling with the effort to hold herself together. “It’s all rubbish! There’s zero agency for me in this so-called friendship, Snape. You hoard every scrap of control, and I cannot handle it—will not stand for it—anymore.”

His jaw slackened. For a moment, the sharp lines of his face softened, and his eyes darted over hers, searching for something he couldn’t seem to find. The book fell to his side, his arm slack as if he no longer had the strength to hold it. “Hermione, what are you saying?” he asked. His voice, usually so precise and cold, cracked and wavered. His shoulders sagged, and his chest rose and fell with a shuddering breath.

Hermione seized the moment, yanking the book from his limp grasp and shoving it into her bag. Her hand lingered on the strap as she swallowed hard, forcing her words past the lump in her throat. “Severus, I appreciate that we come from very different backgrounds. You challenge me and make me feel like I can be a better witch. We’re different, you know? And I think that’s exciting. Truly.”

Reaching out, her fingers brushed his wrist. She grasped it lightly, holding it between her hands like something fragile. To hold his hand outright felt too intimate, a boundary she wasn’t ready to cross. “I already have an emotionally unavailable friend who dogpiles his feelings onto me when he’d rather avoid facing things head-on. I know I don’t deserve how Ron treats me, but I’ve come to expect it. I’ve done a very poor job of enforcing my boundaries with him, and it’s crippled our friendship now.”

Severus lifted a hand, his fingers hesitating in the air before they grazed her cheek. Her breath hitched, and she tilted her head slightly away from his touch. His hand fell, instead curling into the fabric of her robes near her shoulder. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over and carving silent paths down her face. His dark gaze followed their descent, lingering on the droplets until they disappeared into her robes.

“I know we’ll always be friends and that we’ll eventually be on better terms, but I miss him. He doesn't know it, but I could die any day because of this horcrux.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

His expression twisted into something feral, his lips pulling back as though her words physically struck him. His chest heaved, the sharp intake of breath breaking the fragile silence between them. His eyes went wide, dark and wild, before narrowing with a fierce intensity that bordered on desperation.

"Don't speak that into existence, Hermione," he seethed.

The lines of his face deepened, his jaw clenching so tightly that a faint tremor rippled through it. His hands twitched at his sides, one curling into a fist that trembled with suppressed emotion.

"All I can do is waste my potentially limited time to let him grieve alone."

Her hand slipped into his, their fingers tangling together instinctively. It was an invitation — a peace offering — that he took full advantage of. The tension in his frame seemed to melt as he took a step closer, lifting his other hand to wipe away her tears.

"Please stop talking..." he begged, sounding impossibly drained.

The rough pad of his thumb brushed her cheek, sending a shiver through her. She choked on her next breath, overwhelmed by the proximity and the tenderness of his touch.

“That’s what happens with us if I don’t stop making the same bloody mistakes with you. You won’t tell me what’s going on, so I don’t fully know how I can help you. But I can give you some space to help you sort out a few things.”

Severus leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. His hand dropped to her arm, his fingers trailing lightly down her sleeve. She trembled, her knees threatening to buckle under the weight of his closeness. His gaze lowered, focusing on the Gryffindor emblem embroidered on her robes.

“Have tea with me…” he whispered, the words so soft they almost didn’t reach her ears.

She groaned, shaking her head against his. “You’re giving me whiplash, Severus. One moment, you’re wiping my tears away. Next, you’re more cold and distant than ever.”

“One cup — that’s all,” he pressed, his voice gaining strength.

Despite the heaviness between them, the witch smirked. “Is that to be my detention, professor? Joining you for a cuppa?”

“That sounds like a fair punishment for speaking out of turn in my class.”

They stood in silence, the air between them heavy but oddly comforting. He reached out, catching one of her curls and twisting it gently around his finger. The movement stretched the curl until it sprang back into place. When his eyes opened again, the intensity in them made her toes curl in her shoes.

Gasping softly, Hermione stepped back, breaking the connection between them but lingering close enough to feel his presence. She reached out, brushing a lock of his dark hair away from his face. Her fingertips barely grazed his pale skin, but the shudder that ran through him was unmistakable. His lips parted, a soft sigh escaping as though her touch had drained all his resistance.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I’ve hurt you again,” he said, his voice quiet but earnest. His brows knitted together as he stared down at her, vulnerability flickering in his dark eyes. “For a moment, I thought you finally found sense and wished to end this.”

She shook her head, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “This is just a fight, Severus. A row. They happen. Unlike me and Ron, we must communicate. Do that, and we’ll be fine. All there’s left to do is give patience to each other. I’m not going anywhere. I hope that, in time, you’ll come to know that.”

“Will you return to my quarters tonight?” he asked, his tone almost tentative.

Hermione tightened her grip on his hand and swallowed hard. “Nightmares?”

He nodded, the motion small and restrained. "Please?"

The witch bit her lip, slowly nodding. "On one condition..."

"Name it."

"Find a way to talk to me. If not about what's exactly bothering you, then about how I can better understand how you feel about it. Something... I don't know. Anything is better than nothing."

“I am sorry.”

Her eyes searched his face, her expression softening. “Will you tell me why you pushed me away when I woke up Monday morning?”

Severus' lips pressed into a thin line. After a beat of silence, he shook his head. Her sigh, heavy and dejected, filled the space between them. “There is a day where I bare everything to you. I’m just—”

“Not ready," Hermione supplied. "I know.”

. . .

Day 46

Friday, October 16, 1998

. . .

Hermione

. . .

Minerva McGonagall sat behind her desk, fingers laced together as she regarded Hermione with an expression caught between patience and quiet reprimand. The office, though warm with the glow of candlelight, felt constricting. Shadows from the bookshelves loomed over the space, deepening the weight of the conversation yet to unfold.

“Miss Granger… Hermione,” Minerva said, her tone cautious, hesitant. “While I appreciate the idea for discretion on this matter, I must ask why you felt it necessary to hide this from me.”

Hermione swallowed, shifting in her chair. The wood beneath her felt stiff, unyielding, mirroring the tightness in her chest. She played with the ends of her sleeves, eyes dropping to the surface of the desk. “I convinced myself that I could and should do it alone,” she admitted. “The last year showed me just how much everyone gave to end Voldemort. I... I couldn’t reconcile dragging anyone else into it again.”

A soft grumble left Minerva’s lips, her fingers tightening around one another. Leaning forward, she fixed Hermione with a piercing gaze. “I assume I don’t need to impress upon you how foolish that was to believe?”

Hermione barely managed a nod. “No, Headmistress.”

Minerva sighed, a hand lifting to adjust her glasses. “Remus, Harry, and Severus have all given me pieces of what’s happened. I’ve asked you here to offer you the chance to fill in the gaps.”

The words settled heavily in the space between them. Hermione let out a slow breath before nodding. “All right...”

Minerva continued, her tone even. “I’d like to first start with the Order. Well, of Albus. Severus tells me you’re quite wary of him. I’d like to know why...”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Hermione’s face. Her hands found each other, fingers pressing into her palms. “The answer is both simple and... a bit complicated.”

“I’ll listen to anything you’ll tell me, dear,” Minerva assured her.

Brushing some loose strands of hair from her face, Hermione inhaled deeply. “I can see—visit—Severus’ past.”

Minerva’s back straightened. “What?”

Hermione’s fingers curled around her arms as if bracing against a chill. “I know it shouldn’t be possible. But when we both touched the book in Hogsmeade, it extended to me that ability—along with possibly touch memory. Severus... he sees pieces from the future, though he won’t speak of any of it to me. He likes his secrets.”

A grimace flickered across Minerva’s face. “That... I am not at all surprised by.”

A small shake of Hermione’s head. “Anyway, all that to say, I’ve seen things—from both Severus’ past and my own. Albus never told anyone of his plans with Harry. He rarely communicated anything to anyone. Sure, it worked out in the end, but he gave us next to nothing about finding and destroying Voldemort’s horcruxes.”

Her fingers twisted in her lap, knuckles paling. “He also had no intention of sparing Severus’ life. His legacy and name! Not a single person knew why he killed the headmaster. If we’d never gotten to him in time, we’d all think him the enemy. A murderer. A lie—everything Severus never has been or will be.”

Minerva’s silence was laden with thought. After a moment, she asked, “Exactly what of Severus’ past have you seen?”

Hermione hesitated. Her lips parted, but no words came. Some things were not hers to share. She ran a hand over her arm, grounding herself. “The school, under Dumbledore’s leadership, failed him, Headmistress. The Marauders weren’t just mischievous boys—they were terrible, arrogant bullies or quiet observers. No one stopped the torment James and Sirius inflicted upon him. Not Albus. Not the staff. Not even his only friend.”

Minerva’s brows furrowed, her expression conflicted. “Hermione, you speak of—”

“Harry’s dad, godfather, and uncle,” Hermione confirmed. “Yes, I know.”

A pause, heavy and uncertain.

Hermione pressed on. “Perhaps they got detention for sneaking out of bed, but what about everything they did to him—to Severus Snape? The faculty simply let it happen.”

Minerva exhaled, her tone guarded. “What followed his time here at school was a result of his own decisions, Hermione.”

“You misunderstand me, Headmistress,” Hermione countered. Her hands clenched in her lap, nails pressing against skin. “I will never agree that joining the Death Eaters was ever the right move. But he’s human! You don’t know what I’ve seen—what I know.”

The older witch watched her, eyes sharp with unspoken questions. “I’d like to understand, my dear.”

“I won’t betray his confidence. Or him. Not ever.”

Minerva pursed her lips. “Allow me to understand more about why you feel this way, then.”

A breath caught in Hermione’s throat. Her gaze dropped to her lap. “When we shun those who seek nothing save to belong somewhere... anywhere, why are we surprised when they find it in places we do not like?”

Minerva’s nod was slow, thoughtful.

Hermione straightened. “Albus cannot lead the Order of the Phoenix. That is my only demand in all of this.”

Minerva sighed. “If not him, then who?” she asked, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “The Order, as you say, is splintered. Half focuses on reforming the Ministry and finding and convicting those still missing. The rest of us simply focus our time rebuilding — mending that which is still so close to being irreparably lost.”

The witch stood from the chair and moved toward the large, narrow window, her back facing the headmistress. Her eyes danced over the grounds of the school beyond the glass window she stared out of.

“Even fewer of us ready ourselves for the inevitable fight ahead. I was honestly surprised to learn that Remus and Tonks are in that particular camp," Hermione muttered. "Remus initiated Neville and Luna last month. Our numbers, thankfully, grow — but it's still not enough.”

“You know Remus’ condition prevents him from properly serving in a leadership role within the Order. Tonks, while accomplished and war-tested, is still quite young herself.” Minerva deflated in her chair and handled a few parchments on her desk before continuing, “Molly and Arthur ask me to fill Albus’ shoes, but I am afraid my focus remains on keeping this school in order and safe. Arthur himself declines to lead, and Kingsley’s situation is similar to mine. That simply leaves—”

“Severus,” Hermione muttered. “He’s the only viable option. He doesn’t make it easy, but I trust him, headmistress. Completely.”

“I do, too, Hermione,” the older witch confessed. After a long pause, she sighed, adding, “But I’m afraid that is where his good favor ends. Most of the Order would not stand behind him.”

“They’re going to have to...”

“It’s simply not that easy, my girl,” Minerva replied. After a beat, she asked, “Does Severus know that you wish him to assume leading us?”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the headmistress, shaking her head a bit. “We haven’t exactly spoken about the Order much. But I’ll run the idea by him.”

“Good, good,” Minerva replied. “Miss Granger, I’d like to ask you a question—one that ought to be answered in truth. One you very well may have no clear answer for as of yet.”

“Yes?”

Minerva rose from her chair and strode to the window, her gaze drifting across the school grounds. The silence stretched long, measured in the faint ticking of the office clock. Hermione’s back straightened, shoulders tensing as she waited, breath shallow. Every second dragged against her ribs, pressing tighter, constricting something fragile inside her.

“You are, no doubt, aware of what rumors presently fly about the school? The ones, specifically, regarding yourself and Severus…”

A slow inhale, measured and forced, shook the brief silence between them. Hermione’s hands froze mid-fidget, her fingers stiffening around the sleeves of her jumper. Jaw tight, she forced the words past lips that barely moved. “I am, Headmistress.”

“Minerva, child. Please address me as such while we’re alone. It all feels rather silly, you know…” Minerva sighed, shaking her head before turning back to face Hermione. “You carry perhaps the darkest object in our history, yet you still sit in your lessons. It’s high time we treat each other as peers—at least in private.”

Hermione swallowed hard, gaze flicking to the floor before she forced herself to look up. “Minerva…”

“Good.” Minerva nodded, eyes assessing her carefully. “Now, about those rumors…”

Arms folding over her chest, Hermione curled inward, her fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeves so tightly her knuckles blanched. She willed her expression to remain impassive. “What, exactly, is your question?”

Minerva studied her, the weight of her gaze peeling away Hermione’s carefully constructed defenses. “Is there any validity to them?”

Hermione inhaled sharply, her arms loosening. Her fingers found her thumbnail, picking at its edge, a nervous habit from childhood resurfacing. She hesitated, words forming and dissolving before she finally murmured, “We have…an understanding—one that echoes similar side-effects that my friendship with Harry has.”

“That’s all?”

Her breath stuttered. Her teeth pressed into her lower lip, gaze turning distant, unfocused. A hand lifted, fingers curling around a loose curl before tucking it behind her ear. The room felt too small. Her chest ached as she inhaled, then, barely above a whisper, she answered, “That’s all it can be. He’s…”

“...your professor? Your mentor? Your senior by twice your age?” Minerva supplied when Hermione trailed off.

Hermione’s pulse pounded in her throat. Her fingers flexed against her knee, gripping, then releasing. Her jaw worked, words clawing at her throat, struggling to surface. “I was going to say, as you undoubtedly know already, in love with Lily Evans — in perpetuity…”

The words scraped against her tongue like iron. Her hands clenched, nails biting into her palms, grounding her against the sharp sting. Her chest constricted, an unbearable pressure winding tighter and tighter within her.

Minerva’s breath caught. “Do you… Are you—”

“That is all that ought to be said, Headmistress.” Hermione cut in, voice taut, desperate to sever the conversation before it unraveled her completely. “Other extraneous details simply do not matter.”

“Extraneous details? Hermione, feelings—”

Hermione swallowed against the tightness in her throat, fingers twitching at her sleeves. “Are irrelevant,” she whispered, voice thinning to something fragile, weightless. “To acknowledge them only breathes life into them. And they’ll only… They’ll get in the way of a priceless friendship.”

“Hermione—”

“Please, Minerva!” Her voice broke, cracking through the controlled facade she had built. A weak, forced smile ghosted across her lips as she wiped at her eyes before any tears could fully fall. Her breath hitched. She turned her head, eyes fixed on the distant horizon beyond the glass.

Swallowing thickly, she rubbed her elbow, fingers pressing into bone as she let her gaze trace the distant treetops. “I am unable to Occlude as of yet. I don’t want Severus to find anything he would deem offensive.”

“Offensive? Do you truly not see the way—”

Hermione turned away sharply, each movement rigid, mechanical. She strode across the office, lowering herself against a thick stone pillar until she sat upon the step there. The witch pulled her knees up as she curled into herself. Fingers wove together at her ankles, her grip white-knuckled. Her forehead pressed against bent knees, breaths shallow and uneven.

The silence pressed in.

“Everyone speaks of her like she was born atop a pedestal crafted by the heavens themselves. Her love, her beauty, her wit, her eyes, her hair, her charm, her kindness, her talents, her mind… Her fate makes all of it rather bloody singular. Impervious and infallible...”

Tears slipped free, trailing unchecked down her cheeks. She let them fall.

A whisper of fabric brushed at the stone floor. A few seconds later, Minerva sat beside her, a hand resting lightly on her back. Steady. Warm.

Neither spoke for a bit.

Eventually, Hermione lifted her head, her eyes hollowed with exhaustion, lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Finally, she whispered, “This conversation can’t happen.”

Minerva’s expression softened. “Why not?”

Hermione exhaled, body trembling as she forced out the words. “Because it's all rather pointless. I’ll... I will never be enough for him.” She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head slightly. “I’m not allowed to think ill of her — not without betraying people I care about.”

"Betray?" Minerva’s lips pressed into a thin line. “My dear, you don’t believe those closest to you would think that.”

A hollow laugh escaped Hermione, jagged and sharp at the edges. “Ever since I stepped foot in this castle, people have seen and assumed the worst in me.”

Minerva’s fingers curled slightly against Hermione’s back, offering quiet reassurance.

Tears crowded the witch's vision. Hermione blinked them away, allowing them to fall. She wiped the end of her jumper sleeve at her nose, sniffling quietly as she shook her head.

"I’ve possibly lost Ron’s friendship. I’ve lost my parents, myself, and my home. I don’t have much else to lose, but I’ll make every effort to save what I can…”

The headmistress' features pinched. “Hermione, it is not only to yourself you deny your feelings...” Minerva said, her voice soothing and gentle. Somehow impossibly firm.

“It's odd. Hope used to be the only thing that kept me going." Hermione let out a slow, fractured breath. "Now it’s the one thing that could finally break me.”

Minerva’s hand moved to cup her shoulder, the squeeze gentle before falling away completely. “I have reasons to believe—”

“Please stop talking,” Hermione whispered, sounding so broken and lost. The witch focused her attention back on Minerva. “Voldemort chased immortality in his life—but Lily Evans achieved it in the hearts of those I love most by dying. I have seen it—with my own eyes.”

Minerva did not speak. Instead, she let her hand move to Hermione’s elbow before dropping it altogether. They shared a somber look, the weight of Hermione’s words settling between them like an invisible force neither could push away.

“Harry’s my best friend, and Severus loves her. Merlin, everyone loved her. Nobody knows that she smiled as James tormented him. That she stood there talking without drawing her wand for so long. That she was complicit in his agony!” Hermione seethed, hating how bitter and angry she sounded. She covered her mouth with her hand, gasping as her pulse surged and thoughts spiraled. “She could have done something! And she chose…”

The air around her squeezed her body. Breathing was nearly an impossible task. Her chest ached in a way she’d never before experienced. “It doesn’t matter who she was—only how she’s remembered. And who will I ever be compared to her memory?”

Minerva’s eyes watered the longer Hermione spoke. Her kind features pinched with patience, sorrow, and understanding. “Miss Granger, oftentimes, we find ourselves posed with seemingly insurmountable odds. If anyone is capable of overcoming them, it’s you.”

Hermione stood to her feet, wiping at her eyes and rushing toward the door to leave. Before she opened it, however, the witch looked over her shoulder at Minerva, saying, “There are no feelings, Headmistress. Nothing untoward has occurred between us. The rumors are simply a misunderstanding. I respect and appreciate Severus’ friendship. Nothing more or less.” Hermione opened the door and quietly shut it on her way out.

. . .

Day 49

Monday, October 19, 1998

. . .

Hermione

. . .

The room was impossibly small, walls stained with neglect and the faint odor of mildew. Hermione Granger stood in the dimly lit space, her eyes adjusting to the oppressive shadows. The bed before her was little more than a threadbare mattress on a rusty frame, the covers twisted and half-draped over the floor. A muffled scream echoed faintly through the wall, and she flinched. Her hand instinctively went to her wand, gripping it tightly but not yet raising it.

The faint sound of a boy’s sobs reached her ears, barely audible over the creak of the floorboards as she stepped deeper into the room. Movement drew her eyes downward. A boy, small and wiry, cowered under the bed. His hands clamped over his ears, knuckles white, and his shoulders shook with silent sobs. Dark, greasy hair obscured most of his face, but a single tear streaked down a cheek smeared with dirt. He froze when her shadow fell over him, shrinking further back, his eyes wide and filled with alarm.

Hermione crouched slowly, her movements deliberate and unthreatening. Her knees pressed into the creaking floorboards as she extended her hand, palm up, fingers steady despite the tight knot in her chest. The faint glint of the ring on her finger caught the dim light, and his gaze locked onto it. He blinked rapidly, his breaths hitching as if struggling to decide whether to flee or trust.

“It’s alright. You're safe,” she said softly, her voice steady but gentle.

The boy hesitated, his thin frame trembling. His eyes snapped to her wand. "You're a witch?" he said rather loudly.

Hermione winced, glancing at the thin wall where his father presently violated his mother, whose screams weren't all that muffled. "I am, but we must keep quiet. Okay? It would not do for your father to know I am here."

Severus nodded, but made no effort to crawl out from under the bed.

"I promise you're safe with me. No one can hurt you when we're together."

The boy studied her for a moment longer. Then, inch by inch, he crept out from under the bed, his bony knees scraping against the worn wooden floor. His eyes, dark and mistrustful, darted between her face and the ring.

“Why do you wear my mother's ring?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant sound of a slammed door."

"Your mother's ring?"

"Yes!" Severus retorted, suddenly hostile. "Did you steal it?"

Hermione shook her head. "Of course not. I… You give it to me in the future."

The boy's eyes brightened in a way she'd never seen. "You're from the future?"

When Hermione nodded, he laughed. The sound was so wholly innocent and giddy that she had to take an extra second to compose herself. The tragedy of knowing what awaited him nearly choked her.

"I am."

"Are we... Are you my girlfriend?"

The witch chuckled and shook her head. "No, I am not

quite

your type."

"Not quite my type? You mean to say I DO have a girlfriend in the future?"

The more they spoke, the more her heart broke for this boy. She kept a pleasant expression plastered to her face. He was just a boy. Hope still brightened his eyes, and a warm but hesitant smile stretched his mouth.

No. He did not have to know the horrors he'd face.

Was a lie born of good intention still just as bad? Swallowing, Hermione leaned into him and lifted her brows playfully. "I can't say much about the future, Severus. It’s too dangerous. But tell me, if you did have a girlfriend, what would she be like?"

Severus frowned, clearly not a fan of her hiding any sort of information from him. Still, he sighed, answering, "A witch, of course. I could never be with a muggle! Warm. Bright. Pretty. Nice eyes. Nice in general, really. Cheeky. Someone talented. Curious. Ambitious. A Slytherin!"

"A Slytherin, huh?" Hermione eased some hair behind her ears. “You must know a bit about Hogwarts and magic.”

"I've been to Knockturn Alley with mum only a few times. I've nicked a few books from shops there. I've read about all sorts of things — mostly curses I’ll eventually use to protect mother!" he continued, clearly eager to hold control over the conversation and her attention. "What's your name?"

“I...I really shouldn’t say. But I am a friend. A very good friend all the same, Severus,” she replied. The word seemed to disarm him; his rigid posture softened slightly. A faint glimmer of hope flickered in his expression, tentative and fragile, like a candle on the verge of being snuffed out.

"I've never had a friend before,” he said.

“You’ll find one — quite soon, actually.” Hermione smiled, searching his familiar black eyes that lacked the worldly weight she was used to seeing there.

“Truly?”

"Yes, Severus."

The boy smirked, scooting closer to her a few inches. “I’ve always hated my name. Father says it like a curse. But the way you say it sounds…soft. Like a prayer. I like it. Mother says prayers are pointless, though…”

Warmth flooded her eyes as she watched him. “It’s a rather strong name, isn’t it? Roman.” She curled some hair over her ear and waited for his response. “What’s your middle name?” she asked, unable to help herself.

Instead, he shook his head. “Tell me your name first.”

Hermione grimaced, shoving her lips to the side as she weighed whether or not she’d tell him. It didn’t seem he remembered anything until after she returned to the present. What would it hurt?

“Hermione. My name is Hermione.”

The boy squinted, his head tilting as if to piece her together from fragments of recognition. “Hermione,” Severus repeated. The boyish, higher-pitched voice made the sounds of her name more like a song. “You have an odd name, too.”

The witch laughed. “It derives from the Greek messenger god, Hermes. My parents heard it while on holiday in Greece before I was conceived. My mum was thought to be unable to have any children. I was quite the surprise, really…”

The young Severus pinched his brows together. “Severus is far more bearable than my middle name. It’s Tobias — after my bloody

muggle

father.”

Hermione swallowed. “Well, let’s change it, then.”

“W-We can do that?”

Nodding, she held in a breath for a few seconds before tears welled in her eyes. Sighing, Hermione smiled again. “When we’re together, we can do whatever we wish. Do you have a name in mind?”

The boy’s black, greasy, and unkempt hair fell in front of his face. Instinctively, the witch reached out and tucked it behind his ear. He stilled at her touch, searching her gentle, patient eyes for answers to questions she could not discern.

“No.”

Hermione scrunched her features, her brows pinching as she pondered for a few seconds. “What about your mother’s family name — Prince? Severus Prince Snape has quite a ring to it, no?”

Young Severus’ features brightened. “I like it!”

“I do, too.” Hermione played with the end of her long sleeve. “You’ll be the Half-Blood Prince before long.”

“The Half-Blood…Prince?” he repeated, looking at her as though she’d grown four new arms. “Did you just make that up?”

The witch tensed. “Haven’t you always privately called yourself that?”

The boy shook his head. “I will now! The Half-Blood Prince. It sounds like a hero’s name!”

Hermione swallowed. Tears sting her eyes, and she unconsciously rubbed the scar on her forearm. When her pulse raced, she felt a bit lightheaded.

Could Severus remember these moments before she physically went into his past?

“You’re pretty—” The words tumbled out awkwardly, and his pale cheeks flushed crimson. He ducked his head, embarrassed by his own boldness.

A laugh escaped her, warm and light. He’d slackened any tension in her chest with the two words. “Thank you.” She touched a hand to her heart as she smiled. “You’re rather charming, you know.”

His blush deepened, the color spreading to the tips of his ears. He glanced up shyly, his lips twitching into a fleeting smile. It, however, faltered when his mother screamed.

“Do you want to play with me?” he asked, glancing toward a battered shoebox on the floor beside the bed.

“Of course,” she said, her tone earnest. A photo on Severus’ wall fell as what had to be his parents’ headboard slammed against it. “But I need to do something. Just a moment.”

The witch rose to her feet, her wand slipping into her hand with practiced ease. With a smooth, controlled motion, she muttered the incantation for a Muffliato charm. The suffocating noise from the next room cut off instantly, leaving an almost bearable silence in its place. The boy’s brow furrowed as he watched, his lips parting slightly.

“What spell was that?” he asked, his voice tinged with awe.

Hermione’s lips curved into a small smile. “One of your own making, actually. You’re a brilliant wizard, Severus. One day, your spells… They save many lives — including mine.” Her words hung in the air, soft and sincere. For a moment, he seemed to forget the world beyond the room, his expression brightening with a spark of pride.

“Really?” he asked, his tone carrying a rare hint of excitement.

“Yes,” she assured him. "You...become a rather remarkable man."

They fell into a comfortable silence. When he grew bored of it, he shuffled to a shoebox under his bed. The boy lifted its lid and carefully extracted its contents. “These are my treasures,” he said, reaching inside and eventually procuring a brick with both hands as if presenting a crown jewel.

Hermione held her breath for a moment. Shaking her head, she knelt beside him, her fingers brushing the worn surface. Swallowing, she fought to contain the tears threatening to burn her eyes. Could this be the very brick that saves his life?

Was that why she was here?

“A treasure, indeed,” she said, her somber enthusiasm genuine. “Keep it by your bedside. Promise me?”

“Why?”

“Please just promise me, Severus.”

“I…I promise,” he said solemnly, clutching the brick to his chest before setting it aside on the floor just beside his bed.

His gaze caught on the pendant resting against her collarbones. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing. “Can I see it?”

“Sure,” she said. Unclasping the chain, she handed it to him without hesitation.

His fingers turned it over, his expression softening as he studied it. “It’s a butterfly,” he declared.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Not quite. It’s a moth.”

The boy scrunched his features. “Moths are ugly, though!”

“I prefer them to butterflies, actually. They’re opposites, but in a rather beautiful way…if you’d care to hear.”

“S-Sure,” he muttered, his brow furrowing in thought.

“They mean so many things across different cultures,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “In my studies, I've found they could represent unconditional love, rebirth, transformation, and disguise. To me, they symbolize the power to persevere and love — even when darkness swallows the world whole. It's a meaningless trinket I bought this past summer to remind me of that.”

He stared at the pendant for a long moment, his fingers curling around it protectively. “Can I… May I keep it?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling. He placed the pendant in his shoebox with deliberate care, closing the lid as though sealing a precious, sacred relic. "It's yours."

The edges of the room began to blur. Hermione felt the pull of time snatch her away. Severus’ form wavered, his small hand reaching out toward her. The last thing she saw was him sitting cross-legged on the floor, his shoebox clutched to his chest like a lifeline and eyes fixed on the spot where she had been.

. . .

Steam curled lazily from Hermione’s teacup as she sat on Severus’s worn couch in his private den. The book in her hands,

Magia Carnalis: Profanum Arcanum,

lay open to page eighteen. Reading the Latin text made for a slow read with content almost too foul to stomach for too long. She turned the page, her fingers brushing the parchment with practiced care. The room was dimly lit, the fire’s orange glow casting flickering shadows against the bookshelves lining the walls.

Across from her, Severus sat in his armchair, the day’s Prophet held taut between his long fingers. The faint rustle of paper filled the room as he folded it back to scan another section. A teacup rested on the small table beside him, its contents untouched except for the faint tea stain on the rim. His brow furrowed as he read, his eyes moving rapidly over the print.

Hermione glanced up from her book, the corner of her lips twitching. “You do realize,” she said, her tone light, “your tea steeping time borders on barbaric. Even for Darjeeling.”

Severus’s gaze didn’t leave the paper, but the edges of his mouth tightened in what could almost be mistaken for amusement. “Astringent, Hermione. Not bitter. There is a difference.”

“No, it’s bitter,” she teased, taking another sip of her own tea — sweet with honey and floral-minty with lavender. The brew was just one she rotated. The warmth spread through her, chasing away the chill that had clung to her since morning — since she returned from his past. She set the cup down on the table beside her, its faint clink breaking the quiet.

Her gaze drifted to the fire. The silence between them deepened, comfortable but heavy — like each of them occupied a fragile bubble that threatened to burst with a single word. Her fingers traced the edge of the book absently, and she found herself asking, “What became of it?”

Severus didn’t look up. “Became of what?” His voice, low and precise, filled the space like a thread pulling taut.

“The moth necklace,” she said, her voice soft but steady. Her eyes, fixed on the flickering flames, didn’t waver. “The one I gave you earlier today — or rather when you were a boy.”

The paper lowered slightly, just enough for her to catch the sharp flicker of his dark eyes. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he folded The Prophet in deliberate, measured movements, smoothing the creases with the flat of his palm. His hand lingered there for a moment, motionless.

“Alas, I lost it,” he said finally, his tone neutral but clipped. Severus swallowed, the sound more audible than perceptible. His gaze met hers briefly before shifting to his teacup. He picked it up, his fingers curling tightly around the handle, and took a measured sip.

Hermione nodded, her lashes lowering as her focus fell to her own hands. The edges of her fingernails pressed into the soft flesh of her palms, leaving faint crescent marks. She inhaled slowly, the breath catching in her throat before she exhaled.

“Right,” she murmured, offering him a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her fingers curled around the spine of her book, holding it tightly as though it could anchor her in the room.

"Let me know how much it was, and I shall pay you back."

Hermione shook her head. “That’s not necessary. Like I said before, it was just a meaningless trinket.”

Severus’ cup returned to its saucer with a quiet clink. He said nothing, his expression as still as the room itself. The silence stretched between them again, the unspoken words hovering like shadows that neither dared to acknowledge. He was the first to drop his gaze just as his fingers scratched the high collar of his black robes.

Hermione’s attention returned to her book, but the words blurred on the page. She took no less than three deep breaths to quell the tears stinging her eyes. The room seemed to grow smaller, the fire’s warmth pressing too close. She shifted in her seat, her body leaning forward as though to rise. Nonetheless, she remained still.

Severus’ voice broke the quiet, low and precise. “We ought to keep a tally.”

Her head lifted sharply, her eyes narrowing slightly in question. “What?”

“The brick... You're the reason why it was ready for my mother to…use that night,” he clarified, his gaze finally settling on her. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his tone — a note of something deeper, buried beneath the surface. “You, again, saved my life, Hermione. Or…you played a part in saving it.”

“The Half-Blood…Prince?” he repeated. “Did you just make that up?”

Pinching her brows together, Hermione cleared her throat. She hesitated, her lips parting before she spoke. “You really don't remember the memories until after I return? Not anything?” she asked, her voice soft.

"I do not..."

“It’s just… You looked like you hadn’t yet thought of your moniker. Do you believe I…inadvertently, of course—”

Severus sighed. “I cannot pretend to understand this between us, Hermione. It’s possible it stuck with me. Somewhere deep in my subconscious, perhaps.”

Narrowing her eyes, the witch shoved her lips to one side. “Don’t you think it’s worth exploring—”

“No.”

Hermione drew her head back, frowning. “But—”

The Potions master glared at her. She swore she noticed a dangerous shake at his shoulders. “Drop it.”

The witch rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Fine, more things for me to figure out alone, I suppose…”

The fire crackled softly, filling the space where neither of them seemed willing to venture further. Hermione’s fingers brushed the edge of her teacup, the warmth still lingering there as she let her gaze wander back to the fire.

Across the room, Severus turned his attention back to the folded Prophet, but his fingers remained still, resting lightly on the paper as though unwilling to pick it up again.

Hermione cleared her throat. “I spoke with the headmistress the other day.”

“And?”

Glaring at him, she exhaled loudly. Eventually, she replied, “I told her Albus cannot lead the Order this time ‘round.”

“If he did, at least no one could kill him…” Severus mused, his voice never tighter. “Though, I suppose, depending on who you ask, that would be a distinct tragedy rather than a perk.”

The witch bit her lip. “Spare me the lecture of how impractical this would be and how no one would allow it. I’m asking you to help me figure out how this would work, okay?”

“What is it?” he asked, sounding rather irritated.

Shaking her head, Hermione muttered, “I want you to lead the Order of the Phoenix.”

“You’re mad.”

“You’re perfect!” she countered. “Hear me out at least!”

Severus’ glare darkened into a dangerous sneer – and he pinned it solely on her. “I have no desire to lead the Order.”

Hermione sighed, setting the book on the cushion next to her and standing. Crossing the short distance between his seat and the couch, she slowly lowered to her knees between his legs. The proximity made him stiffen, his features cringing into an uncomfortable grimace as he looked down at her. To ensure she stole his undivided attention, she placed her palm on his knee. She heard his breath quaver.

“Severus, despite all the secrets and lies between us, I trust you.”

His features warmed slightly. Searching her dark gaze, he pinched his brows together. “Why don’t you trust Albus, Hermione?”

The witch shook her head. “You have your secrets, and I shall have mine.”

Severus rolled his eyes, leaning forward and cupping his palm at the base of her skull. He swallowed and massaged her scalp with his thumb. “I don’t keep mine for the sake of it.”

“Neither do I, Severus.” Tears stung her eyes, though she hardly knew why.

The older wizard tugged at her head and eased her ass from sitting on her heels so she was more level with him. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead to hers, his breath shuddering. With his free hand, Severus looped a curl around his index finger and slowly lowered it until he reached the end of the lock below her breast.

“I wish to prevent something. Something that

cannot

happen,” he whispered. “Please don’t ask about it further.”

Hermione didn’t have to tell him that was impossible. They both knew it already. Searching his dark eyes, the witch squeezed his knee with a gentle pressure. “I’m tired. I’m gonna head to bed.”

“I’ll be up a bit late tonight. Crack the door. If your nightmares crawl into your dreams, I’ll be only a threshold away.”